The path leading to Dryanden's manor was a winding, cobbled trail that seemed to grow darker and narrower with every step. Rowen followed closely, her enchanted boots making barely a whisper against the stones. The forest pressed in on either side, its towering trees alive with faint, otherworldly glows. The air had a weight to it, like it was holding its breath.
When they finally reached the manor, Rowen wasn't sure if it was a relief or a new kind of anxiety.
The building loomed like a shadow out of the trees, its dark stone façade covered in creeping ivy. Windows set deep into the stone glimmered faintly with light, though she couldn't see any visible lanterns or candles inside. A strange symbol was carved into the heavy wooden door—a series of interlocking lines that seemed to shift if she looked at them too long. She glanced at Dryanden, but he offered no explanation as he pushed the door open with an easy motion.
"Welcome," he said, stepping aside to let her in.
Rowen hesitated on the threshold, squinting into the dim interior. "This is… cozy," she said, though the word didn't quite fit the eerie stillness of the place.
The space beyond the door was one enormous room, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows above. Shelves lined the stone walls, crowded with objects she couldn't identify—bottles filled with swirling liquids, carved stones that glowed faintly, and books so thick with dust they looked like they might crumble at a touch. Strange tapestries hung between the shelves, their shifting threads depicting scenes that changed when she blinked.
The room was lit by the faint glow of the artifacts scattered throughout, their light casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. In the center of the space, a wide hearth held a fireless pit, its ashes undisturbed. Around it, mismatched furniture was arranged haphazardly—a worn armchair here, a low wooden table there, a scattering of cushions that looked entirely out of place.
Rowen lingered near the door, unsure whether to step further inside. "You live here?" she asked, her voice echoing slightly in the stillness.
He glanced over his shoulder. "When I need to." His tone was neutral, but there was an undercurrent of something she couldn't quite place—nostalgia, maybe. Or regret.
"Charming," she muttered, stepping cautiously inside. She eyed a nearby shelf, where a skull rested on a polished pedestal. It didn't look human. "What's the deal with all the… creepy stuff?"
Dryanden smirked faintly as he shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a chair. "Relics from past endeavors. They have their uses."
"Sure. Normal people collect postcards, but relics of untold doom work too."
He ignored the jab. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the room. On one wall, a tapestry shimmered faintly with golden threads, depicting a sprawling city under a blood-red sky. On another, a mirror stood in a heavy frame of black wood, its surface rippling like water instead of glass.
Dryanden walked decisively across the room toward a tall shelf near the hearth. He plucked a small, glowing orb from the clutter and held it aloft. The orb pulsed once, twice, then burst into soft, golden light, filling the space with a warm glow.
The sudden brightness revealed even more oddities. A suit of armor stood near one corner, its helmet twisted into a leering grin. Above the hearth, a sword hung in a crooked mount, its blade dark as obsidian and lined with faintly glowing runes.
Rowen stared at it, unease prickling at the back of her neck. "Does everything in here… do something weird?"
Dryanden set the orb on a table. "Most of it, yes."
She crossed her arms, glancing warily at a cube sitting on a nearby shelf, and wondered passively what it does. "And you just… live here? With all this creepy magic stuff?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer the forest?"
"Point taken."
Dryanden moved toward a small alcove that served as a kitchen. The stone counter was cluttered with supplies: a loaf of dark bread, several vegetables, and an assortment of jars filled with herbs and powders. He began washing his hands in a basin nearby.
Rowen wandered closer, her curiosity outweighing her hesitation. "Are you… cooking something?"
"Yes." He said, slicing the vegetables with practiced efficiency, the blade of his knife glinting faintly in the golden light.
"You cook?"
"Do you eat?" he countered.
She smirked. "Touché."
The smell of roasting vegetables soon filled the room, rich and savory. Rowen's stomach growled loudly, and she winced as Dryanden glanced up, his lips twitching in faint amusement.
"Sit," he said, nodding toward a low wooden table near the hearth.
