Regret is a powerful thing.

Crippling, painful and suffocating. Difficult to deal with, and capable of smothering the strongest of souls, given the chance. And yet, it can be a motivation, a driving force in the right circumstances.

When paired with the a supernatural existence, thousands of years of knowledge and a will impossible to overcome?

It can do impossible things.

Vlad Dracula Tepes watches his son crumble over the remnants of his body as it burned (like Lisa had been-) into ashes. No longer tied to his living form, able to sense Lisa waiting for him, on the other side of this, Vlad is finally freed from his grief. Finally able to see what he had become, what his son had tried to stop-

(I grieve with you, but I will not let you commit genocide-)

-and Vlad had tried to kill him. To kill his boy. His and Lisa's. The greatest gift she had ever given him and he had-

And then the Belmont heir, and the Speaker Sypha are there, comforting where Vlad cannot, and he is thankful, even as his grief and regret surge at the sight of it. They should not need to comfort his boy- Lisa's son.

Vlad should be there.

Lisa should be there.

None of this should have happened.

Vlad regrets like he has never regretted anything in his long life.

Even as he follows these three who had defeated his mad self, even as he watches the Belmont bow to his son and leave his family home and history in his boy's hands, even as they help his son clean up, and then are called away to the road in order to help the people once again.

Alucard- Adrian who took that name to be the opposite of Dracula- is left alone.

And Vlad watches as his son, his star, his joy finally shatters, finally breaks the way he had not allowed himself while the Speaker and Belmont walked the castle's halls.

Vlad keens with his son as Adrian curls into himself, sitting in Vlad's chair, tears cascading down his cheeks as anguish twists his face. He reaches for him, but Vlad is dead and he cannot touch or comfort the living, and by God, does Vlad regret-

If he had been anywhere else, perhaps what would come to pass would never have happened.

As it was, Vlad stood in the seat of his power, in the halls that had been saturated with his magic, with magic meant to hop through space and time. In a place that he had called home, that he had poured love and joy and intent into its walls. A place that he had lingered-

And so, through a twist of fate, perhaps pure chance, maybe desperation, or a combination of all three, Vlad finds his spirit, gathers it all up, reaches and pulls.

He is helpless to stop it, and he watches the scene in front of him shatter like the shards of his mirror and the darkness overwhelms him.

It takes some time before he is aware again.

Vlad regains himself while among the humans, in the church where Lisa burned, ironically enough. He finds himself ghosting through the streets until he reaches the land where he built a simple wooden house for his wife. It stand empty and he stops and stares.

He's arrived to a time before Lisa came, yet perhaps not long before.

Vlad would have to wait until after night fell to pinpoint his location in time more closely.

He drifts aimlessly through the town, unable to interact with the hundreds of humans. What he can do, however, is wander the halls of the church and use fire to scorch the walls and and his nails to gordge tears in their precious tapestries. He amuses himself with the screaming and the rising hysteria, even as he firmly ignores the empty place his wife burned to death, once upon a time.

He doesn't know how long he stays in that church, leaving fire and tears in his wake, but eventually, he finds himself alone, all the windows and door boarded up, save for the grand entrance.

Vlad's attention returns from his memories, just in time for a gangly boy of perhaps fifteen to be thrown bodily through the door, curses and insults falling from his mouth in a vicious stream.

He catalogues worn and frayed clothes, barely thick enough to keep the chill out, surprisingly sturdy boots and… a familiar weapon tossed in his face, followed up a lump of fur and torn cloth.

To his shock, the person thrown into the church with him, followed by a shout of, 'if you kill it, we'll let you go!' is the very human who fought by his son's side, Trevor of the House of Belmont.

Oh, he's much younger, skinnier and not quite as skilled with that whip of his, but it is undoubtedly him.

Dracula wonders at his surprising fortune, even as he drifts out of the shadows to study the features of the boy, softened by the lingering traces of childhood and just barely verging on adulthood.

