A Home Worth Keeping

by KMorgan10

Summary:

The war is over. The castle stands, not as a fortress, but as something new.

They stay—perhaps out of habit, perhaps for something more. Words remain unspoken, glances linger too long, and the spaces between them grow smaller with each passing day.

Love is a quiet thing, creeping in like sunlight over the hills. None of them say it. But they all know.

Notes:

I just wanted to write something soft for these three because they deserve it. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: A Home Worth Keeping

The morning sun stretched over the rolling hills of Danesti, casting golden light upon the castle that now stood as a sanctuary rather than a fortress of war. It was Alucard who had suggested they stay—not because he longed for the loneliness he had once drowned in, but because, for the first time in his long existence, the thought of sharing his home with others did not fill him with dread.

Trevor, of course, had complained. "I'm not built for castle living," he had grumbled, arms crossed, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips. "Too much space. Not enough beer."

"You're just worried about the stairs," Sypha had retorted with a knowing grin, nudging him playfully.

Now, weeks later, Trevor found himself leaning against a stone wall in the castle courtyard, watching as Sypha practiced her fire magic while Alucard sparred with a group of young villagers eager to learn swordplay.

Alucard moved with that eerie, otherworldly grace of his—fluid as water, deadly as a storm. Even training, he fought as though he were dancing. And Trevor, despite himself, couldn't tear his eyes away.

"You're staring," Sypha said beside him, voice laced with amusement.

Trevor scoffed. "He's a show-off."

"You're blushing."

"I am not," he grumbled, rubbing his stubbled chin.

Sypha leaned against him, warmth pressed against his side. "It’s alright, you know. I stare too."

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. "I love you both. And I know you love him too."

Trevor opened his mouth to argue—out of habit, mostly—but the words never came. Because it was true.

Alucard had become something more than just a battle companion. More than a reluctant ally, more than the half-vampire prince of a cursed lineage. He was theirs, just as they were his.

And that was terrifying.

Love had always been a weapon, something Trevor had wielded with care because losing it was unbearable. But here they were, against all odds, still alive. And wasn’t that worth something?

"You think he knows?" Trevor finally asked.

Sypha chuckled. "Alucard? He’s probably known longer than we have."

As if summoned, Alucard approached, his golden eyes flickering between them. He tilted his head, strands of pale hair falling over his shoulder. "What are you two conspiring about?"

Trevor smirked. "Just discussing how pretty you are, Your Highness."

Alucard sighed, but there was a glimmer of something fond in his expression. "If this is your attempt at flattery, Belmont, it’s rather crude."

Sypha grinned, reaching out to catch Alucard’s wrist and pulling him down between them. He let her, settling beside them with a sigh of contentment.

For a moment, there was only silence, the warmth of bodies pressed together, the distant hum of the village below.

Trevor exhaled, allowing himself to lean into it. Into them.

Maybe, just maybe, this was a home worth keeping.

Chapter 2: Then So Be It

The castle halls were quieter now, filled with voices that no longer spoke of war but of rebuilding. The villagers had settled in well, and though Alucard still struggled with the idea of sharing his father’s castle, it felt… right.

Better, at least, than the ghosts of solitude.

Tonight, the grand hall was alive with warmth—candles flickering in their sconces, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air. Sypha had taken it upon herself to force Trevor and Alucard into something resembling domesticity.

"You both act like you've never had a home before," she had chided earlier, hands on her hips. "We're making this one together, so stop sulking and help."

Trevor had rolled his eyes, but Alucard—ever graceful, ever composed—had simply smirked and complied.

Now, Sypha sat at the long wooden table, twirling a goblet of wine between her fingers as Trevor leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge. Alucard sat across from them, a book open but barely touched.

"You two are ridiculous," Alucard muttered, watching Trevor take a long swig from a tankard.

Trevor smirked. "You sound jealous, Your Highness. Want a drink?"

Alucard raised an eyebrow. "I do not get drunk."

"Not with that attitude."

Sypha snorted into her cup. "Don't encourage him, Alucard, or he'll take it as a challenge."

Trevor grinned, wagging a finger at her. "Everything is a challenge, Sypha."

Alucard sighed, but there was amusement in his golden gaze. He had grown used to their bickering—perhaps even fond of it. It had taken time, but Alucard had begun to understand that this was how Trevor and Sypha loved: with sharp tongues, teasing words, and unwavering loyalty.