Rowen hesitated but eventually plopped down on one of the mismatched cushions. From her vantage point, she could see more of the room's strange details—a tangle of silver chains draped across a hook in the wall, a cluster of crystals that glowed faintly in unison, a stack of books with titles she couldn't read.
"Do I even want to know what half this stuff does?" she asked, gesturing toward a small vial filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid.
"Probably not," Dryanden said without looking up from his work.
Rowen leaned back, resting her arms on the edge of the table. "This is not what I expected from the whole brooding-vampire thing."
He glanced at her briefly, his crimson eyes gleaming in the light of the orb. "You expected blood-soaked feasts and dark rituals, I assume."
"Something like that," she admitted.
"Romanticized nonsense," he said flatly, sliding the chopped vegetables into a pot and carrying it over to the hearth. The fire blazed to life without a glance from Dryanden. "I prefer simplicity."
Rowen watched him work in silence for a moment, her curiosity getting the better of her. "So, do you cook for yourself often?"
"Occasionally."
"And for… guests?"
He paused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Rarely."
She smirked, leaning back. "So, I'm special."
"Don't let it go to your head."
Rowen chuckled softly, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. There was something almost… human in the way he moved, the quiet focus of his hands as he worked. It was strange, seeing him like this—calm, almost domestic. Not at all what she'd expected when he'd first appeared in the forest, sword in hand and shadow wolf blood on his cloak.
For a brief moment, she felt a flicker of something she couldn't quite name—trust, maybe, or the faintest glimmer of understanding. Whatever it was, it made her feel just a little less alone in this strange, dangerous world.
Rowen let herself relax, the warmth of the orb's light and the smell of cooking easing some of the tension in her shoulders. The room was strange, yes—but it wasn't entirely unwelcoming. In a weird, roundabout way, it even felt a little… safe.
The thought surprised her, and she sat up straighter, brushing it aside. "So, what's for dinner? Mystery stew?"
"You'll see."
The faintest trace of a smirk played at his lips, and for once, Rowen decided not to push. She leaned back again, letting her gaze wander across the room's strange collection of artifacts.
Whatever this place was, it clearly held more of Dryanden's story than he was willing to share.
The sound of bubbling stew and the occasional crackle of glowing embers filled the silence between them. Dryanden moved with unhurried precision, stirring the pot before ladling its contents into two bowls. He carried them to the low wooden table and set one in front of Rowen without ceremony.
She peered into the bowl. The stew was a mix of roasted vegetables, herbs, and something that looked vaguely like meat but had a faint, silvery sheen. "So, do I want to know what's in this?"
"It's edible," he said, taking a seat across from her. "That should be enough."
"Comforting," she muttered, lifting the spoon cautiously. She sniffed the stew, expecting something pungent or bizarre, but the aroma was surprisingly pleasant—rich and savory, with a hint of spice. She took a tentative sip and blinked in surprise. "Huh. This is actually… good."
"I'm relieved to meet your standards," he said dryly, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the warm light.
She ignored his sarcasm, focusing on the food. After everything she'd been through, the simple act of eating felt strangely grounding. The warmth of the stew spread through her chest, easing some of the lingering tension in her body.
For a while, they ate in silence, the only sounds the clink of spoons against bowls and the faint hum of the artifacts around them. But Rowen's curiosity soon got the better of her.
"So," she began, setting her spoon down, "what's the deal with this place? The glowing objects, the shifting tapestries, the mirror that looks like it wants to eat my soul… Is this all just standard vampire décor?"
Dryanden's lips twitched faintly. "They're tools. Relics of the old world. Each serves a purpose."
"Uh-huh. And the purpose of the soul-eating mirror?"
"It doesn't eat souls," he said, his tone almost amused. "It reflects truth."
Rowen arched an eyebrow. "Truth? Like, you look into it, and it shows your inner self or something?"
"Something like that," he said, his gaze briefly flicking to the mirror. "Though the truth it reveals isn't always pleasant."
She frowned, glancing at the mirror out of the corner of her eye. The mirror felt alive, the faint whispers growing louder the longer she looked. Her breath caught, her feet almost moving toward it against her will. She tore her gaze away, shaking off the strange sensation. "Yeah, I think I'll pass on that one."
