Phonyssa Afeta Belmont: Ini adalah karakter penggemar utama yang dibuat oleh penulis dalam cerita ini. Lahir setelah 133 tahun setelah perang melawan Dracula usai. Berambut kemerahan teh jahe dan bermata biru laut, seperti leluhurnya Sypha. Saat usianya menginjak 16 tahun ia pun memilih jalan hidupnya dengan mendalami pengetahuan-pengetahuan rahasia, termasuk sejarah dan sihir. Ia kemudian bergabung dengan kaum Pencerita (Speaker) dari garis leluhur ibunya–Sypha Belnades atau yang belakangan dikenal Sypha Belmont, alih-alih menjadi pemburu vampir sebagaimana leluhurnya dari garis ayah–Trevor Belmont. Yang kedua leluhurnya itu adalah teman seperjuangan Alucard mengalahkan Dracula di masa lalu.
Wallachia, Moving Castle (Kastil Dracula) 1631, seminggu yang lalu...
Nyssa selalu melakukannya. Hampir setiap malam. Ruang inti kastil sudah terasa seperti bangkai raksasa.
Roda-roda gigi raksasa itu diam, membeku di posisi tak wajar beberapa miring, beberapa saling mengunci, seolah mesin itu mati di tengah jeritan. Retakan menjalar di poros besi, bekas masa lalu hentakan sihir Sypha yang memaksa kastil berpindah tanpa koordinat. Tidak ada dengungan. Tidak ada ritme. Hanya keheningan setenang hantu pendiam yang lengang di telinga.
Justru itu yang berbahaya.
Nyssa berdiri di bibir platform runtuh. Jalur resmi sudah lama ambruk. Jadi, untuk mencapai sisi barat ruangan, satu-satunya cara adalah melintasi roda gigi raksasa yang tak lagi bergerak, tidak stabil dan bisa bergeser kapan saja.
Ia menguji pijakan pertama. Logam tua mengerang pelan.
Nyssa tidak melompat gegabah. Ia berpindah perlahan tapi pasti, dari satu gigi ke gigi lain, menjaga pusat berat tubuhnya tetap stabil. Beberapa roda miring ketika diinjak cukup untuk membuatnya terpeleset jika ia panik. Di satu titik, sebuah roda bergeser setengah inci, memaksa Nyssa meloncat pendek ke poros terdekat, mencengkeram tepi logam dingin dengan jari-jari yang mulai mati rasa. Meskipun telah melakukannya hampir seratus kali dalam beberapa bulan.
Tidak ada mesin yang membunuhnya di sini, hanya kesalahan manusia. Dari poros, ia berdiri dan melompat lagi, melemparkan tubuhnya untuk mencengkram jalinan rantai terdekat yang menggelantung dari struktur roda yang mencuat diatasnya. Ia Mengayunkan tubuhnya sendiri sebelum akhirnya mendarat di platform sisi barat dengan berguling.
Sekarang lututnya menghantam lantai. Napasnya tertahan. Debu halus beterbangan, sisa abu alkimia yang tak pernah dibersihkan sejak kehancuran.
Gang sempit itu menanti. Gelap Total.
Nyssa mengangkat tangan. Percik api kecil menyala di ujung jarinya, bukan untuk menyerang melainkan sekadar menegaskan bahwa ia masih menguasai dirinya. Cahaya itu menyingkap perubahan dinding: dari logam mesin menjadi batu kasar. Simbol-simbol alkimia Dracula menghilang, digantikan pahatan sederhana dan fungsional.
Belmont.
Lorong itu menurun pelan, dan udara berubah lebih kering, lebih tenang. Ia keluar dan mencapai titik akhir di anjungan dan perpustakaan yang tenggelam dalam kegelapan. Rak-rak menjulang seperti bayangan diam. Tidak ada cahaya. Tidak ada debu tebal. Ruangan ini tidak mati hanya tidur.
Nyssa bergerak ke sudut yang ia perkirakan sejak awal. Percik api masih menyala dari ujung jarinya.
Kotak listrik.
Bukan bagian dari mesin teleportasi melainkan tambahan pasca-perang, teknologi sederhana yang dipasang Alucard untuk menyalakan ruang-ruang tertentu tanpa menghidupkan inti kastil. Matanya menyipit, Ia membuka panelnya, memeriksa kabel semua masih utuh, lalu menarik tuasnya. Listrik mengalir dengan dengungan rendah, terpisah dari mesin teleportasi yang mati. Lampu-lampu menyala satu per satu, cahaya kuning redup menyapu rak buku, meja kerja, dan peti-peti besi bersegel lambang Belmont.
Perpustakaan itu terbangun.
Lorong batu itu berbau lembap dan besi tua bau yang menempel di lidah, seperti menjilat koin yang lama terkubur. Nyssa berhenti bukan karena mendengar sesuatu, melainkan karena tidak ada apa-apa yang terdengar. Tidak ada cicit tikus. Tidak ada tetesan air dari pipa. Tidak ada gema langkahnya sendiri. Kesunyian semacam itu bukan anugerah. Itu peringatan. Karena tikus-tikus itu entah bersembunyi ketakutan oleh pemangsa yang lebih kuat mengintai? Atau bangkai-bangkai hewan itu tubuhnya telah mengering di pojokan tanpa setetes darah pun tersisa?
Kulit di tengkuknya meremang, bukan dingin, melainkan tekanan seperti jari-jari tak kasatmata yang menimbang jarak antara nadi dan gigi. Ia membiarkan bahunya turun perlahan, menjaga agar napasnya tidak berubah menjadi terengah. Ia bisa merasakan langkah-langkah samar dari getaran tulang di bawah nadinya. Satu, dua, tiga, empat. Nyssa mengetuk ngetuk buku jarinya ke pagar logam beranda platfrom, menghitung.
Dia tidak menoleh ke belakang. Dia tidak perlu melakukannya.
Bau darah lama menyelinap masuk bukan amis, melainkan manis yang membusuk. Lidahnya menangkap rasa pahit yang belum ia cicipi. Tubuhnya mengingat sebelum pikirannya sempat menamai rasa itu.
Ia membuka tas kulit di pinggangnya. Gesper logam menggesek pelan. Jarinya menyentuh serbuk worm wood kasar, kering, berbau getir yang membuat sinusnya berdenyut. Bau itu selalu memanggil ingatan ibunya: meja kayu, mortir batu, tangan yang gemetar namun tak pernah ragu.
Akar valerian ia hancurkan dan haluskan perlahan. Krek. Suara itu terasa terlalu keras di dalam kepalanya sendiri.
Mereka menunggu. Makhluk-makhluk itu tidak bergerak.
Garam laut kering jatuh ke cairan, mendesis lirih seperti napas tertahan. Asap daun ashwood naik mengepul abu pucat, berbau hangus dan pahit dipanaskan oleh belerang dan apinya dalam panci. Nyssa mengoleskannya ke pergelangan tangan, ke leher, ke bawah rahang. Kulitnya terasa dingin, lalu panas, lalu mati rasa. Ia menegakkan punggungnya. Menghembuskan napas yang baru ia sadari ia tahan. Rahangnya terasa pegal karena terlalu lama terkunci. Ia tidak pernah mengejar.
Tujuannya bukan untuk itu, tujuannya hanya bertahan cukup lama untuk menyelesaikan misi. Misi itu bernama Adrian Farenheit Tepes. Ia memikirkan jarak yang Alucard bangun, jarak dingin, terukur, penuh kendali. Jarak seseorang yang pernah membuka diri, lalu dihancurkan. Nyssa tidak membenci jarak itu. Apalagi menyalahkannya. Ia memahaminya. Ia hidup di dalam jarak yang sama. Namun jantungnya itulah yang tidak bisa ia kompromikan. Karena itu berarti ia harus tetap hidup, menyelamatkan dirinya sendiri, sebelum bisa menyelamatkan orang lain.
Ia menuruni tangga seng menuju repositori. Setiap langkah menghasilkan dentang logam yang memantul, naik turun, seolah menertawakan kehati-hatiannya. Tangannya menyentuh dinding batu yang dingin dan basah. Lumut tipis terasa licin di telapak tangannya. Repositori itu menelannya dengan udara dingin dan bau debu tua. Di sini, pengetahuan tidak berusaha menyelamatkan siapa pun. Itu hanya menunggu ditemukan.
Nyssa membuka arsip penelitian vampir. Diagram rahang. Catatan tentang kelenjar. Coretan marah dari tangan-tangan yang menulis sebelum sekarat. Air liur vampir. Ia membaca perlahan, bibirnya hampir menyentuh kata-kata itu.
Mild aphrodisiac. Tubuh yang melunak sebelum pikiran sempat menolak.
Hypnotic binder. Sugesti yang masuk seperti benang, menjahit paksa kehendak makhluk malam ke dalam pikiran.
Lingering scent marker. Jejak sekaligus Undangan untuk makhluk malam lain.
Nyssa menutup buku itu dengan hati-hati, seolah takut bunyinya akan memanggil sesuatu. Dadanya terasa berat. Ia menekan dua jari ke pergelangan tangan, menghitung detak. Yang sekarang tak terkendali. Karena itu ia bereksperimen. Konsisten meskipun beberapa kali menghadapi kegagalan.
