Ion Dragomir's Journal, October 9th, 1377 A.D
I remember the night I learned of the pact, a night when shadows grew darker, swallowing the light of the moon. The air was thick with the scent of autumn decay, and a chill had settled over the village that even the fiercest fire could not drive away. I was huddled in our small cottage, my family close by, listening to the restless howling of wolves from the forest, when there came a knock on the door.
It was Old Petru, a bent and weathered man with eyes clouded by age, but sharper than any hunter's. He was one of the village's oldest souls, a keeper of stories and secrets that most were too afraid to speak aloud. Petru never ventured far from his home, especially at night, and his visit filled me with an uneasy foreboding.
Without a word, he gestured for me to follow him, his hand clutching his cane like a lifeline. I glanced at Adela, who gave me a slight nod, her face pale. She knew, as I did, that refusing Petru's summons was out of the question.
We walked in silence, the village asleep around us, every house dark and shuttered as if hiding from the very night itself. Petru led me down a winding path toward the edge of the village, to a clearing where the trees crowded close, their branches entwined like skeletal fingers. It was here that he stopped, turning to face me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.
"Ion," he rasped, his voice low and trembling, "you need to know the truth about the Count and his… lineage."
I swallowed, nodding. I had long suspected that there was more to Count Lucien than the stories of a nobleman with a penchant for the occult. The villagers spoke in whispers, tales of blood and dark rites, but no one ever dared to speak openly, not within earshot of the castle.
Petru's eyes flickered, as if he could hear my thoughts. "Long before our time, Ion, before even my father's father, the Count's ancestors made a pact. A promise to a force older and darker than you or I can comprehend. They sought power, wealth, and… immortality."
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of ancient sins. I felt a shiver run through me, but I forced myself to listen, to understand.
Petru continued, his voice little more than a whisper now, as if the very trees might be listening. "This pact was not made with man or god, but with a creature of darkness, a being from the shadowed realms, bound by blood and death. The lord who founded that cursed castle was promised eternal life, so long as he continued to feed the darkness. Each generation since has renewed the pact, binding their bloodline to the shadows."
My stomach twisted at his words, dread seeping into my bones. "What do they feed it?"
Petru's face twisted in a grimace. "Blood. Innocence. The lifeblood of those who live under their rule. The villagers… they are nothing more than cattle to the Count. Sacrifices for his eternal life."
I wanted to turn away, to refuse to believe him, but Petru's gaze held me fast. He gestured toward the castle, its dark silhouette looming over the village like a blight on the landscape. "The Count… he is different from his ancestors. He doesn't just desire life; he craves power beyond even death. They say he has been performing rites, sacrifices… trying to summon something far worse than himself. An ancient power that sleeps beneath the earth, waiting for blood to call it forth."
My mind flashed to Stefan, to the way the Count had looked at him, as if appraising a prize. Rage flared within me, hot and blinding. "If what you say is true, why do we do nothing? Why do we allow him to continue?"
Petru shook his head, sorrow etched into his wrinkled face. "We are bound, Ion. The villagers' fear binds us as tightly as chains. Those who tried to resist, to stand against him, have disappeared. Taken in the night, their bodies found drained of blood, their faces twisted in terror. And even those who die in his service… their spirits do not rest. They wander, bound to him, their souls as enslaved as their bodies once were."
I felt sick, anger and helplessness churning in my gut. I had to protect my family. I had to find a way to break this cursed hold the Count had over us.
But Petru, as if sensing my thoughts, gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin. "Listen to me, Ion. You must protect your son. The Count has chosen him, just as he has chosen others before. He needs the youth, the vitality, to complete his ritual. If he succeeds, he will not just live forever… he will become something beyond human, a creature of shadow and hunger that no man can destroy."
"Then I'll stop him," I whispered, more to myself than to Petru. But the old man's face was grim.
"There is only one way," he said, his voice a harsh rasp. "The village witch. She holds knowledge that few possess, wisdom passed down from those who fought the dark long ago. But her price… it is not small."
I nodded, willing to pay whatever price was necessary to save my son. "Where can I find her?"
Petru gestured toward the forest, his eyes flickering with fear. "Follow the path that leads into the woods, past the old stone markers. She lives in a hollow, surrounded by trees that do not bend to the wind. You'll know it when you see it."
With a final, haunting look, Petru turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone in the dark, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a lead shroud. The forest loomed before me, silent and still, as if it were holding its breath.
The witch's hollow was a place I had only heard of in whispers, a place even the bravest men avoided. But I had no choice. For Stefan, I would brave the shadows, face the darkness itself if I had to.
With each step, the air grew colder, the silence more oppressive. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I pushed through the tangled underbrush, following the faint path Petru had described. And then, finally, I saw it, a small clearing surrounded by twisted trees, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands.
At the center of the clearing stood a crooked hut, its walls lined with dried herbs, bones, and strange talismans that rattled in the faint breeze. I approached, my steps hesitant, every instinct screaming at me to turn back. But I forced myself forward, lifting a hand to knock on the door.
It opened before I could touch it, revealing the witch, a frail, hunched figure with eyes as dark as night, yet sharp and piercing. She looked at me, and in that gaze, I felt as if she could see into my soul, pulling out every fear, every weakness.
"You come for knowledge," she said, her voice a dry whisper, like leaves rustling in the wind. "And knowledge… always has a price."
I swallowed, nodding. "I need to protect my son. The Count… he has chosen him for something dark."
The witch tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "The Count hungers for power, for life eternal. He seeks to awaken the shadow within himself, to become one with the darkness that gave birth to his line. Your son's life is but a stepping stone on his path."
"Please," I whispered, desperation clawing at my throat. "Tell me how to stop him."
The witch reached into the folds of her tattered cloak, pulling out a small, black vial. "This potion will ward your home, keep his servants at bay. But it will not stop the Count himself. For that, you will need… more."
"What more?" I asked, my voice trembling.
The witch's lips curled into a dark smile. "Blood. The blood of one who carries his curse, willingly spilled. Only then can the bond be broken."
My mind reeled at her words, the enormity of the sacrifice she was asking. But for Stefan, for my family, I would do anything.
"Thank you," I whispered, clutching the vial to my chest. But as I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.
"Be warned, Ion Dragomir," she murmured, her gaze as cold and piercing as death itself. "Once you walk this path, there is no return. The darkness will know your name, and it will not forget."
With those words echoing in my mind, I returned to my family, clutching the vial like a lifeline. That night, as I poured the dark liquid around our home, I could feel eyes watching from the shadows, a presence that lingered just out of sight.
But I knew it was only a matter of time before the Count came for us. And when he did, I would be ready.