Dryanden didn't respond, his expression unreadable as he returned to his meal.
Rowen leaned back, cradling the bowl in her hands. "You know, for someone who supposedly knows a lot about magic, you're pretty stingy with the explanations."
"Magic isn't something that can be explained in a single conversation," he said. "It's woven into this world—its people, its history, its very fabric. Understanding it requires more than words."
"Great. That's super helpful," she said, rolling her eyes. "You know what's easier to explain? Smartphones."
Dryanden looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Smartphones?"
"Yeah." She reached for her pocket, pulling out the device that had miraculously survived her journey into this strange world. "This thing can take pictures, send messages, play music, and look up basically anything you want to know. It's like… magic for people who don't have actual magic."
He leaned forward slightly, his curiosity evident despite his usual stoic demeanor. "Show me."
Rowen hesitated. "Uh, It mostly won't work here. No Wi-Fi, no signal…" She trailed off, her thumb brushing against the screen. It lit up, the home screen glowing faintly in the dim room.
Dryanden's eyes narrowed. "It's alive?"
"It's still charged" she said, staring at the phone as if it was an old friend. "I mean, the battery's not dead yet.."
She opened the photo gallery, flipping through pictures of friends, family, and random moments from her life. The images felt strangely distant, like relics from another world—a world she wasn't sure she'd ever see again.
As she flipped through the photos, the faces of friends and family felt almost foreign, like ghosts from another life. Her roommate's carefree grin in the festival picture stung—how could everything feel so normal there while her world had been turned inside out here?
Dryanden watched silently as she scrolled through the pictures. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes lingered on the screen, taking in each image with quiet intensity.
"This is your world," he said softly.
"Yeah." She swallowed hard, her thumb pausing on a picture of her and her roommate at a music festival. The memory felt like a lifetime ago. "It's… different from here."
He nodded slowly, his gaze flicking back to her. "And you carry this with you? In your world?"
"Pretty much," she said. "It's like magic in the way that it connects everyone with everything. Honestly it just feels like a reminder of everything I left behind."
"This thing… connects you to your world?" he asked, his tone unusually soft. Dryanden's fingers hovered near the glowing screen, as though touching it might shatter its magic. "Your world carries light in its hands," he said softly, his crimson eyes reflecting the glow. "Strange… and powerful."
He looked to her and was silent for a moment, his crimson eyes studying her. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. "Does having it make it easier? Being here?"
She hesitated, her thumb brushing the edge of the screen. "I don't know yet," she admitted. "It's comforting, I guess. But it also makes me miss home more."
He nodded again, his expression thoughtful. "A tether to your past, even in a world that demands you let it go."
Rowen glanced up at him, surprised by the insight in his words. "Yeah."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Rowen looked back down at her phone, scrolling aimlessly through the gallery. She stopped on a photo of the forest near her apartment—the same forest that had led her here.
"I didn't think I'd miss it," she said quietly. "The mundane stuff. Grocery shopping, commuting, arguing with my roommate over the thermostat. But now…"
He stared into the fire as he spoke, the flicker of flames reflecting in his eyes. 'The mundane becomes precious when it's lost,' he said quietly, almost as though he were speaking to himself. For a moment, the weight of years seemed to settle on his shoulders, but just as quickly, it was gone.
Rowen let out a dry laugh. "That's poetic. Is that a vampire thing?"
He smirked faintly. "No. Just an observation."
She set the phone down, her gaze drifting to the hearth. "So, what about you? Do you have anything like this? Something from… before?"
Dryanden's eyes flicked briefly to the leering helmet in the corner. His jaw tightened, just for a moment, before he turned back to Rowen. 'The past is… complicated,' he said, his voice quieter now. "I prefer to focus on the present."
Rowen frowned. "That's not really an answer."