***
Malam di kamar Alucard selalu terasa berbeda lebih sunyi, lebih lembab, seakan udara langsung menempel di kulit terangnya. Peti mati itu terletak di tengah ruangan, kayunya hitam pekat, ukirannya halus seperti doa yang dibekukan. Nyssa telah melakukan ini selama berminggu-minggu. Setiap malam, dia akan membuat teh sesuai jadwal, seperti kebiasaan yang dilakukan mentornya setelah berburu atau menyempurnakan ilmu pedangnya. Tapi itu bukan sembarang teh. Itu adalah ramuan tidur. Dan, ketika ruangan menjadi sunyi dan hening?
Nyssa membuka tutupnya perlahan.
Cahaya bulan jatuh langsung ke wajah mentornya. Kulitnya pucat, hampir tembus cahaya. Rambut pirangnya menangkap kilau perak. Bulu mata panjangnya menciptakan bayangan tipis di bawah mata emas yang tertutup. Penampilan yang hampir menipu, nyaris seperti malaikat. Membawa tanda kebaptisan.
Ia tampak tenang. Terlalu tenang.
Nyssa menelan ludah. Bau khas vampir, dingin, logam, dan sesuatu yang membuat jantung berdebar mengisi paru-parunya. Ia menyalakan api kecil di ujung jarinya. Cahaya jingga memantul di kayu peti. Panasnya menjilat kulit Alucard, memancing keringat perlahan sejurus jemari Nyssa menangkup dahinya.
“Maaf,” bisiknya. Kali ini suaranya nyaris tak terdengar.
Ia mengumpulkan keringat itu dengan kain tipis. Bau logam dan sesuatu yang lain sesuatu yang membuat perutnya berkontraksi. Aroma khasnya.
Di dalam tidurnya, Alucard mengerutkan dahi.
Ia terbangun mengigau, seolah merasakan panas, seolah bisa merasakan bahwa seseorang terlalu dekat.
“I-ibu....?” suaranya parau, dan serak. Hampir tidak ada. Dan, garis kerutan itu. Garis kerutan yang melintang di alisnya entah mengapa terlihat rapuh dan manusiawi.
“Ibu... di sini,” jawab Nyssa cepat setengah kikuk, tangannya berhenti. Berganti membelai mentornya untuk menenangkannya. Otot-otot yang menegang di bawah sentuhannya. pun kembali rileks perlahan. Setetes air mata mengalir turun dari pangkal kedua mata yang tertutup.
***
Ia menyesap sampel itu sedikit saja. Sensasi itu datang seperti sentuhan yang tidak diminta. Hangat. Menekan. Dunia terasa terlalu dekat.
Cepat-cepat ia meneguk ramuan penetralisir.
Pahit. Membakar lidah. Menenangkan. Detak jantungnya melambat. Otot-otot yang kendur dan lemas kembali tangkas. Pikiran yang sebelumnya berkabut kembali fokus. Setelah ke-dua belas kalinya ia berhasil. Matanya terpejam, senyum tipis penuh kelegaan tersungging di bibirnya yang hampir pucat.
***
Alextaf bertengger di salah satu pohon terdekat kastil Dracula. Berambut gelap dan bermata kebiruan. Matanya memicing tajam mengawasi sebagaimana elang yang mengintai mangsanya sebelum melompat dan memanjat salah satu atap reruntuhan paviliun terdekat. Lalu melompat menyelinap turun melalui salah satu retakan di reruntuhan mengikuti Nyssa ke ruang inti kastil bagai bayangan pelindung yang tak terlihat. Dialah keponakan yang begitu ia sayangi dan banggakan. Ayahnya adalah kakaknya tersayang, Seymour Hoff Belmont. Meskipun belakangan namanya berganti hanya menjadi Seymour Hoff. Tanpa beban 'Belmont' sekalipun. Pria berambut kecokelatan. Mata almond keabuan, rahang tegas. Berdedikasi tinggi. Otot padat disempurnakan oleh latihan selama belasan tahun sedari kecil. Pewaris generasi ketiga dari trah Belmont. Ayahnya adalah Simon Belmont yang terkenal sementara Kakeknya adalah Trevor Belmont yang legendaris. Tentu saja, murid dari Alucard yang legendaris.
Meskipun, kakinya tak pernah lagi menginjakkan tanah Belmont setelah hari itu...
Alextaf masih mengingatnya. Tatapan keabuan Simon Belmont dingin, menyipit, selalu penuh perhitungan. Ia menatap putranya lekat-lekat, sebelum beranjak dari kursinya. Ia mendekat hanya sampai berjarak satu inci dari putranya sebelum tangannya perlahan meraba dan menarik cambuk yang dikaitkan pada sabuk di pinggang putranya. Ia menghentakkan cambuk ke lutut putranya memaksanya berlutut. Sebelum berpindah dengan gesit ke belakangnya dan kemudian menyayat lambang Belmont yang terpampang di rompi kulit putranya. Melukai dan menggores punggung Seymour dengan pedangnya sendiri. Kakaknya mengerang, kesakitan. Percikan darah menetes mengotori lantai. Sebelum pamannya beranjak pergi begitu saja meninggalkan ruangan. Jawaban dan kenyataan yang begitu dingin menampar sebagaimana sengatan amunisi. Seorang Belmont tidak boleh melukai pewaris dan keturunannya sendiri, kecuali sekarang ia akhirnya telah dibebaskan dari beban ekspektasi dan tanggung jawab yang mengakar dalam nama keluarga. Dan, bukan lagi termasuk salah satu dari mereka. Namun, hanya orang asing. Yang siap dilupakan. Kakaknya menelan kenyataan itu tanpa gentar, tanpa lutut yang gemetar dan bahu tetap tegak sejak diskresi pada hari itu.
Alextaf adik sepupunya? Panik, bersegera menyusul, berusaha membujuk pamannya untuk berubah pikiran dari menghapus putranya sendiri dalam silsilah keluarga. Namun, Simon Belmont adalah pria yang dingin dan keras jika aturan dan kepercayaannya sekalipun sebagai seorang ayah telah dilanggar. Begitu juga Seymour, ia bahkan tak pernah menolehkan kepalanya lagi ke belakang, ke masa lalu, ke tempat, tatapan dan tangan-tangan yang dahulu pernah disebutnya sebagai keluarga. Mereka berdua memang memiliki kemiripan-sangat mirip. Sehingga Alextaf hanya mampu menatap kakaknya dari belakang punggungnya sejak saat itu.
Namun, semuanya bukan masalah besar ataupun kehancuran pada awalnya. Alextaf selalu mengawasi kakaknya dari kejauhan semenjak saat itu. Di sebuah gubuk kayu yang sederhana, disitulah kakaknya tinggal bersama isterinya Zyzian. Wanita yang begitu kakaknya cintai. Meskipun ada rumor yang mengatakan bahwa gadis itu adalah keturunan Chaldean, garis penyihir dari daerah Tigris Babilonia kuno yang mempunyai sejarah perseteruan dan penghianatan berantai dengan arthurian. Garis Merlin. Garis keturunan penyihir yang tertanam dalam nadi Belmont.
Karena itulah Pamannya sangat tak menyukainya. Ia tak akan membiarkan sedikit rumor ataupun celah mengotori nama Belmont di mata kedua kubu, gereja dan para bangsawan. Dan yang di dengar dan lihat Alextaf dari bayangan lilin berkelebat setiap malam? adalah pemandangan sakral dan menggelikan, tawa bahagia tanpa beban, pasangan memadu kasih, desahan atau erangan yang menggairahkan. Hingga di suatu puncak hari, tengah malam. Suara tangis bayi terdengar dari rumah kecil itu. Kelahiran keponakannya tersayang.
Gerombolan kelelawar telah mengepung di sekitaran rumah mereka. Membentuk formasi bagaikan awan hitam berbentuk tangan dan kuku-kuku tajam sang kegelapan, menaungi rumah mereka dari badai salju. Menunggu dengan sabar. Sejak saat itu kesadaran yang menghujam bagaikan cambuk Helsing, buyut-buyutnya seakan menyayat nadinya. Ramalan turun temurun dan legendaris Sypha Belnades seratus tiga puluh tiga tahun yang lalu memanglah benar adanya.
Alextaf menembus badai salju yang mengganas di luar. Formasi kelelawar carpatians di atasnya diam dan tenang. Mereka tidak berkontraksi, hanya menunggu. Menunggu khidmat. Penuh penghormatan. Mantel tebal dan sepatu botnya terasa berat dipenuhi beban salju. Ia Mematahkan gembok dan engsel kayu dengan satu pelintiran tangkas tangannya menerjang masuk ke ruangan. Api perapian menjilat-jilat tanpa henti, sigil berbentuk cakram matahari menyala dan memendarkan api lembut di sekitaran ranjang persalinan, puluhan batang lilin menggelantung dan mengambang di udara menerangi ruangan.
"Kau ke sini?"