"You’re both insufferable," Alucard murmured, shutting his book with a soft thud.

Trevor leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. "But you like us anyway."

Alucard met his gaze. "That, unfortunately, is true."

Trevor faltered for half a second, caught off guard by the honesty in Alucard’s voice. Sypha, perceptive as ever, watched with an unreadable expression before setting down her goblet and stretching her arms.

"You know," she mused, "I was thinking. If we're truly making this a home, perhaps we should celebrate properly."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "What, like a festival?"

"Exactly!" Sypha clapped her hands together, eyes alight with excitement. "A night of music and fire, food and dancing. The villagers would love it. And it would give you two a reason to stop brooding in corners like tragic poets."

Alucard scoffed. "I do not brood."

Trevor grinned. "You absolutely do. You perch on balconies in long dramatic coats. That's peak brooding."

Alucard rolled his eyes, but Sypha was undeterred. "Then it's settled. We'll have a festival in three days. And you both will participate."

Trevor groaned. "Does this involve wearing something uncomfortable?"

Sypha beamed. "Oh, absolutely."

Alucard chuckled, shaking his head. Trevor looked between them, huffing dramatically but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

As much as he claimed to despise these things, as much as he fought against stability, he couldn’t deny that he wanted this.

Wanted them.

And if it took a ridiculous festival to prove it, then so be it.

Chapter 3: Not Afraid

The night of the festival arrived in a blaze of golden fire and laughter. The castle courtyard, usually so still and solemn, was now filled with villagers celebrating beneath the stars. Lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, their soft glow illuminating the stone walls, while music carried through the air—lively and rich, coaxing even the most reluctant souls into motion.

Trevor stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, watching as Sypha twirled effortlessly in the center of the festivities. She was light incarnate, her robes catching the firelight as she spun, her laughter ringing like a bell. The villagers danced around her, swept up in the warmth of the evening, and for the first time in a long time, Trevor felt something dangerously close to peace.

Then his eyes flickered to Alucard.

The dhampir stood slightly apart from the main celebration, his expression unreadable as he observed the revelry. Dressed in deep crimson and black, he looked every bit the prince he had been born to be—elegant, untouchable. But there was something in his eyes, something softer, almost wistful, as if he were allowing himself to want this but not quite believe he deserved it.

Trevor sighed. "You’re brooding again, Your Highness."

Alucard blinked, turning his gaze toward him. "I am not brooding."

"You’re standing in the shadows, watching other people have fun. That’s prime brooding behavior."

Alucard huffed, but before he could respond, Sypha appeared between them, breathless and flushed from dancing.

"Enough sulking, both of you," she declared, grabbing Trevor’s hand before reaching for Alucard’s. "Come dance with me."

Trevor resisted. "Sypha, I don’t dance—"

"You do tonight," she interrupted, tugging him forward with surprising strength.

Trevor shot a look at Alucard, expecting him to protest, but to his surprise, the dhampir allowed Sypha to take his hand. His fingers curled around hers, hesitant but willing, and Trevor found himself being pulled into the swirl of music and movement.

The three of them moved together, Sypha leading with playful confidence, Trevor stumbling slightly but adjusting to the rhythm, and Alucard—graceful even in uncertainty—falling in step as if he had always belonged there.

And perhaps he had.

As the dance continued, Trevor felt Sypha press against his side, her warmth grounding him, and when he turned, he found Alucard watching him. Not with amusement, not with distance, but with something quieter. Something real.

Trevor’s breath caught.

The world around them blurred—music fading, laughter distant. For a moment, there was only this.

Sypha’s hand tightened around his, and when he looked at her, she smiled, knowing.

Alucard hesitated, then reached for Trevor’s hand.

Trevor let him.

Fingers brushing, slow and deliberate.

It was nothing and everything. A choice, a promise, a terrifying and wonderful acceptance of something more.

And for the first time in years, Trevor Belmont was not afraid.

Chapter 4: Supposed To Be

The festival began to slow as the night deepened. The villagers, tired from laughter and dancing, drifted off in pairs and small groups, leaving the courtyard quieter, softer. The firelight flickered low, casting long shadows against the ancient stone walls.

Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard had slipped away from the main gathering, retreating to a quieter part of the castle gardens where the warm glow of lanterns still lingered. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and crushed grass, the distant echo of music fading into silence.