Trevor Belmont is alarmingly skinny, with a hoarse voice, bruises, scrapes, cuts and wounds on almost every visible inch of skin he sees.

Dracula inwardly frowns. He isn't entirely unaware of the Belmont's fall from grace, but he doesn't know when exactly such an event happened. However, it is clear that the boy is still struggling with the aftermath of his family's downfall.

He takes a step forward, brushing the edges of the light of the setting sun that shines through the stained glass windows.

Instantly, the boy whirls around, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his whip and his body shifting into some kind of defensive stance.

His gaze jerks up and locks with Dracula's own and the vampire allows surprise to tint his face. He had heard that the Belmonts were tainted with the blood of their kind, but of those who can see the shades of a departed person, there are very few.

He opens his mouth, allowing interest to coat his tone.

"Human, you can see me?"

A somewhat redundant question, but it allows him to open a line of dialogue. Still, the boy reacts somewhat differently then he would expect. Instead of launching an attack, or speaking to him in a biting tone, the boy slowly relaxes his stance and shifts away from the door.

"I can see you," the boy says, gaze lingering over the vague, undefined planes of Vlad's face. "Do- do you need help?"

The vampire stops at that, almost incredulously.

Help? Yes, of course he needs help, but this is a Belmont! Since when do the hunters offer help to an obviously supernatural being?

Still, what is needed is being offered without any prompting on his part, so he allows his features to clarify, ever so slightly. Not the fangs, nor the pointed ears, but his eyes, his cheeks and his mouth. His figure is still shrouded in ash and smoke, so the human cannot see how tall he is really.

For a moment though, Vlad doesn't know what to say. He turns, almost involuntarily towards the space where they- where Lisa-

"They burned my wife here," Dracula says and there is rage in his voice, not so terrible that he burns with it, but hollowly.

He's so very tired. But he can save himself, he just needs to hold on a little longer. There's a chance, this one precious chance to save his beloved wife, and their son.

The boy's breath hitches in his throat and Vlad twists to look at him. His eyes are wide and his hands are shaking, curled into fists, as his shoulders hunch and he looks away.

Ah. That's it then.

He suspects the church was fond of burning things. Why change what works. As it turns out, the Belmont's died in fire and flame, and this one is the only one left, and he's just told him his wife burned in the fire, just as his family did.

Vlad sighs, an unintentional bit of manipulation, but he can already see the understanding and sympathy on the boy's face.

"I need your help, boy, because I can change that," Dracula says, sweeping closer as the rays of the sun drift farther away.

Trevor's head jerks up at he stares, his mouth dropping open, at him and something about the human settles. He steps forward, not close enough to touch, but his hands ease and he tucks his whip by his side.

"She's already dead. You can't change that, no matter how loud you scream or what you promise if God will only bring them back."

The boy's voice is, in turns, sympathetic, gentle and bitter. Understanding their shared pain even though he hates it.

The last light of the day flickers out and with a gesture, Dracula lights the torches lining the walls and allows his form to solidify as much as he is able to.

Belmont flinches backward with a sharp intake of breath, his arms coming up as if to ward off an attack. He stays still for a moment, before he controls his breathing and lowers them. But Vlad can clearly see the mark left on the child, even as fire glints in his eyes and casts shadows over his pale skin and the hollows of his cheeks.

He does not speak, neither does the boy, yet after a moment passes, his chin comes up and he steps forward, stubbornly squaring his too thin shoulders.

"Who are you?"

His voice echoes in the stone halls, but Vlad doesn't do him a disservice of not answering.

"I am Vlad Tepes, Dracula, the Lord of Castlevania. I am from the future, and I am here to prevent the murder of my wife."

Trevor takes a step back, his hand falling to the hilt of his whip and stares in shock at the fangs, the pointed ears and the familiar features of a vampire his mother had once shown him in a book. There is- there was- a portrait of him hanging in father's study.