Itulah kali pertama Seymour, kakaknya, menatapnya dengan lembut dan haru sejak perpisahan mereka. Seymour memeluknya, Alextaf membeku di tempat beberapa saat. Sebelum ia membalas pelukan kakaknya dengan tangkas dan membiarkan kehangatan menjalar ke tubuhnya.
"Aku tahu kau tidak akan melupakan kami." Seymour tersenyum tipis, salah satu tangannya beristirahat di bahunya lembut setelah melepaskan pelukan. Seolah menyambutnya kembali.
"Jadi semua ini.. benar?" Tanya Alextaf sedikit tercengang, meskipun berusaha tenang. Matanya beredar ke sekeliling sekali lagi. Sebelum akhirnya melanda ke Zyzian, gadis berambut kemerahan jahe, masih berkeringat dan terengah pasca melahirkan. Namun, tetap tersenyum terhadap tamu tak diundangnya. Dan, di sisinya lah keponakan kecilnya terbaring. Mata terpejam. Kulit terang. Dan tubuh mungilnya dibalut dengan kain wol berlapis-lapis. Alextaf mendekat, satu-dua langkah perlahan dengan tubuh yang gemetar sebelum berlutut di sisi ranjang. Membelai pipi mungilnya.
"Phonyssa, keponakanmu." Ujar kakaknya lembut ikut berlutut di sisinya sebelum mengangkat tubuh mungil bayi itu ke pinangannya. Alextaf terkejut, aura kelembutan dan keayahan-nya jelas terpancar sekarang. Menggantikan kesan tegas, keras kepala dan galak dari luar yang biasa ia tampakkan. Begitulah keajaiban dari cinta, pikir Alextaf. Bisa membuat siapapun melunak dan bertekuk lutut. "Putriku sayang." Seymour mendaratkan ciuman lembut ke dahi Nyssa sebelum akhirnya menyerahkan tubuh mungil itu ke Alextaf.
Alextaf menggendong tubuh mungil itu dengan kikuk dan tangan yang gemetar. Sebelum akhirnya kakaknya membantu menyandarkan Nyssa bayi ke bahunya. Dia menggeliat dan menguap nyaman di bahu Alextaf. Kain wol yang membalut rambutnya pun tersibak, menampilkan rambut tebal kemerahan jahe seperti ibunya. Dan sejak saat itulah keinginan dan insting untuk selalu melindungi dan menjaga keponakannya tertanam dalam nadinya.
Cinta memang menciptakan pelangi, mengisi segalanya dan membuat kita hidup. Keponakan kecilnya tumbuh bahagia menjadi gadis kecil yang lincah dan cerdas dalam asuhan dan cinta kedua orang tuanya. Namun, sayangnya Alextaf lupa bahwa cinta itu pedang bermata dua. Selain bisa membuatmu merasa hidup, itu juga bisa membunuhmu dan menghancurkanmu.
***
Nyssa terduduk dan terkulai ke lantai. Bukan karena ramuannya. Namun, karena emosi yang selama ini ia bendung, akhirnya dilepaskan. Kelegaan, kepuasan, ambisi, lelah dan kemarahan atas setiap tantangan yang dibebankan oleh semesta di pundaknya dan orang-orang terdekatnya bercampur aduk dan meledak. Matanya mulai berkaca-kaca, dadanya naik turun. Dia mati-matian berusaha menahan diri untuk tidak mengerang, berteriak, dan berdarah sadar dirinya sedang di awasi. Jadi ia hanya mengatupkan rahangnya dan menekan giginya sampai patah. Selaras ombak masa lalu kembali menerpa di kepalanya.
dia beruntung? Tidak, dia bekerja keras dalam diam." Karena saat kau tak memiliki banyak orang yang bertepuk tangan untukmu? Di situlah integritasmu diuji."
~ Def Tanoshii
***
Brasov, 1620 Masehi, Rumania.
Nyssa masih mengingat hari kejadian itu. Lilin berkedut, tersibak angin lembut musim dingin dari ventilasi kecil di atas jendela. Malam setelah matahari terbenam itu berlangsung damai, seperti malam-malam sebelumnya pikirnya. Nyssa duduk di pangkuan ibunya. Rambut kemerahannya kusut dan basah kuyup sehabis mandi. Usianya baru sepuluh tahun. Jari jemari ibunya menyisiri rambutnya sembari mengeringkannya dengan api hangatnya. Tiba-tiba ibunya menurunkannya dari pangkuannya lalu menghadapnya sembari berlutut. Mensejajarkan tinggi mereka. Mengaitkan kain wol yang sempat terlepas ke bahu dan menutup kulit terang telanjangnya.
"Kemarikan tanganmu sayang." Ibunya menjulurkan kedua telapak tangannya kepada Nyssa. "Ibu ingin mengajarimu sesuatu. Tempelkan telapak tanganmu ke telapak tangan ibu." Nyssa kecil pun menurutinya dengan tatapan penuh penasaran. "Jika kau ingin bisa memanggil api seperti ibu, kau harus bisa merasakan kehadiran dan panggilan mereka. Di setiap ruangan, sudut, lorong, dan tempat yang kau pijak." Bulu kuduk nyssa bergidik, ia bisa merasakan tempat-tempat di mana api memercik, di perapian, di sudut -sudut kamar, di lorong gudang persenjataan dari lampu minyak tanah, bahkan dari lampu api obor di kandang kuda di halaman belakang. Seolah-olah mereka memanggilnya. "Fokuskan pikiranmu. Rasakan perubahan suhu dan udara di sekitarmu. Sang enlil-udara, bersahabat dengan kita. "
"Ayo ikuti ibu. Pejamkan matamu. Dan sambutlah panggilan mereka." Nyssa pun mendengarkan dengan seksama, mengikuti arahan ibunya dengan sungguh-sungguh. Sejurus kemudian, rasa panas pun mulai mendidihkan darahnya dan mempercepat denyut nadinya. Di saat itulah, pertama kalinya Nyssa membuat api dengan usahanya sendiri. Percikan api mulai menjalar dari jari-jemarinya. Mata Nyssa pun melebar, terengah takjub. Sebelum berubah menjadi tawa dan jeritan antusias kemudian. Nyssa melihat mata kebiruan ibunya berpendar terang. Pupilnya memantulkan jilatan api mereka. "Bagus sekali!" Ibunya memujinya.
Hingga tiba-tiba, tanpa peringatan dan tanpa undangan. Makhluk keji itu datang. Tawa riang pun lenyap. Seakan ditelan badai melankolis. Ia menerobos masuk secepat kilat. Jubah hitamnya berkibar-kibar. Rambut pirang keperakannya nyaris seperti malaikat. Menampilkan tanda kebaptisan. Yang tidak menyembuhkan kebejatan.
"Siapa kau?!" Ibunya berteriak mengancam, tak gentar, tak takut. Ia refleks menamengi Nyssa kecil dengan tubuhnya. Namun, Nyssa sudah paham satu hal dari aromanya, tanpa diberi tahu. Vampir. Pupil kehijauannya tajam seperti ular. "Kau tak perlu tahu namaku. Aku hanya kesini untuk mendengarkan irama jantung kecil putrimu yang memabukkan. Sekaligus.. menjadi malaikat kematianmu, mungkin?" Suaranya dingin dan ganas sejurus seringai keji menampilkan taring emasnya.
Refleks ibunya pun langsung bekerja detik itu juga. Segala peralatan tajam terdekat, yang mampu dijangkau dikerahkan. Garpu, pisau daging di meja makan, lilin yang membara di sudut jendela dilayangkan ke udara dalam perintah serempak telekinesis jemari ibunya. Namun, ketiganya seolah berhenti membeku di hadapan vampir itu. Lilin yang membara berhenti persis depan mata kanannya. Garpu di titik nadi lehernya dan pisau daging membeku di depan jantungnya. Sebelum sedetik kemudian? semuanya berbalik arah. Darah segar menyiprat ke tembok kayu rumah sederhana itu. Ibunya memekik dan langsung runtuh terkapar. Darah mengalir dari salah satu ujung matanya yang kini buta, dari ujung bibirnya yang pucat.
"Lari Nyssa, Lari..." Ibunya berbisik menatapnya dengan bibir gemetar dan putus asa untuk terakhir kalinya. Dan Nyssa melakukannya. Dengan keputusan asaan, ketakutan dan kemarahan yang membara dalam dada. Ia berlari ke gudang persenjataan ayahnya. Tak peduli seberapa gemetar tubuh kecil dan ringkihnya itu. Lalu menyelinap ke dalam sebuah tong kayu hampir kedap. Barulah setelah hampir setengah jam berlalu. Pamannya Alextaf mengangkat tubuh ringkihnya keluar dari gentong itu. Melewati mayat ibunya yang terkapar.
Setelah itu? ayahnyalah yang runtuh.
Malam-malam hangat berubah sedingin kutub selatan. Arak menggantikan doa, Pelukan hangat digantikan makian hati yang bersedih. Perlindungan digantikan dengan penjara. Nyssa kecil sering dikunci di kamarnya, mendengarkan langkah berat di luar pintu, menghitung waktu dengan detak jantungnya sendiri. Ayahnya menjadi sering pulang larut malam, dan keesokan paginya? Belasan arak sudah menumpuk di meja. Ayahnya akan tidur dari pagi sampai sore, lalu pergi dari petang sampai tengah malam.
