In what appeared to be a large dining hall, dozens of people congregated together beneath the glow of flickering candlelight. The long tables were laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and steaming vegetable stews. The room hummed with life, a mixture of clinking cups, laughter, and the occasional burst of song.
"Cheers!" With a celebratory toast, the guests raised their mugs, the frothy beer sloshing over the rims as they clinked their cups together.
At the corner of the hall, Claude grimaced as he sipped his drink, the liquid burning his throat in a way that made him question why anyone found it enjoyable. His eyes swept across the room, observing the mingling crowd.
It had been a week since the Bloodborne attack, and in that time, he had thrown himself into preparations for his impending departure. But tonight, his work was paused, replaced by the noise and warmth of this gathering.
"Claude?!" A familiar voice snapped him from his thoughts, accompanied by a hearty pat on the shoulder.
Turning, Claude was met with Peter's broad grin. Beside him stood Dorothy, Peter's wife—a gentle woman with cascading brown hair and gentle emerald eyes.
"Don't hide away here, look who I brought to meet you!" Peter announced with exaggerated excitement, his grin widening as he shifted what he held in his arms. Claude's gaze fell to the small figure in Peter's arms—a child with raven-black hair and emerald-green eyes that sparkled like jewels.
"Unkwel!" she cried out as Peter set her down. The child—Ida, Peter's two-year-old daughter—waddled toward Claude with unsteady but determined steps, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp the edge of his trousers.
Claude blinked, caught off guard by the pure, unbridled joy radiating from the little girl. With a reluctant sigh, he bent down and scooped her into his arms. Ida's face lit up, and she burst into delighted giggles, her small hands patting his shoulders as if claiming him as her own.
"When did she learn to walk?" Claude asked, his voice softening despite his usual indifference.
"Only a few months ago," Peter replied, crossing his arms with a smirk. "She wanted to surprise you."
"Despite not seeing you much, she still seems quite attached to you," Dorothy added, as she rested a hand on Peter's arm.
Peter scoffed playfully. "Don't be jealous, dear. Ida just wanted to surprise her Uncle Claude," Dorothy teased, earning an exaggerated sigh from her husband.
Claude held Ida awkwardly, but as her laughter bubbled up again, his expression softened. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter. Soon, Dorothy returned to the centre of the hall with Ida, mingling with friends and family who had gathered for the celebration.
"So," Peter said, breaking the companionable silence between them. "Tomorrow's the day, huh? You'll be leaving?"
Claude nodded, his hazel eyes blurring.
"You know," Peter stared at the chandeliers that littered the ceiling of the hall, "it almost feels like it was yesterday when I first met you at the entrance of the settlement."
"The hope and joy shared amongst everyone when they learned of your identity."
He paused momentarily.
"The sorrows of our expedition along with its achievements."
His sombre tone soon faded.
"And now look at us. I already have a daughter, and you're about to set off on your journey…"
"What I'm trying to say is, don't forget us. Not me, Karl, Agnes, or the others. Try to visit us if you can in the future." He stared into Claude's hazel eyes. "Most importantly… Please stay safe."
Claude said nothing for a moment, his gaze shifting around the room. He took in the laughter, the warmth, the flickering light of the candles—all of it blending into a bittersweet memory he knew he would carry with him.
"I'll try," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper yet steady.
As the night wore on, the celebration continued in full swing. For the others, it was a night of joy and gratitude, but for Claude, it was a night of farewells.
For the second time in his life, Claude would have to leave behind a familiar life to chase the unknown.
This time, however, he was ready.
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The next morning, Claude stood at the entrance to the city, where the scars of battle still marred its once-proud walls. The aftermath of the Bloodborne conflict was etched into the cityscape—hastily patched stone, and fractured buildings.
The entire settlement had turned out to bid him farewell. The elderly stood leaning on family for support, their frail forms wrapped in layers against the cold. Mothers held their children close, their hands gripping tiny fingers. Faces were drawn with fatigue but lit by a quiet gratitude.
An ocean of heads bobbed in the crowd, the murmur of whispered goodbyes drifting through the air. While there was joy in their survival and hope for the future, a melancholy undertone hung in the air. The man who had become their anchor was leaving, and though they understood why, it didn't make it any easier to let go.
"Claude, we hope you don't mind the scene." Karl stepped forward, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "Everyone is simply thankful for your help over the years."
Claude shook his head, his gaze flicking over the sea of familiar faces. "It's fine," he said. "I wanted to leave you something before I go. A gift."
The gathered townsfolk quieted down, eager to hear what he had to say.
"I've made some modifications to the steam rifles we recovered." Claude held up a small metal casing—a prototype bullet. "These should make it easier for you to defend yourselves against the Bloodborne. I've left instructions in my residence, if you study it you should be able to recreate it."
Upon hearing this, the crowd looked at each other in shock and hope.
Could they truly deal with the Bloodborne by themselves, now?
"After watching how the Bloodborne fought, I realized that the standard ammunition wouldn't be enough. These new bullets will burst upon impact, releasing a cloud of scalding steam. It should slow their regeneration and render their blood ineffective as a weapon."
Karl, standing closest to Claude, looked at the bullet in awe. Relief washed over his face, but it was accompanied by a pang of guilt. He clenched his fists. "Claude… this is incredible. But… you've already done so much for us. Are we asking too much of you?"
Claude met Karl's gaze. "No. It's not about giving too much—it's about ensuring that what we've built here survives. You've all worked hard to rebuild and protect this place. Now, you'll have what you need to keep it safe, even when I'm gone."
Karl nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He looked around at the others, who shared his expression of mingled gratitude and sorrow. After a pause, Claude's brow furrowed slightly, and he turned back to Karl. "But Karl, there's something that's been bothering me."
"What is it?" Karl asked, his posture straightening.
"The Bloodborne," Claude began, "don't strike me as particularly intelligent. Their behaviour almost animalistic. So why would they target the ruins so deliberately? What do they gain from it? They don't seem to need fixed residences and they most certainly cannot make use of the knowledge found within ruins."
Karl let out a long breath. "Honestly, it's as much a mystery to us as it is to you," he admitted. "But there are old stories—ones told by our forefathers."
Claude tilted his head slightly.
"They said the Bloodborne were puppets. Not acting on their own will, but controlled by something greater. A force whose purpose is still unclear."
"A force?" Claude pressed.
Karl nodded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The stories tell of an ancient entity—alien to this land. Its purpose? Unknown. Its nature? A mystery. Its origin? Lost to time. All we know is that it was the catalyst for The Fall."
He paused before continuing, " We call it... The Lord of The Undying Night."