He stops, at the sight of the vampire's face.

Dracula is made up of- of ashes, of smoke and he smells of embers and wood. His features are distorted, but he can clearly see them and he- the vampire looks…

...sad.

Like when Trevor found a stream to wash the soot from his body and he stare into his reflexion and at the hollow empty look painted across his face and dimming his eyes.

My wife. They burned my wife here.

Trevor swallow harshly, the motion grating against his dry throat.

The vampire isn't moving. He's just staring at him.

"What did I do?"

The words slip from his lips almost on their own. But he straightens up and meets Dracula's gaze. Something like a smile tugs at the vampire's mouth and a hint of fangs poke through.

"You decapitated me, after my son had already shoved a stake through what was left of my heart."

He- he killed Dracula? With Dracula's son?

Trevor takes a shuddering breath and blinks rapidly in the light of the fire as flames flicker against the walls.

"Why would you come to me?"

Dracula's face….softens.

"You were friends with my son. You helped him, when I lead the Armies of Hell to destroy all humans, you fought by his side, and he at yours, along with another. A Speaker. You," the vampire declares with bone-deep certainty, "You will help me save my wife, so that in my grief, I will not spiral into madness not even my son could save me from. You will help me, so that I will not commit genocide upon the human race."

Trevor blinks rapidly.

A Speaker. And Dracula's son. Against the armies of hell and Dracula himself.

Future him's got balls.

He also has no idea what to do. If- if his father- his father were here, he-

Well, his father's dead or this wouldn't be happening, because Trevor would be home. With his-

A practiced breath to stem the tide of grief. The edge of the bottle of alcohol he drank earlier is wearing off. He inhales deeply, fighting back the still instinctive gag at the smell of burning.

"What makes you think I'm going to help you?"

Dracula doesn't answer, because at that very moment, the door shakes under rapid pounding and the silence is broken by angry voices, and Trevor whirls around.

The hair on the back of his neck raises and Trevor barely catches a glimpse of red out of them corner of his vision when a cold hand clamps down over his eyes and pulls him into a solid chest.

"Look at all…"

Trevor scarcely notices as an arm curls around his shoulders and lips brush against his hair, mouthing words his ears cannot hear. His sight is filled with images of a beautiful woman with a fierce spirit and kind eyes. She is fierce and demanding and brave, marching into his domain and demanding he teach her. She is smiling, laughing and leaning closer to tug at a man- at Dracula- and oh, his heart swells as his gaze is filled with her.

She is everything, life, joy and a happiness he never knew he could have and oh, she is his. And she gifts him with a son who is just like her, but Vlad can pick out his features, and he does because they go perfectly with Lisa's eyes, with her blonde hair, with her kindness and compassion and his fire is hers. It is light, brings warmth and nothing like the darkness that still clings to him.

His son is beautiful, made in the image of his wife, innocent from the evil that fades from Vlad's being as the months and the years past in her- in their presence.

Lisa encourages him to travel, to see what the world has become and he does, because he loves her so and she is asking because she loves him so. He goes and always returns and he meets people who are interesting and caught his attention and he is glad of this.

Perhaps, perhaps, things have truly changed.

He returns to Lisa, to find-

Flames, fire, screams of women, of children, of a home that has stood tall and proud for centuries. His brothers, his sisters, his mother, his father, they are all screaming as the church stands and watches, glinting in white, in gold and red and declares this Righteous, in God's Name, amen.

He runs and runs, away, away, gagging on the smell of meat cooking, flesh burning and that is his family. He is so cold, he is tried, everything hurts, he's only thirteen, what is he supposed to do.

He cannot bring himself to start a fire, his hands are shaking too badly.

He cannot bear to cook the meat of the deer he slaughtered. He gives it to a family struggling to feed their children and takes a loaf of bread in return.

It's not enough, it's never enough.