Pernah di suatu hari ayahnya tidur seharian di kursi ruang tamunya, tidak berkutik dan tak beranjak dari tempatnya sama sekali. Nyssa kecil yang cemas pun menyibakkan selimut baunya dari wajahnya. Tangan kecil dan gemetarnya menempel di dahi ayahnya yang berkeringat dan mengkerut membentuk garis-garis tegas, sehingga tampak sepuluh tahun lebih tua dari sebelumnya. Demam. Nyssa beranjak ke kamar mandi menyendok air dengan panci lalu menempelkan tangannya sendiri. Mendidihkannya. Ia mengambil kain kecil sebelum mencelupkannya dan memerasnya. Beranjak kembali ke kursi dan mengompres dahi ayahnya yang terus menggumamkan nama ibunya dalam tidurnya. Dan pemandangan itu begitu mencabik-cabik hatinya.
Jadi, begitu petang tiba ia nekat keluar rumah. Meninggalkan ayahnya sendirian. Berjalan sejauh tiga mil untuk menemui tetangga terdekat. Jejak kaki kecil dari sepatu botnya terukir di atas salju tebal. Nyssa kecil mengetuk pintu tiga kali sebelum akhirnya pintu itu terbuka. "Maaf ibu, ayahku sakit, apa Anda punya persediaan lebih untuk kami?"
"Oh.. maafkan kami, nak. Tapi musim dingin masih panjang dan kami.. sudah hampir kehabisan persediaan." Jawab wanita tua berambut keabuan mengedikkan bahunya. Dan begitu seterusnya. Namun, Nyssa tidak menyerah. Hingga sampai ke rumah keenam. Dia telah berkelana jauh mencapai gang Saxon. Nyssa menghembuskan napas panjang menguatkan hatinya meski tangan mungilnya hampir membeku. Ia mengetuk pintu itu tiga kali. Keheningan panjang. Tidak ada jawaban. Nyssa hendak berbalik untuk beranjak. Ketika pintu akhirnya terbuka. Seorang pria tiga puluh tahunan muncul. Seusia ayahnya, Nyssa pikir. "Ya, ada yang bisa dibantu?" Saat itulah ia pertama kali bertemu Jackson tukang dan pengrajin kayu. "Oh, maaf pak. Ayahku sakit..." Kata Nyssa ragu-ragu. "Apa Anda masih punya persediaan lebih untuk kami..? Sekedar untuk makan malam!" Jelas Nyssa buru-buru menambahkan. Jackson pun tersenyum. Pandangannya menyapu isteri dan anak-anaknya sejenak. "Ya, kurasa kami punya sisa dua potong roti dan segelas susu yang cukup?" Isterinya pun mengangguk pengertian.
Dan, sepulangnya di rumah?
"Berani-beraninya kamu!" Dua potong roti kering berserakan, sebotol susu tumpah mengotori lantai. Ayahnya meledak lagi dengan frustasi seperti biasa. "Ayah sudah bilang jangan pernah keluar dari rumah lagi seenaknya. Apalagi berkelana sendirian. Kau mau kematian ibumu menjadi sia-sia?! Kau mau ibumu membenciku karena tidak bisa menjagamu? Menjaga kalian?"
Hening sesaat. "Ayah sudah gagal menjaga ibumu, Nyssa.. tolong jangan membuat ayah mengulang kesalahan lagi.." rutuk Seymour, menghembuskan napas panjang nyaris putus asa. Sebelum menguncinya lagi seharian di dalam rumah keesokan harinya.
Hingga pada suatu senja, ketika ayahnya telah meninggalkan rumah. Seseorang membobol jendelanya secara paksa. Nyssa mendengar Hujaman benda tajam berkali-kali. Jendela itu telah dipasang papan geranit tebal yang diukir dengan sigil-sigil magis tertentu. Tepat di lantainya ada taburan bubuk perak yang disebar membentuk simbol sigil segitiga dengan garis zig-zag menembus kedua pangkal segitiga di tengahnya. Sigil api. Jebakan ini jelas dimaksudkan untuk membakar hangus makhluk malam yang berani masuk di tempat. Ayahnya melakukan hal sama untuk setiap jendela di rumah mereka. Tapi ini masih akhir siang. Matahari bahkan baru tergelincir sedikit. Jadi, Nyssa tidak berpikir vampirlah yang menerobos kali ini.
Nyssa mundur selangkah saat sebuah lubang dari retakan kecil mulai tercipta di jendela. Pikirannya penasaran, ingin mengetahui siapa yang berani membobol rumahnya. Namun, instingnya memerintahkan kakinya untuk mulai berlari dan bersembunyi.
"Nyssa!" Nyssa berhenti di tengah pelariannya dan menoleh ke sumber suara. Itu pamannya Alextaf. Seorang laki-laki muda bersemangat dan tampan, dengan tahi lalat kecil di bawah pelipis mata kananya. Pikir Nyssa kala itu. Sehingga Nyssa pun penasaran akan secantik apakah bibinya nanti kalau pamannya menikah. Bermata biru dan berambut gelap. "Ayo keluar sebentar." Rutuk pamannya, masuk melompati jendela. Ajakan pamannya pun langsung diterima dengan suka cita oleh Nyssa.
Pelabuhan Saxon adalah ledakan warna dan suara. Dari Rumah Nyssa mereka mengendarai kuda. Udara asin bercampur bau ikan, bir hangat, dan asap kayu. Musik mengalun dari biola kasar dan seruling kayu. Genderang dipukul dengan ritme sederhana namun menghentak. Nyssa kecil duduk di depan pamannya. Dinaungi oleh dada bidangnya.
"Parkir kuda di sebelah sini hanya dua thaler perjam!" Seorang pria tua botak mata tajam penuh perhitungan, gigi emas menuntun dan mengarahkan mereka dengan lambaian topinya. Mereka turun mengikat kuda mereka sebelum beranjak.
Di tengah alun-alun, para penari berputar. Laki-laki mengenakan rompi wol gelap dan celana lutut, sepatu kulit mereka menghentak tanah. Perempuan mengenakan gaun sederhana dengan apron, rok mereka terangkat sedikit saat berputar. Tarian itu hidup. Nyssa kecil tertawa, suaranya tenggelam dalam sorak penonton. Matanya mengikuti penari yang saling berpegangan tangan, berputar, lalu berpisah. Seorang badut jalanan melempar apel ke udara. Seorang pemusik menyanyikan kisah ophelia. Untuk sesaat, dunia terasa aman. Destinasi terakhir mereka sebelum beranjak pergi, mereka habiskan di kedai bir dan daging asap dekat pelabuhan.
"Bagaimana kabar ayahmu Nyssa?" Tanya pamannya sembari menunggu pesanan mereka. "Kondisinya sudah membaik..." Jeda. "Setidaknya ia sudah bangun dari tidurnya sore ini.. lagi pula musim dingin telah usai jadi kuharap ayah akan baik-baik saja.." kedua tangan kecilnya mengepal di sisi meja. "Aku tak mengerti paman.. ia sangat mudah meledak-ledak. Seperti kesetanan menatapku. Pulang larut malam dengan arak-arak semakin menggunung."
"Dia berduka Nyssa, sangat dalam.." keheningan menebal di antara mereka. "Sampai menggerogoti dirinya sendiri.." gumam pamannya hampir tak terdengar. "Kau sangat mirip ibumu.." pamannya tertawa getir.
Ya, tentu saja. Nyssa kecil tahu itu. Dan mungkin itulah sebabnya ayahnya sangat membencinya. Ia adalah pengingat dan kenangan atas luka ayahnya.
"Apapun yang terjadi Nyssa.." pamannya menghembuskan napas panjang. Dia menegakkan pundak keponakannya. Mensejajarkan wajahnya dengan Nyssa. " Kau tetap satu-satunya keluarga yang ia miliki. Dia tak membencimu... Dia hanya..." Hening sejenak. "Terluka. Dan melampiaskannya padamu." Jadi.. rawatlah si tua itu. Mengerti?" Dan ya, itu memang kenyataan. Dan Nyssa tidak bisa melarikan diri begitu saja. Jadi tak ada yang patut dilakukannya kecuali mengangguk. Berlatih menjadi orang dewasa bahkan sebelum waktunya.
Malam itu empat tahun setelah kematian ibunya. Nyssa berusia empat belas tahun. Ia berpesan kepada ayahnya sebelum ia pergi dan kembali mengurungnya di dalam rumah. "Malam ini, pulanglah untuk makan malam." Ayahnya hanya menatap putrinya lama sebelum berbalik. "Ayah..." Nama itu terasa getir dan asing. "Kumohon..sekali saja." ayahnya tidak menjawab, tapi bahunya mengendur sedikit sebelum beranjak mengunci pintu.