Trevor exhaled, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m never dancing again.”

Sypha laughed, leaning against the low stone wall behind them. “You weren’t that bad.”

Trevor scoffed. “I tripped over my own feet, twice.”

Alucard, standing beside him, smirked. “Only twice? Impressive.”

Trevor shot him a look. “Watch it, Your Highness.”

Alucard merely tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming with mischief in the dim light. But beneath the teasing, there was something else—something unreadable, something softer. Trevor saw it, felt it lingering between them, thick as the summer air.

Sypha saw it too.

She pushed off the wall and stepped between them, looking between the two men with knowing patience. “Are we really going to keep pretending?” she murmured.

Trevor stiffened. “Pretending what?”

Sypha arched an eyebrow. “That you don’t look at each other like that.”

Alucard’s expression faltered for just a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Trevor felt his heartbeat hammer against his ribs, too loud, too obvious.

Sypha sighed, exasperated but fond. “You two are hopeless.”

Before either of them could respond, she reached up and cupped Alucard’s face in her hands, pulling him down into a kiss.

Alucard stilled for half a second before he melted into her touch, his hands finding her waist as he kissed her back—slow, lingering, as if he were afraid she might disappear. Sypha’s fingers tangled in his golden hair, and Trevor, watching them, felt something in his chest tighten and twist.

Not jealousy. Not doubt.

Just want.

When Sypha finally pulled away, she turned to Trevor, eyes warm and expectant. “Are you going to make me do all the work?”

Trevor swallowed hard. “I—”

But then Alucard was in front of him, close enough that Trevor could see the candlelight reflected in his eyes. There was no teasing in his gaze now, no sarcasm. Just quiet patience.

Trevor let out a shaky breath. “You’re both going to be the death of me.”

And then he kissed Alucard.

It was hesitant at first, testing, but Alucard met him with the same gentle intensity he had given Sypha—steady, unhurried, like the turning of the stars.

Trevor shuddered as Alucard’s hands slid up his arms, pulling him closer. Sypha pressed against his side, curling an arm around his back, her warmth grounding him as she kissed the side of his jaw.

It was too much and not enough.

Trevor pulled away just enough to look between them, breathless. “Are we really doing this?”

Sypha grinned, threading her fingers through his. “We already are.”

Alucard let out a quiet chuckle, resting his forehead against Trevor’s. “It seems so.”

Trevor closed his eyes, exhaling. For once, he didn’t feel like running.

For once, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And when Sypha pulled them both into another kiss, slow and unhurried beneath the flickering firelight, Trevor decided he could get used to this.

Chapter 5: Together

Notes:

Hey everyone! I know it's been a while since my last update sorry about that! I've been super busy with a big art school project that took up a lot of my time and energy. The good news is that it's finally done, and I’m excited to get back to writing. Updates will be more frequent from now on, so stay tuned and thanks so much for your patience!

The castle was quiet in the early morning, the echoes of the festival faded into memory. A soft golden light filtered through the tall windows, painting the stone walls in hues of amber and gold.

Trevor stirred first, wincing as he shifted. His entire body ached—not from battle this time, but from dancing, from laughter, from something far gentler than he was used to. He cracked one eye open and found himself tangled between warmth and silk.

Alucard was still asleep beside him, his golden hair a halo against the pillows, his breathing steady. He looked peaceful like this, free of the tension he so often carried, his expression soft in sleep.

Sypha was curled against Trevor’s other side, her arm draped lazily over his chest, her fingers tracing faint patterns against his skin even in her half-conscious state. She mumbled something in her sleep, shifting closer, her breath warm against his shoulder.

Trevor let out a slow breath, his heart hammering a little too hard in his chest.

They had kissed.

They had touched.

They had fallen asleep in a tangled mess of limbs and whispered laughter, somewhere between the haze of firelight and the quiet hours before dawn.

And now, in the fragile stillness of morning, Trevor felt the weight of it settle over him—not as a burden, but as something terrifyingly real.

This wasn’t a dream.

Sypha stirred first, letting out a soft sigh as she blinked up at him. A slow smile spread across her lips. "Good morning."

Trevor swallowed, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "Morning."

Alucard shifted then, stretching slightly before opening his eyes. They were still heavy with sleep, but the moment he registered Trevor and Sypha beside him, something warm flickered across his face.