He stuffs himself with berries, mushrooms, vegetables and bread and he's always hungry because he goes out and fights, trains because there is still evil out there, there is still good, and a Belmont protects the helpless and hunts the demons-

He cannot do that if he is weak.

His wife burns on the pyre and he does not make it in time. She is chard flesh and blackened bones when he materializes in that church.

His heart has long since lived outside his chest and there it is, hidden among the logs, the sticks and he cannot recognize what the fire has left behind.

He gives a warning, he doesn't touch a single human, though he burns with the desire to do so, and he leaves, back to Castlevania because life has no meaning, he should just destroy them all.

Dracula strikes down his son, calls his armies, summons the demons and a year later he fulfills his promise.

It is not enough. It never will be.

He lets Adrian kill him. He doesn't lift a hand in defense, not after all he's done to his son, to Lisa's son.

To their greatest creation.

The Belmont cuts his head off, in defense of his son, and he lets that happen too. He stays, he can't not, he stays until Adrian settles himself in his father's favorite chair and breaks down into sobs. His child. He did this.

For Lisa.

"...that I have lost."

Tears slip down Trevor's face as Dracula breaks into ash behind him, leaving stains on his face and his clothes. He sinks to his knees, presses his face to the cold stone floor and weeps.

Trevor escapes the crowd that shoved him into the church, blindly running through the village until he spots a horse. He doesn't hesitate. He swings himself on and digs his heels into its sides, hands fisted in a thick mane.

There's no saddle, but he doesn't care.

He races out of that village and doesn't stop until the moon rises to the high peak and then he abruptly hauls his weight back, forcing his mount to stop.

The stars are easy to read as the night is clear and he's halfway to a realization that he's heading to Dracula's castle when he freaks out.

His father had only taught him which stars came out in which season, and which one would always lead north. Yet, he has to only look up at the sky and know exactly where he is in relation to where Dracula's castle currently sits.

Trevor struggles with all the images in his head, the foreign emotion that wells deeply in his heart and the tears that continue to slide down his cheeks. He can't afford to lose the water but they won't stop.

Luckily the horse doesn't hesitate to casually wander over to a stream and Trevor dismounts to drink his fill and scrub the traces of ash and soot from his face.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but hours for sure. He debates, remembers and finally reaches a decision not long before dusk.

An innocent woman will die, and in revenge for her death, Dracula will raze the Earth. He's the last Belmont. He has a duty. He can prevent this and save people.

Trevor stands, mounts the horse once more and sets off.

Dracula wept for his wife. There was no doubt he loved her, loved their son. He allowed himself to die, he knows that. So he steels himself, even as fear creeps into his heart and screams echo in his ears.

He's a Belmont and he has a duty.

Vlad is home alone, reading through a particularly favored book when someone knocks on his front door. He pauses, considers and then stands up.

The last time someone knocked on his door, it was Lisa. Things turned out very well from that point on, so perhaps this human will provide him with something fascinating as well. Hope for humanity, perhaps?

He ghosts through the shadows, appearing at the steps leading to his entry way and lands quietly in front of the door. Vlad doesn't hesitate to pull it open, his gaze automatically shifting downwards.

Humans are short of statue, afterall.

This one appears to be very short.

Vlad blinks at the conflicting emotions vividly splayed across an expressive face of...a child. Barely reaching halfway up to his chest, it is undoubtedly and unmistakably a child. A particularly thin one at that.

He doesn't get the chance to speak, to question why such a human is here, on his doorstep, as tiny shoulders square and the boy's chin goes up to stare flatly into Dracula's eyes.

"This," the boy half spits in anger, half in some complicated form of anguish, "is your fault, and I am apparently, the only one who can fix your shit."

A moment of bemused silence in which Vlad raises an eyebrow at the travel stained human and quite honestly finds himself at a loss for words.

The boy twitches, like a particularly offended cat.

Yes, that is certainly very interesting.

So naturally, Dracula does the only sensible thing to do, when a vampire finds themselves in this situation.

"Would you care to come in?"