Malam itu ia mempersiapkan makan malam. Susu, buah-buahan, dan daging asap. Dan ya, beberapa lembar daun sirih pereda demam. Untuk berjaga-jaga. Berharap hal ini mampu melembutkan dan meyakinkan ayahnya bahwa beberapa hal masih tetap sama, bahkan setelah kematian ibunya. Malam itu ia menunggu ayahnya dengan hati berdebar. Dan begitu ia melihat ayahnya dengan langkah hampir gontai dari kejauhan ia terlonjak dari kursinya. Hari itu entah mengapa ayahnya terlihat terluka untuk kesekian kalinya. Tubuhnya yang tangkas terlihat laksana gubuk reyot yang bisa ambruk kapan saja. Tatapannya menyapu meja makan sebelum kemudian mendarat ke Nyssa.
"Apa-apaan semua ini?! Apa kau sengaja kabur dan mencuri?!" Teriak ayahnya. Matanya mulai berkaca-kaca. Dibalik auman amarahnya.
"Tidak ayah... Paman Alextaf menemuiku lagi.."
"Lagi?" Ayahnya mengerang kesakitan mencengkram kepalanya seolah berusaha tetap waras. Nyssa remaja cepat-cepat menuntun ayahnya untuk duduk dan tenang, mengambilkannya segelas air. Tapi ayahnya langsung menghempaskan gelas itu. "Ayah!"
"Kita mati bersama-sama Nyssa. Aku tak sanggup lagi. " Rintih ayahnya putus asa. Sebelum akhirnya beranjak mencengkram tubuh Nyssa begitu erat sehingga menyakitkan. Menatapnya dengan tatapan begitu asing yang sinis, penuh kegilaan? "Kau tahu Nyssa, Sir Madeflare tewas di tengah perburuan demi melindungi ayah? Dan mengapa ia perlu melindungi ayah? Karena ayah memiliki putri cantik yang sangat dicintai sang abadi dan ayah masih perlu melindunginya dan jantung kecilnya!" Ayahnya nyaris menggeram kali ini. Luka-luka lama dibendung amarahnya seolah meledak ke permukaan. Suaranya putus-putus seolah tubuhnya dicabik-cabik delapan pedang tak kasat mata. "P-pikirkan baik-baik Nyssa kalau kita mati, tak ada lagi pelarian dari vampir, tak ada lagi yang perlu mati berkorban dan kita bisa bersatu lagi dengan ibumu seperti dulu.. sampai kapan kita egois dengan hidup kita yang singkat ini.." suaranya bergetar serat akan keputusasaan.
Nyssa terkulai lemas. Seolah energi tubuhnya terkuras. air mata putus asa mengalir deras dari pangkal matanya yang membengkak. Bahkan terasa begitu asin di lidahnya sendiri. "Tidak ayah, kumohon aku ingin hidup.." suaranya nyaris tertahan.
"Sebentar saja.. percayalah ini tidak akan sakit.." ayahnya mulai menghunuskan belatinya tinggi-tinggi, selagi mengapit tubuh mungilnya ke dinding. Menargetkan jantungnya. Namun di saat itulah segalanya berbalik secepat kilat. Mata pisau menembus udara, menggores leher ayahnya tepat di nadi. Pupil ayahnya melebar. Memekik. Nyssa menjerit-jerit histeris. Darah segar menyemprot dan mengalir dari luka yang terbuka. Sejurus sebelum ayahnya ambruk. Masih menatap Nyssa terkejut, dengan mata terbuka namun tak lagi melihat. Tangan Nyssa bergetar menggerayangi tubuh pucat mati ayahnya. Tubuhnya sendiri melemas seakan urat-urat dicopot satu per satu dari dagingnya bagaikan senar-senar biola yang sumbang. Di Saat itulah ia melihat pamannya Alextaf.
"TIDAAAAAAAAK!" teriak Nyssa marah dan terguncang. Ia melarikan diri ke kandang kuda. Berharap bisa melarikan diri dari kenyataan. Menatap pamannya bagaikan binatang buas yang tak mau melepaskan mangsanya, Nyssa terus berlari, ia tak sanggup lagi menatap mata pamannya semenjak tragedi berdarah itu.
Angin malam menyeruak. Dingin, tak berperasaan. Berkelebat dan mengguncang jilatan obor. Percikan esnya mendesis kala menyentuh api.
"Hei.." panggil pamannya lembut. duduk di sisinya. Nyssa meringkuk di sudut kandang membenamkan kepalanya semakin dalam di antara kedua lututnya. Frustasi dan kecewa. Laksana dunianya yang abu-abu telah berubah menjadi kehampaan sepenuhnya sekarang. Rambut kemerahan dan gaun merah muda pucatnya berkelebat lembut diterpa sang angin. Seolah mereka menarik serta semua kepolosannya pada hari itu. Tergantikan oleh kenyataan yang dingin dan getir.
"Paman tahu kau terguncang.." keheningan lama menggerayangi sejalan penjara keterasingan tak kasat mata terbentuk memisahkan mereka. "Dan kau membenci paman.." kaki pucat Nyssa berkedut meskipun angin musim dingin membekukannya. Nyssa tidak menjawab atau menanggapi. Tidak, saat setiap syaraf di kepalanya serasa serat kusut yang dipaksa dipintal. "tapi pak tua itu sudah lama mati... bersama ibumu." Kedua kaki pucat Nyssa menegang sekarang.
"Kenapa tidak aku saja..?" Suaranya parau seakan memaksa memuntahkan belasan pasak yang tertancap di kerongkongan. " Sejak awal...kenapa tidak aku saja yang mati..?" Nyssa akhirnya menatap pamannya dengan mata sembap dan putus asa. Dirinya kini terlihat seperti roh pucat yang baru saja meninggalkan jasadnya. "Kenapa harus seseorang yang mati demi aku..?" Tanyanya lebih kepada dirinya sendiri. Meskipun berusaha menatap pamannya lekat-lekat. Bibir pucatnya gemetar. Ingin menertawakan dirinya sendiri atas kesengsaraan yang perlahan tapi pasti, menghisap kewarasannya layaknya rawa, menenggelamkannya ke dasar kegelapan batin.
Nyssa remaja tertawa kering, dan tajam. Nyaris seperti kerasukan. Membuat siapapun wajah yang menatapnya sepucat hantu. "Kenapa kalian tidak membakar jantungku saja?!" Teriak Nyssa melengking dan mulai tak terkendali. Pamannya pun langsung mencengkram tubuhnya erat-erat. Sehingga hampir menyakitkan. Mengoyakkan tubuh ringkihnya seolah itu mampu mengembalikan kewarasannya. "Sadarlah Nyssaaaa!" Teriak pamannya. Geramannya terdengar putus asa sekarang. "Kalau kau mati semua pengorbanan mereka akan sia-sia.. kematian ibumu, ayahmu, tanganku yang berdarah dan semua orang akan sia-sia.." jika kau terbunuh begitu saja tanpa perlawanan.. kau punya dua pilihan. Jantungmu dimanfaatkan dan dunia hancur oleh makhluk malam dan imoralitas.. atau.. jantungmu menitis..dan mereka juga akan terus memburu dan membunuh orang lain".
"Jadi.. kau memang tak punya pilihan lain selain bertahan hidup.. sayangnya. selama mungkin." Pamannya menatapnya tajam kali ini. Dentang lonceng menembus udara mengerang nyaring. Senyaring kebenaran.
Pamannya merogoh sesuatu di antara lipatan bandana biru ayahnya, yang kini melingkari dahi lebarnya. Pin logam berkarat berbentuk perisai dengan lambang lingkaran geometris dan gagak perak ditengahnya terukir tegas. Lambang kaum pencerita terpampang. Sebelum pamannya menekannya ke telapak tangan Nyssa. Seakan-akan itu nubuat yang telah diwariskan.
"Carilah para pencerita Nyssa. Belajarlah. Dan hiduplah.."
Segerombolan gagak berpisah, berterbangan tak tentu arah di atas menara-menara gereja. Seolah terusik oleh sesuatu. Banyak cerita yang berbisik.. bahwa gagak itu adalah peliharaan dan pelayan penyihir, jikalau kelelawar kepunyaan vampir. Dan di saat itulah Nyssa sadar, bahwa ia tak pernah sendirian. Ia selalu diawasi. Entah untuk dilindungi ataupun dihabisi kali ini? Semua belumlah pasti. Bahkan sejak nafasnya pertama kali berhembus ke dunia.
Bersambung.. cerita akan di update sekitar 14 Maret-21 Maret 2026.
English Translation Version:
"There's no fears could swallowed me, only more presistent." ~Phonyssa.
Wallachia, Moving Castle (Dracula’s Castle), 1631, a week ago
Nyssa always did this. Almost every night.
The castle’s core chamber had begun to feel like the carcass of a colossal beast. The giant cogwheels stood still, frozen in unnatural positions some tilted, some locked into each other as if the machine had died mid-scream. Cracks crawled along the iron shafts, scars left by Sypha’s magic when the castle had been forced to relocate without coordinates. There was no hum. No rhythm. Only a silence so ghostly it rang in the ears.
That was precisely what made it dangerous. Nyssa stood at the edge of a collapsed platform. The official walkway had long since fallen apart. To reach the western side of the chamber, there was only one way: crossing the massive gears motionless, unstable, capable of shifting at any moment.