"You're both staring," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Sypha grinned. "You're very pretty when you're asleep."

Alucard huffed but didn’t pull away when she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Trevor watched them, something stirring in his chest—something dangerously close to happiness.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Sypha murmured, shifting so she could rest her chin on Trevor’s shoulder.

Trevor sighed. "Just… wasn’t expecting to wake up like this."

Alucard studied him for a moment. "Do you regret it?"

Trevor’s breath caught. The way Alucard asked, the way his voice dipped just slightly, made it clear that he wasn’t asking casually. He was bracing for an answer.

Trevor exhaled and shook his head. "No," he admitted, voice quieter now. "I don’t."

Sypha smiled against his skin. "Good. Because neither do we."

Alucard’s expression softened, the tension melting from his shoulders. Sypha curled closer, pressing a lazy kiss against Trevor’s neck before reaching for Alucard’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Trevor, with a resigned sigh, muttered, "This is going to get complicated, isn’t it?"

Alucard smirked. "Undoubtedly."

Sypha grinned. "Would you rather go back to being a miserable, brooding drunk?"

Trevor groaned. "I wasn't that miserable."

Alucard and Sypha exchanged a look before saying in perfect unison: "You were."

Trevor scowled, but it lacked any real heat. Instead, he let himself relax, let himself sink into the warmth of them, let himself want.

Maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself this.

Maybe he could let himself stay.

Sypha tilted her head, eyes bright with mischief. "Now… who’s making breakfast?"

Trevor groaned. "Gods, you’re insufferable."

Alucard smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to Sypha’s wrist before turning to Trevor. "Come now, Belmont. Surely you can manage to contribute something to this relationship."

Trevor narrowed his eyes. "You’re both going to be the death of me."

Sypha kissed his cheek. "You’ll die happy."

Trevor huffed. "Fine. But if I burn something, that’s on you two."

Laughing, they untangled themselves from the bed, the morning sun stretching over them as they stepped into this new, uncertain future—together.

Chapter 6: The Magical Part

Notes:

Hey everyone! Just a quick heads-up, starting in this chapter, Sypha will begin experiencing early pregnancy symptoms. I want to be honest and say I’m not an expert on writing pregnancy, but I’ll do my best to portray it with care and respect. Thanks for sticking with the story, and I really appreciate your patience and support as I explore this new part of the plot! Feel free to let me know if something feels off, I’m always open to learning!

The sun had only just begun to rise, casting a soft, golden haze over the castle walls, when Sypha jolted upright in bed.

Her stomach turned violently, and she barely had time to throw the covers aside before scrambling toward the washbasin in the corner of the room.

Trevor stirred at the sound of her hurried footsteps, one eye cracking open. "Mm... Syph?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

She didn’t answer.

The retching told him everything.

He groaned, already pushing himself upright. "Again?"

Alucard sat up more gracefully beside him, golden hair falling over his bare shoulders. "Yes. Third day in a row," he said softly. He was already moving, rising from bed in a quiet rustle of fabric. He crossed the room, kneeling beside Sypha as she leaned over the basin, one hand braced against the stone wall.

Trevor watched as Alucard gently gathered her hair, his hand lightly resting on her back.

Sypha finally finished, panting softly as she wiped her mouth with the cloth Alucard offered. She sat back on her heels and groaned, glaring at the washbasin as if it had personally offended her.

"This is not the magical part of pregnancy they sing about in old stories," she muttered hoarsely.

Trevor moved to her side next, squatting awkwardly on the other side of her and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Pretty sure the stories leave out the vomiting part on purpose. Doesn’t fit the fairytale."

Alucard hummed. "Or the mood swings. Or the feet swelling. Or the fact that she nearly melted a chair last night because you brought her the wrong kind of bread."

Sypha groaned. "I said I wanted the rye with seeds."

Trevor snorted. "There was no rye with seeds. I checked. Twice. The villagers fear you now."

Sypha leaned against him with a dramatic sigh. "Good. Let them tremble before their vomiting fire witch."

Alucard chuckled softly, brushing his fingers along her spine. "You’re radiant, you know."

She blinked up at him, exhausted and pale but still managing a tired smile. "You’re lying."

"I’m not," Alucard said gently. "You carry life. That’s beautiful."