"It's the only one I'm willing to give," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
She sighed, leaning back against the cushion. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
They fell into another silence, but this one felt less heavy. Rowen picked up her spoon, finishing the last of her stew as Dryanden leaned back, his gaze fixed on the glowing orb in the center of the table.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Rowen felt something close to normalcy—two people, sharing a meal, exchanging stories. It wasn't much, but it was enough. But the weight of the earlier discussion settled back in as Dryanden's crimson eyes met hers.
"I assume you haven't forgotten what we discussed earlier," he said, his tone calm but unyielding.
Rowen frowned, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table. "You mean the whole 'blood claim' thing? Yeah, not exactly easy to forget."
Dryanden inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "You agreed to think about it. I assume you have questions."
"That's putting it lightly," she muttered. "I mean, for starters, what does this whole 'claim' actually do? You said it would protect me, but how does that even work? Is there, like, a magic shield or something?"
Dryanden folded his hands in front of him, his posture perfectly composed. "The bond is not a shield. It's… a connection. A tether, of sorts. It allows me to sense your presence, your emotions, and your pain—anything that might alert me to danger."
Rowen's brow furrowed. "So, you'd basically have, like, a tracker on me?"
"In essence, yes," he said, his voice even. "But it's more than that. The bond also strengthens you. It draws on my power to enhance your physical abilities—speed, strength, endurance. You would not be defenseless in this world."
She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "Okay, so it makes me faster and stronger. But what about you? What do you get out of it?"
Dryanden's gaze didn't waver. "I gain the ability to protect you more effectively. If you are harmed, I will feel it. If you are in danger, I will know. And, should the need arise, I can draw on your energy to sustain myself."
Rowen's eyes narrowed. "Sustain yourself. You mean… feed."
"Yes," he said simply. "The bond requires it, though it is not its primary purpose."
She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. "And what happens if I say no? If I decide this whole blood claim thing is a bad idea?"
Dryanden's jaw tightened, the first crack in his otherwise unshakable demeanor. "Then you remain vulnerable. The magic within you is unguarded. Creatures like the shadehound will sense it, and they will come for you. Without the bond, your chances of survival are… slim."
Rowen bit her lip, her mind racing. The idea of being magically tethered to Dryanden was unsettling, to say the least. But the alternative—a constant target on her back in a world she barely understood—was even worse.
"And this connection," she said slowly, "it's permanent?"
"Yes," Dryanden said. "The bond cannot be undone."
Her stomach twisted. "So, I'd be stuck with you forever."
He smirked faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Is that such a terrible fate?"
Rowen huffed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I don't know yet."
Dryanden's smirk faded, and he leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "This is not a decision to make lightly, Rowen. The bond carries responsibilities—on both sides. If you accept it, you are not only bound to me forever but also to the dangers I face. My enemies will become yours."
"That's… comforting," she said dryly.
"I do not offer comfort," he said, his voice low and steady. "I offer survival."
Her hands trembled slightly as she rested them on the table. Forever. The word wrapped around her chest like a vice. She barely knew him—barely understood this world—and yet she was being asked to tether herself to it, to him. Was this desperation? Or simply survival? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Finally, she looked up, meeting his gaze. "And you? What's in it for you? You've made it pretty clear that you're not exactly the nurturing type. So why even offer this?"
For a moment, Dryanden said nothing, his crimson eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
"Because you woke the seal," he said. "Whether you realize it or not, you are bound to this world now. And to its dangers. If I do not protect you, no one else will."
Rowen swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "And you're okay with that? Being stuck with me?"
Dryanden's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. "You are… tolerable."
She snorted, shaking her head. "Wow. High praise."
They fell into a brief silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken questions. Her chest tightened as she thought of the word—forever. The shadehound's glowing eyes flickered in her memory, its snarls echoing in her ears. Trust didn't matter. Trust couldn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was staying alive.
This wasn't trust. This was survival. And survival seemed to come with a price.
Finally, Rowen let out a long sigh, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table.
"All right," she said. "I'll do it."
Dryanden raised an eyebrow. "You're certain?"
"No," she said quickly. "But I don't exactly have a lot of options, do I? If this bond is the only way to not get eaten by shadow wolves, then fine. Let's do it."