She tested her first step. The ancient metal groaned softly. Nyssa did not leap recklessly. She moved slowly but deliberately, from one tooth to another, keeping her center of gravity steady. Some gears tilted under her weight just enough to send her slipping if she panicked. At one point, a wheel slid half an inch, forcing her into a short jump toward the nearest shaft. She grabbed the cold metal edge, fingers already going numb. Altough She had done this nearly a hundred times over the past few months.
Nothing here would kill her on its own. Only human error. From the shaft, she rose and jumped again, hurling herself toward a hanging chain suspended from a protruding gear above. She swung once, then released, landing on the western platform in a controlled roll. Her knees hit the floor. Her breath caught. Fine dust rose residual alchemical ash never cleaned since the collapse.
The narrow passage awaited her. Total darkness.
Nyssa raised her hand. A small spark flared at her fingertips not as an attack, merely a reminder that she still had control. The light revealed a shift in the walls: from mechanical metal to rough stone. Dracula’s alchemical sigils vanished, replaced by simple, functional carvings.
Belmont.
The corridor sloped downward, the air growing drier, calmer. She emerged onto a balcony overlooking a library drowned in darkness. Towering shelves loomed like silent sentinels. No light. No thick dust. This room was not dead. It was sleeping.
Nyssa moved to the corner she had anticipated from the start. The spark still burned faintly at her fingers.
The power box.
Not part of the teleportation engine, but a post-war addition simple technology Alucard had installed to light select rooms without activating the castle’s core. She narrowed her eyes, opened the panel, checked the wiring. All still intact. Then she pulled the lever. Electricity flowed with a low hum, isolated from the dead teleport system. Lamps flickered on one by one, their dim yellow glow sweeping across bookshelves, worktables, and iron chests sealed with the Belmont crest.
The library awakened.
The stone corridor smelled damp and metallican odor that clung to the tongue, like licking an ancient coin pulled from the earth. Nyssa stopped not because she heard something, but because she heard nothing at all. No rats. No dripping water. Not even the echo of her own footsteps. That kind of silence was not a blessing.
It was a warning. Either the rats were hiding in terror from a greater predator…or their dried corpses lay tucked away, drained of every drop of blood?
The skin at the nape of her neck prickled not from cold, but from pressure, like invisible fingers measuring the distance between artery and fangs. She let her shoulders drop, keeping her breath steady. She felt faint steps through the vibrations in her bones. One. Two. Three. Four.
Nyssa tapped her knuckles lightly against the metal railing, counting.
She did not turn around. She didn’t need to. The scent of old blood seeped in not sharp, but sweet and rotting. Her tongue caught a bitterness she had never tasted before. Her body recognized it before her mind could name it.
She opened the leather pouch at her waist. The metal clasp whispered softly. Her fingers touched coarse wormwood powder dry, bitter, pungent enough to make her sinuses throb. The scent always summoned her mother’s memory: a wooden table, a stone mortar, trembling hands that never hesitated.
She crushed valerian root slowly.
Crack.
The sound felt far too loud inside her head.
They waited. The creatures did not move.
Dry sea salt fell into the mixture, hissing softly like held breath. Ashwood leaves smoldered, pale smoke rising burnt, bitterheated with sulfur and fire in the pan. Nyssa rubbed it onto her wrists, her neck, beneath her jaw. Her skin went cold, then hot, then numb.
She straightened. Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath. Her jaw ached from clenching.
She did not hunt. She never did. Her goal was not victory.
Her goal was survival long enough to complete the mission. The mission had a name: Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes. She thought of the distance Alucard maintained cold, measured, controlled. The distance of someone who had once opened himself, and been destroyed. Nyssa did not resent it. She understood it.
She lived within that same distance.
But her heart her heart was not negotiable. Because that meant she had to stay alive. Save herself first. Only then could she save anyone else.
She descended the steel stairs into the repository. Each step rang metal striking metal echoing upward and downward, as if mocking her caution. Her hand brushed the cold, damp stone wall. A thin layer of moss slicked her palm.
The repository swallowed her with its cold air and the scent of ancient dust. Here, knowledge did not attempt to save anyone. It only waited to be found. Nyssa opened the vampire research archives. Jaw diagrams. Notes on glands. Angry scrawls written by hands that had died before finishing their sentences.
Vampiric saliva.
She read slowly, lips nearly touching the page. A mild aphrodisiac. The body softened before the mind could resist.
A hypnotic binder. Suggestion entered like thread, forcibly stitching the will of the night creature into the victim’s mind.
A lingering scent marker. A trace and an invitation for other creatures of the dark.
Nyssa closed the book carefully, as though the sound itself might summon something. Her chest felt tight. She pressed two fingers to her wrist, counting the pulse. Unsteady. that was why she experimented. Relentlessly. Despite repeated failures.
***
Night always felt different in Alucard’s chamber quieter, heavier, as if the air clung directly to pale skin. The coffin stood at the center of the room, its wood pitch-black, carvings fine as frozen prayers.
Nyssa had been doing this for weeks. Every night, she prepared tea according to a schedule, mimicking a habit her mentor had kept after hunts or long days refining his swordsmanship. But this was no ordinary tea.
It was a sleeping draught.
And when the room fell completely still Nyssa lifted the lid slowly. Moonlight spilled across her mentor’s face. His skin was pale, nearly translucent. Blond hair caught silver highlights. Long lashes cast faint shadows beneath closed golden eyes. An appearance that was almost deceptive. Almost angelic. Marked by baptism. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
Nyssa swallowed.
The scent of a vampire cold, metallic, and something else that made her heart race filled her lungs. She ignited a small flame at her fingertip. The orange glow reflected off the coffin wood.
The heat licked Alucard’s skin, coaxing sweat to bead as Nyssa cupped his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. This time, her voice barely existed.
She collected the sweat with a thin cloth. The metallic scent mingled with something deeper something that made her stomach tighten. His scent.
In his sleep, Alucard frowned. Half-conscious, he stirred, as if sensing heat, as if sensing someone too close.
“M-mother…?”
His voice was hoarse. Thin. Almost gone. The crease between his brows fragile, painfully human.
“I’m here,” Nyssa answered quickly, awkwardly. Her hand stilled, then shifted to stroke his hair, soothing him. The tension beneath her touch eased. A single tear slid from the corner of his closed eye.
***
She tasted the sample just a fraction. The sensation came like an unwanted touch. Warm. Pressing. The world felt too close. Immediately, she swallowed the neutralizing draught. Bitter. Burning. Grounding.
Her heartbeat slowed. Muscles regained their edge. The fog lifted from her thoughts. The twelfth success.
Nyssa closed her eyes. A thin, exhausted smile curved her lips
***
Alextaf perched in one of the trees near Dracula’s castle. Dark-haired. Blue-eyed. His gaze narrowed, sharp as a hawk’s before the dive. He leapt, climbed the ruins of a nearby pavilion roof, then slipped through a cracked opening, following Nyssa into the castle’s core like an unseen guardian.
She was his beloved niece. His brother Seymour Hoff Belmont had been her father. Though the name had since been reduced to simply Seymour Hoff, stripped of its legacy. A man with brown hair. Ash-gray almond eyes. A firm jaw. Unyielding dedication. His compact musculature was the product of relentless training since childhood.
Third-generation heir of the Belmont line. His father: Simon Belmont. The Well-known.
His grandfather: the legendary Trevor Belmont. A student of Alucard himself.
And yet his feet would never again tread Belmont ground after that day. Alextaf remembered it clearly.
Simon Belmont’s gray gaze cold, narrowed, calculating fixed on his son. He rose from his chair, approached until only an inch separated them. Then his hand reached out. Not in affection. He seid the whip from his son’s belt and snapped it across Seymour’s knee, forcing him to kneel. In one fluid motion, Simon moved behind him and slashed the Belmont crest from Seymour’s leather vest cutting flesh, carving blood with his own blade. Seymour groaned. Blood splattered across the floor. Simon left without another word.
A Belmont may never wound his own heirunless that heir had been freed from the burden of expectation and blood. Unless he was no longer one of them. Only a stranger. Ready to be forgotten.
His older cousin accepted the verdict without flinching—no trembling knees, no bowed shoulders. From the day of that decree, he stood upright.
Alextaf, The younger cousin? He panicked. He hurried after him, pleading with his uncle to reconsider striking his own son from the family lineage. But Simon Belmont was a cold, unyielding man when his laws and convictions—especially as a father—were transgressed. Seymour was no different. He never once turned his head back—neither to the past, nor to the place, nor to the gazes and hands he had once called family. The two of them were alike—uncannily so. And thus Alextaf could do nothing but watch his brother’s back from that day onward.
At first, it did not seem like ruin.
Alextaf kept his vigil from afar. In a modest wooden cottage, his older cousin lived with his wife, Zyzian—the woman he loved beyond measure. There were rumors, of course: that she was of Chaldean descent, from the ancient lands of the Tigris in Babylon—of a sorcerous bloodline long entangled in cycles of betrayal and feud with the Arthurian line. Merlin’s line. A lineage of magic said to pulse within Belmont veins.
That was why his uncle despised her. He would not allow even a whisper of scandal to stain the Belmont name in the eyes of both Church and nobility.