Trevor made a face. "You’re making the rest of us look bad with all that poetic sincerity."

Sypha leaned into him next, resting her head on Trevor’s shoulder. "He’s allowed. I like it when he gets soft."

Trevor muttered something under his breath but pressed another kiss to her hair, this time slower, lingering. His hand came to rest on her belly, still flat beneath the oversized nightrobe, but full of promise.

"How’s the little parasite doing?" he asked softly.

Sypha rolled her eyes, but her hand found his and pressed it more firmly against her abdomen. "Still making me sick. So I’d say… strong."

Alucard knelt beside them, one hand covering theirs, his long fingers cool and steady. "We’ll get through this. Together."

Sypha’s eyes softened. "Even if I incinerate the pantry again?"

"Especially then," Trevor said.

"Wouldn’t be the first time," Alucard added.

They sat there in the hush of morning, the washbasin forgotten, the aches and nausea momentarily dulled by warm hands, quiet laughter, and a shared love that held firm—even when the world spun sideways.

Sypha sighed into their touch. “You two are going to be disgustingly overprotective, aren’t you?”

Trevor smirked. “Absolutely.”

Alucard leaned in, kissing her brow. “Without apology.”

And for a moment, despite the queasiness, despite the tiredness, despite the overwhelming unknown of what lay ahead—Sypha smiled.

Because this was home.

Because she wasn’t alone.

Because their child—her child—would be born into a world that finally, finally had a little room for peace.

Chapter 7: Hope

It was a rare quiet evening.

Rain whispered against the windows of the castle, soft and rhythmic, turning the world outside into a gentle blur. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room, and the three of them had gathered on the couch—half-lounging, half-entwined beneath a thick wool blanket.

Sypha lay stretched across both their laps, her head pillowed against Trevor’s thigh, her legs curled beneath Alucard’s arm. Her hands rested protectively on her growing belly, which was beginning to round out, full and unmistakable now.

Trevor absentmindedly stroked her hair, the rhythm of it slow and grounding. Alucard sat close, fingers idly tracing the outline of her calf beneath the blanket.

"How are you feeling tonight?" Alucard asked softly.

"Tired," Sypha murmured, voice muffled against Trevor’s leg. "But better. The nausea’s finally easing up, thank the gods."

"Miracles happen," Trevor said dryly. "Next thing you know, she’ll be craving something normal, like stew or bread. Not pickled beets and honey."

Sypha elbowed him lightly without lifting her head. "You’re still alive because I like you."

"And because I made the beets and honey run without complaining."

"You did complain."

"Yeah, but mostly under my breath."

Alucard chuckled, brushing a thumb along Sypha’s leg. "You both sound like an old married couple."

"We are an old married couple. Just with more swords and spells."

Sypha closed her eyes, her breathing deep and steady, lulled by the rain and the warmth of them. She was about to drift off when—

She gasped.

Trevor sat up straighter. "What? What is it?"

Alucard was already leaning forward, concern tightening his features. "Sypha?"

She blinked in wonder, sitting upright with both hands pressed to her belly. "I… I think—" Her eyes widened. "There it is again!"

Trevor froze. "Was that…?"

Sypha looked up at them, her face suddenly alight, a quiet, glowing awe in her expression. "He kicked. Or she. I don’t know yet. But I felt it—" She reached for Trevor’s hand and pressed it gently to her belly. "There. Wait for it."

Trevor held his breath. For a moment, nothing. And then—
Tap.

His eyes went wide. "That was it. I felt it!"

Alucard moved closer, his usual poise breaking with rare, boyish wonder. Sypha guided his hand next to Trevor’s, her fingers trembling slightly as she laid them flat over the curve of her stomach.

A beat. Then—
Tap. Tap.

Alucard sucked in a breath.

Trevor grinned, his voice hushed. "That little monster just kicked a half-vampire prince and a monster hunter in the same breath. Already fearless."

Sypha laughed, a sound so full of joy and disbelief it made Alucard’s throat tighten. "I can’t believe this is real," she whispered.

"It’s real," Trevor said, voice uncharacteristically soft. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "That’s our kid."

Alucard followed, kissing the other side of her face before resting his forehead lightly against hers. "And they already know they’re loved."

Sypha’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she smiled through them, laughing quietly as the little one kicked again—stronger this time, like they were already demanding attention.

