The wind howled across the ridge like a mournful chorus, stirring the ash-laced grass of the wastelands.
Alucard stood motionless at the edge of a crumbling cliff, his long coat whipping in the gale, eyes fixed not on the horizon—but on the memory that had returned with brutal clarity.
It was here, near this very path, that he had met the ancient one.
Not the Archivist.
Not the scholars of the Demon Capital, nor the ethereal anomalies of Hollowmere. This was something older.
Something buried so deep in the bones of the world that even the demons whispered its name like a curse best forgotten.
And it had recognized him.
"You carry the blood of kings. But not just any king. The one who vanished beneath the Veil."
That was what it had said, all those months ago, during his journey across the scarred land that bridged the human kingdom and the demon frontier.
Back then, Alucard had responded with smirking indifference, dismissing titles, power, even fate.
He'd claimed he was "just himself," choosing to drift through the world like a shadow unbothered by destiny's chains.
But now...
Now, the world had changed.
He had changed.
The land beneath his feet felt thinner.
Less real.
The once-faint shimmer of the Veil that danced along the edges of reality was now a constant pulse in his vision.
Hollowmere had been the tipping point.
The glitch, the time-slip, the voices of echoes that shouldn't exist—it was no longer metaphor or madness.
It was happening.
And no one else could see it.
Not even the gods.
Alucard's fingers tightened into a fist.
He remembered how Lucien had stared at the rift in Hollowmere, uncomprehending.
How Elysia, brilliant and powerful as she was, seemed blind to the threads of unreality tangling through the soil like roots of rot.
Only he could see the System.
Only he heard the silent warnings etched into its logic.
Only he remembered the words of the ancient demon.
"The Demon Queen's power is not her own. Something has been brought into the world. Something that does not belong."
At the time, it had seemed like cryptic prophecy—another melodramatic relic from a war-torn past.
But now he understood.
It wasn't the Queen.
It was the Veil.
And it had always been watching.
He let his mind drift back to the moment of the encounter, replaying every second like a fragile artifact.
The demon's twisted form, its cracked skin and the smell of ancient stone. The reverence.
The dread. The way it had bowed—not out of respect, but resignation.
"You passed beyond once. And now you've been pulled back. The Veil remembers."
Those words hadn't made sense then.
He hadn't pressed for more.
He had been too… casual. Too arrogant.
His mind had been on freedom, not consequence.
He had smiled, flirted with danger, and walked on.
But the truth had followed.
And now he stood here, no longer that drifting soul.
"I wasn't ready before," Alucard whispered to the wind.
"But I am now."
He could feel it happening inside him—something fundamental uncoiling, like a blade long sheathed.
The facade he'd worn since his summoning—the detached traveler, the smirking wanderer, the hero-in-name-only—it had cracked.
And through the fissure, the weight of who he had been, and what he needed to become, bled forth.
Not the Demon King.
Not the summoned Hero.
But something else entirely.
Something that could hold the Veil at bay.
Footsteps approached from behind—light, careful, but not stealthy.
He knew the gait before he turned.
Lucien.
"You've been silent since Hollowmere," Lucien said softly.
"Since the glitch."
Alucard didn't respond immediately.
He let the silence stretch, watching as a bird in the sky twitched—once, then again—and repeated its motion.
A loop.
A fracture in time.
Another sign.
Lucien followed his gaze.
"It's happening more often, isn't it?"
Alucard nodded.
"Every day, the boundaries thin. The Will was just a symptom. The true sickness is the Veil."
Lucien's brows furrowed.
"We thought the Will was the cosmic force behind the anomalies."
"No," Alucard said, turning toward him, eyes burning crimson in the dusk.
"The Will feeds on despair. On dreams. But the Veil—it governs reality itself. When its glitches, everything goes with it. Time. Space. Memory."
Lucien opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.
"You're… not the same man I met in Noctis Regnum."
"No," Alucard admitted.
"I've remembered too much. I've seen too much."
He paused, then added,
"Do you remember when I told you I wasn't interested in being anyone's savior? That I was done with thrones and crowns?"
Lucien gave a slow nod.
"You said you only wanted freedom."
Alucard looked back at the sky.
"That was before I realized the world itself was dying. And if it falls apart—there won't be a place left for freedom. Or rebellion. Or anything."
Lucien studied him quietly.
"You said you met something on your journey here. Something that recognized you."
"Yes," Alucard said.
"It was ancient. It remembered the old world. It remembered me not as a king, but as someone who passed beyond the Veil."
Lucien paled.
"Passed beyond? But that's impossible."
"Apparently not. Not for me." Alucard's voice was steady now. Cold.
Lucien didn't answer. There was no answer for that.
"But the Veil doesn't forget," Alucard continued. "It brought me here. Or the world did. I don't know. What matters is that it sees me now. It recognizes me. And it's starting to break because of it."
"You think you're the cause?"
"I think I'm the catalyst."
Lucien stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper.
"And what are you going to do?"
Alucard's gaze turned hard, resolute.
"I'm going to stop it."
"How?"
He looked down at his hands, once used to wield dark magic, once soaked in blood and fire.
Now, they pulsed with something unfamiliar—threads of light and shadow, flickering in and out of sight.
"I don't know yet. But I have to understand it. The Veil. What lies beyond. Why it's breaking now. And how to stop it before everything unravels."
Lucien hesitated.
"Even the gods…"
"Can't see it," Alucard finished for him.
"They're blind to it. The glitches, the warnings… only I can see them. That makes me responsible. Whether I want it or not."
He looked up again, eyes narrowing as another glitch shimmered at the edge of the horizon.
A mountain flickered—gone, then returned.
A moment of unreality.
"I'm done pretending to be aimless. I've worn too many masks."
Lucien studied him.
"Then who are you now?"
Alucard smiled faintly, but the warmth was gone. What remained was something colder. Sharper.
"I am the knife at the throat of fate."
And with that, he turned from the cliff and began walking—not drifting, not wandering, but striding forward with purpose.
Lucien followed, silent and watchful.
Behind them, the wind screamed once more.
And far above, high in the broken tapestry of the sky, the Veil rippled.