And what Alextaf glimpsed through flickering candlelight shadows each night was at once sacred and faintly embarrassing: unburdened laughter, lovers entwined, breathless sighs and soft moans. Until, one midnight at the height of winter, a newborn’s cry pierced the air from that little house.
His beloved niece had been born.
A swarm of bats encircled the cottage, forming a black mass like a clawed hand of darkness hovering above, shielding the house from the snowstorm. They waited. Patiently.
In that moment, realization lashed through Alextaf like a Helsing whip, as though his ancestors’ voices sliced through his veins. The century-old prophecy of Sypha Belnades had not been myth.
Alextaf forced his way through the raging snow. Above him, the Carpathian bats held formation—calm, unmoving. They did not attack. They waited. Solemnly. Reverently.
His heavy cloak and boots sagged under the weight of snow. With a swift twist of his hand, he snapped the lock and wooden hinges and stormed inside.
The hearth roared. A sigil in the shape of a solar disc glowed, casting gentle flames around the birthing bed. Dozens of candles floated midair, illuminating the chamber.
“You came?”
It was the first time since their estrangement that Seymour looked at him with softness. He embraced him. Alextaf froze—then returned the embrace, allowing warmth to seep into his frozen limbs.
“I knew you wouldn’t forget us.” Seymour smiled faintly, one hand resting on Alextaf’s shoulder as if welcoming him home.
“So it’s true…?” Alextaf asked, stunned despite his effort at composure. His gaze drifted across the room before settling on Zyzian—her ginger-red hair damp with sweat, breath still unsteady from childbirth, yet smiling at the uninvited guest. Beside her lay the infant. Eyes closed. Pale skin. A small body swaddled in layered wool.
Alextaf approached slowly, trembling, before kneeling at the bedside and brushing the baby’s cheek.
“Phonyssa. Your niece,” Seymour said softly, kneeling beside him and lifting the tiny child. The sternness Alextaf once knew had dissolved. In its place stood a father.
“My lovely daughter.” Seymour kissed Nyssa’s brow before placing her carefully into Alextaf’s arms.
He held her awkwardly, hands shaking, until Seymour guided her gently against his shoulder. She stirred and yawned. The wool slipped back, revealing thick ginger hair like her mother’s.
In that instant, the instinct to protect her etched itself into Alextaf’s blood.
Love creates rainbows. It fills voids. It animates life. Nyssa grew into a lively, brilliant girl beneath her parents’ affection.
But Alextaf forgot one truth: love is a double-edged sword. It grants life—and it destroys.
***
Nyssa collapsed to the floor—not from her potion, but from emotion long restrained. Relief, ambition, exhaustion, rage at the burdens fate had lashed onto her shoulders—all detonated at once. Tears welled. Her chest heaved. She clenched her jaw so hard a tooth cracked, suppressing any cry. She knew she was being watched.
The tides of memory returned.
***
Brașov, 1620, Romania.
Nyssa remembered.
Candle flames trembled in the winter draft. It will always be a peaceful night as usual, Nyssa tought. Ten years old, she sat on her mother’s lap, red hair damp from bathing. Her mother combed and dried it with gentle fire.
“Come here, give me your hands, my love.”
Her mother extended both palms toward Nyssa, fingers slender, warm with a faint ember-glow beneath the skin. “I want to teach you something. Place your palms against mine.” Little Nyssa obeyed at once, curiosity shining openly in her wide eyes. Her small hands pressed against her mother’s. The contact felt strange—like touching something both flesh and flame at once.
“If you wish to summon fire as I do,” her mother continued gently, lowering her voice into something almost reverent, “you must learn to feel them. Their presence. Their call. In every room you enter. In every corner, every corridor, every place your feet tread.”
A shiver ran up Nyssa’s spine. The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose as if brushed by invisible sparks. And then she felt it. Not with her eyes—but with something deeper.
There—embers whispering in the hearth.
There—faint heat clinging to the shadowed corners of her chamber.
There—the restless flicker of oil lamps in her father’s armory corridor.
There—the torchlight breathing in the stable beyond the yard.
It was as though countless tiny flames were alive, aware—aware of her. Calling her.
“Focus your mind,” her mother instructed softly. “Feel the shifts in temperature. The movement of air around you. Enlil—the sacred breath of wind—is our ally. Air feeds flame. They are never enemies.”
Nyssa swallowed, heart pounding.
“Follow me now,” her mother whispered. “Close your eyes. Welcome their call.”
Nyssa obeyed. She shut her eyes tightly and steadied her breathing. It began as a spark beneath her ribs. A simmering pulse. Her blood seemed to thicken, then boil, racing faster through her veins. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing loudly in her ears. The air around her hands felt heavier—charged.
And then—For the first time in her life—Fire answered her.
A thin thread of light flickered between her fingers. Then another. Sparks crawled along her knuckles like living creatures tasting freedom. Nyssa gasped, eyes flying open as the flames shimmered from her own skin.
A breathless laugh burst from her chest. Awe turned into delighted shrieks. The fire did not burn her—it danced with her. Her mother’s blue eyes glowed brilliantly, reflecting the newborn flames. The pupils mirrored the licking tongues of fire as though she, too, were made of light.
“Well done!” her mother praised, pride softening her voice. For a fleeting moment, the world felt whole. Safe. Sacred.
And then—Without warning. Without invitation. It arrived. The warmth shattered. The laughter died as if swallowed whole by a storm of grief. The door burst inward with violent force. Wind howled through the chamber, A tall figure stepped through the splintered threshold, moving with unnatural speed. His black cloak snapped behind him like torn wings. Silver-blond hair fell past his shoulders—luminous, almost angelic beneath the candlelight. A baptismal mark adorned his skin, a mockery of holiness. Sanctified in symbol. Corrupted in essence.
“Who are you?!” her mother demanded, voice sharp as steel. There was no tremor. No fear. Instinctively, she stepped forward, shielding Nyssa behind her body.
But Nyssa did not need to be told. She knew. The scent struck her first—cold iron and something sweetly rotten beneath it. A predator’s perfume. Vampire. His green pupils narrowed, serpentine and calculating.
“You need not know my name,” he replied smoothly. His voice was low—silken and lethal. “I came only to hear the intoxicating rhythm of your daughter’s tiny heart.” His lips curved into a cruel smile, revealing a flash of gold among his fangs. “And perhaps… to become your angel of death?”
The room seemed to shrink around them. The air thickened. Fire crackled uncertainly at Nyssa’s fingertips—no longer playful, but afraid.
Her mother’s reflexes took over in that very instant. Every sharp object within reach was summoned. A fork, the carving knife from the dining table, the candle blazing at the corner of the window—all shot through the air at once under the silent telekinetic command of her mother’s fingers. Yet the three objects froze as though striking an invisible wall before the vampire. The burning candle halted precisely before his right eye. The fork stopped at the pulse in his throat. The carving knife hung motionless in front of his heart.
Then, a heartbeat later—they reversed.
Fresh blood splattered across the wooden walls of the modest house. Her mother screamed and collapsed. Blood streamed from one eye now blinded, from the corner of her pale lips.
“Run, Nyssa… run…” her mother whispered, looking at her for the last time, lips trembling, despair breaking her voice.
And Nyssa did. With reckless resolve, fear and fury blazing in her chest, she ran to her father’s armory. Her small, fragile body shook, but she did not stop. She slipped inside an almost airtight wooden barrel and hid.
Nearly half an hour later, her uncle Alextaf lifted her trembling body from the cask. They passed her mother’s corpse lying cold upon the floor.
After that, it was her father who fell.
Warm nights turned as cold as the South Pole. Liquor replaced prayer. Tender embraces were replaced by bitter curses. Protection turned into imprisonment. Little Nyssa was often locked in her room, listening to heavy footsteps beyond the door, counting time by the beat of her own heart.
Her father began returning home late at night. By morning, dozens of bottles would already crowd the table. He slept from dawn until dusk, then left again from evening until midnight. One day he slept the entire afternoon in the chair of the sitting room, unmoving, unresponsive. Anxious, Nyssa pulled the sour-smelling blanket from his face. Her small trembling hand pressed against his damp forehead, creased deeply so that he looked ten years older than he had before. Fever.
She hurried to the washroom, filled a pot with water, and heated it with the press of her palm. She took a small cloth, dipped and wrung it out, then returned to the chair and pressed it to his father brow. He kept murmuring her mother’s name in his sleep. The sight tore her heart apart.
So when evening came, she dared to leave the house. She left him alone and walked three miles to the nearest neighbor. Small boot prints marked the thick snow behind her. She knocked three times before the door opened.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. My father is ill. Do you have any extra provisions for us?”
“Oh… forgive us, child. But winter is still long, and we… are nearly out ourselves.” The gray-haired old woman shrugged.
And so it went. But Nyssa did not give up. By the sixth house she had reached Saxon Lane. She drew a steadying breath, though her tiny hands were nearly frozen, and knocked three times.
A long Silence. She turned to leave—when the door finally opened. A man in his thirties appeared. About her father’s age, she thought.
“Yes? Can I help you?” That was the first time she met Jackson, the carpenter and wood craftsman.
“Oh—sorry, sir. My father is sick…” she said hesitantly. “Do you perhaps have any spare provisions?"
"Just enough for supper!” she added quickly.
Jackson smiled, glancing briefly at his wife and children. “Yes, I believe we have two pieces of bread and a glass of milk to spare.”
His wife nodded in quiet agreement. And when she returned home? “How dare you!” The two dry pieces of bread lay scattered. The bottle of milk had spilled across the floor. Her father exploded again in his usual frustration.
“I told you never to leave this house on your own! Wandering alone—do you want your mother’s death to be in vain? Do you want her to hate me because I failed to protect you? To protect you both?” Silence fell.
“I failed to protect your mother, Nyssa… please don’t make me repeat that mistake.” Seymour muttered, breath ragged with despair. The next day, he locked her inside again.
Until one late afternoon, after her father had left, someone forced the window open. Nyssa heard repeated blows of a sharp object striking wood. The window had been reinforced with thick granite boards carved with protective sigils. On the floor lay a scattering of silver powder arranged in a triangular sigil, a zigzag line cutting through its center—fire magic. A trap meant to incinerate any creature of the night bold enough to enter. Her father had prepared every window the same way.
But the sun had barely dipped. It was still late afternoon. Nyssa did not think it was a vampire this time.
She stepped back as cracks began to splinter across the wood. Curiosity urged her to see who dared break into their house—but instinct commanded her to run and hide.
“Nyssa!”
She froze mid-step and turned toward the voice. It was her uncle Alextaf—a spirited, handsome young man with a small mole beneath his right temple. Blue-eyed, dark-haired. She had once wondered how beautiful her future aunt would be when he married. “Come outside for a while,” he called, vaulting through the window. Nyssa accepted the invitation with immediate joy.
Saxon Harbor was an explosion of color and sound. They rode there on horseback. Salty air mingled with the scent of fish, warm ale, and woodsmoke. Rough violins and wooden flutes played lively tunes. Drums beat simple but driving rhythms. Nyssa sat in front of her uncle, sheltered by his broad chest. “Horse parking here—two thalers an hour!” a bald old man with sharp calculating eyes and a gold tooth called out, tipping his hat as he directed them.
In the square, dancers spun in circles. Men wore dark wool vests and knee-length trousers, leather shoes striking the earth. Women in simple dresses and aprons lifted their skirts slightly as they twirled. The dance were alived. Her eyes followed the dancers as they clasped hands, spun together, and then parted. Nyssa laughed, her voice swallowed by the crowd’s cheers. A street jester tossed apples into the air. A musician sang the tale of Ophelia. For a moment, the world felt safe. Their final stop before leaving was a tavern near the harbor, heavy with the scent of ale and smoked meat.
“How is your father, Nyssa?” her uncle asked as they waited for their order.
“He’s improving… at least he woke this afternoon. And winter is over, so I hope he’ll be all right.” Her small fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t understand, Uncle… he’s so quick to anger. He looks at me like he’s possessed. He comes home late with more and more drink.”
“He is grieving, Nyssa. Deeply.” Silence thickened between them. “...So deeply it devours him.”
“You look very much like your mother,” he added with a bitter laugh.
Of course she knew that. And perhaps that was why her father hated her—she was the living reminder of his wound. “Whatever happens, Nyssa…” her uncle straightened her shoulders and leveled his gaze with hers. “You are the only family he has left. He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… wounded. And he takes it out on you. So take care of the old man. Do you understand?” She nodded. What else could she do? She was learning to be an adult long before her time.
Four years after her mother’s death, Nyssa was fourteen. One night she called after her father before he left and locked her inside once more. “Come home for dinner tonight.” He looked at her for a long moment before turning away. “Father…” The word felt foreign and bitter. “Please… just once.” He gave no answer, but his shoulders slackened slightly before he locked the door.
That night she prepared supper—milk, fruit, smoked meat. And a few fever-reducing betel leaves, just in case. She hoped it might soften him, remind him that some things still remained unchanged even after her mother’s death. She waited with a pounding heart. When she finally saw him in the distance, walking unsteadily toward the house, she sprang from her chair. For some reason he looked wounded again that night. His once agile body seemed like a crumbling shack ready to collapse.
His gaze swept across the dining table—then settled on Nyssa. “What is all this?! Did you deliberately run away and steal?!” her father shouted. His eyes had begun to glisten beneath the roar of his anger.
“No, Father… Uncle Alextaf came to see me again…”
“Again?” Her father groaned in pain, clutching his head as if struggling to remain sane.
Teenage Nyssa quickly guided him to sit down, trying to calm him, fetching a glass of water. But he flung it away at once.
“Father!”
“We’ll die together, Nyssa. I can’t endure this anymore.” His voice broke in despair before he seized her body so tightly it hurt. He stared at her with a look so foreign—cynical, unhinged. “Do you know, Nyssa? Sir Madeflare died during the hunt to protect your father. And why did he need to protect me? Because I have a beautiful daughter dearly loved by the Immortal, and I still had to guard her—and her little heart!”
He was almost snarling now. Old wounds, long dammed, burst through in rage. His voice fractured as if his body were being torn apart by eight invisible swords. “Think carefully, Nyssa—if we die, there will be no more running from vampires. No more sacrifices. We can be reunited with your mother like before… how long must we cling selfishly to this short life?” His voice trembled, threaded with despair.
Nyssa went limp, as though all strength had drained from her body. Tears streamed from her swollen eyes, tasting salt upon her tongue. “No, Father… please. I want to live…” Her voice nearly failed her.
“Just a moment… trust me, it won’t hurt.” He raised his dagger high, pinning her small body against the wall, aiming for her heart. Then everything reversed in a flash.
The blade cut through the air—slicing across her father’s throat, straight through the artery. His pupils widened. He screamed. Nyssa shrieked hysterically. Fresh blood sprayed and poured from the open wound. Moments later, he collapsed. Still staring at her in shock, eyes open—but no longer seeing.
Nyssa’s hands trembled as they touched her father’s lifeless, paling body. Her own limbs weakened as if her tendons were being pulled from her flesh one by one like discordant violin strings. That was when she saw her uncle Alextaf.
“NO!” Nyssa screamed, furious and shattered.
She ran toward the stables, desperate to flee reality itself. She looked at her uncle like a wild animal refusing to release its prey and kept running. Since that bloody tragedy, she could no longer bear to meet his eyes. The night wind surged—cold, indifferent. It lashed against the torch flames, ice hissing as it touched fire.
“Hey…” her uncle called softly, sitting beside her.
Nyssa curled into the corner of the stable, burying her head between her knees—frustrated, devastated. Her gray world had dissolved into complete emptiness. Her reddish hair and pale pink dress fluttered in the wind, as though that day had stripped away every last fragment of her innocence, replacing it with a bitter, frozen truth.
“I know you’re shaken,” her uncle said. A long silence crept between them, an invisible prison of isolation forming. “And you hate me.”
Nyssa’s pale legs twitched despite the winter wind numbing them. She did not answer. Her nerves felt like tangled fibers being forced into a single thread.
“But that old man died long ago… along with your mother.”
Her legs stiffened. “Why wasn’t it me instead?” Her voice was hoarse, as if forcing out a dozen nails lodged in her throat. “From the beginning… why wasn’t it me who died?” She finally looked at him, eyes swollen and hollow. She resembled a pale spirit newly separated from its body.
“Why must someone die for me?” she asked, though the question was more for herself. Her lips trembled. She wanted to laugh at herself—at the misery that slowly but surely was devouring her sanity like a swamp dragging her into its depths. She laughed then—dry and sharp, almost possessed. The sound drained the color from any face that saw her. “Why didn’t you just burn my heart?!” she screamed, her voice shrill and spiraling out of control.
Her uncle grabbed her tightly—almost painfully—shaking her fragile body as if he could force her back to reason. “Wake up, Nyssaaa!” he shouted, desperation breaking through his growl. “If you die, all their sacrifices will be meaningless—your mother’s death, your father’s, my blood on my hands—everyone’s will be for nothing. If you’re killed without resistance, you have only two outcomes. Your heart will be used and the world destroyed by creatures of the night and their immorality… or your heart will awaken, and they will continue hunting and killing others.” So you have no choice but to survive. Unfortunately. For as long as possible.” He looked at her sharply. Church bells rang through the air, loud as truth itself.
He reached into the folds of her father’s blue bandana now tied around his own brow and drew out something. A rusted metal pin shaped like a shield, engraved with a geometric circle and a silver raven at its center—the emblem of the Storytellers. Speakers.
He pressed it into Nyssa’s palm as if sealing a prophecy long foretold. “Find the speakers Nyssa. Learn. And live.”
A flock of ravens scattered above the church towers, breaking apart as though disturbed by something unseen. Many stories whispered that ravens were the servants of witches—just as bats belonged to vampires. And in that moment, Nyssa understood she had never been alone. She had always been watched.
Whether to be protected—or to be destroyed this time? It remained uncertain. Even from the moment her very first breath entered the world.
This Story will be continued and updated at 14 March-21 March 22:00 P.M.
Music Source: Bloody Tears Epic Version-SW Jones Music