Trevor chuckled. "Gods help us if they get your temper and my sarcasm."

"And my magic," Sypha added with a sly grin.

Alucard raised an eyebrow. "They’ll take over the world by age five."

"Let’s just teach them not to set the curtains on fire first," Trevor muttered.

Sypha looked down at the swell of her belly, her hands still pressed over the tiny flutters of life. "We’ll be ready," she said.

Trevor kissed her temple. "We will."

Alucard gently touched her hand, his voice barely more than a breath. "Together."

And in the warmth of that rain-soaked evening, with their hands joined over a heartbeat they helped create, the three of them felt something shift. Something quiet and deep and unshakable.

Hope.

Chapter 8: Theirs

The castle had gone still. Moonlight spilled through the arched windows, casting long silver streaks across the stone floor.

Alucard stood alone in the quiet hallway just outside their shared room, leaning against the cool wall, arms folded, eyes distant. He had been like that for some time—long enough for the fire in the hearth to die down, long enough for silence to settle deep in his bones.

He didn’t hear Sypha approach until she was beside him, barefoot, wrapped in one of Trevor’s worn linen shirts that hung off her shoulders like a cloak.

“You slipped out of bed,” she said softly.

Alucard didn’t look at her right away. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sypha followed his gaze, though it led nowhere. Just shadows and moonlight. “Is it the dreams again?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I was thinking about the child.”

Sypha stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against his. “And?”

Alucard hesitated. “And wondering what I’ll be to them.” He finally looked at her, his voice unsteady. “I’m not their father. Not really. You and Trevor—this child is yours. I’m... beside it. A shadow in the doorway.”

Sypha’s brow creased. “Alicard.”

“I love them already,” he said, as if the truth pained him. “But when they look up at me—what will they see?”

Footsteps echoed softly from the corridor. Trevor appeared, still pulling on his undershirt, hair tousled, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. “What’s going on?”

“He thinks he’s going to be on the outside,” Sypha said simply.

Trevor’s mouth pressed into a firm line. He walked to Alucard, standing in front of him. “That’s not happening.”

Alucard offered a faint, brittle smile. “It’s not something either of you can decide.”

Trevor crossed his arms. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Alucard blinked.

Trevor took a step forward, his voice low and firm. “We don’t care what tradition says. We don’t care what blood says. That child will know you from their first breath. You’ll be the one holding them when they cry. The one who calms them with that calm, infuriating voice of yours.”

Sypha reached for Alucard’s hand again, squeezing it gently. “You’re not separate from us. You never were. You think of yourself as an outsider, but to me, you’re the part of this family that holds us together when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

Alucard’s expression flickered—like something cracked, just slightly, in the cold armor around his heart.

Trevor leaned in, his forehead touching Alucard’s for a moment. “You’re going to be theirs. Not because of blood. But because we’re choosing this. Choosing you.”

“You’re not some shadow, Alucard,” Sypha whispered. “You’re light. Just a different kind of it.”

Alucard’s throat worked around a sound he didn’t quite make. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear it—needed them.

After a long silence, he said quietly, “Thank you.”

Trevor pulled him into a hug—tight and grounding—and Sypha wrapped her arms around both of them, warm and steady. They stood there together in the dark corridor, three hearts pressed close, held together not by roles or rules, but by love.

Unconventional. Unshakable. Theirs.

Chapter 9: A Room of Their Own

The room wasn’t much, not at first.

Just four stone walls, drafty windows, and a creaky old floor that hadn’t been used for anything in years. But when Sypha pressed her hands to the cool stone and whispered a quiet incantation, the chill lifted. The windows sealed themselves against the wind. The floor strengthened beneath their feet, warm with sunlight and softening magic.

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s cheating.”

Sypha turned toward him, smug. “That’s parental nesting instinct, actually.”

Alucard chuckled softly, setting a crate of folded linens by the wall. “She’s right, you know. If we had left this up to you, the child would be sleeping in a weapons closet.”

Trevor gestured defensively. “It would’ve been clean. And very secure.”

“Very sharp,” Alucard deadpanned. “Comforting.”

Sypha laughed and kissed Trevor’s cheek as she passed him. “You can redeem yourself by assembling the cradle.”

Trevor stared at the scattered pieces of wood on the floor. “That’s your sorcery,” he muttered. “You two plan a baby together and suddenly I’m a carpenter?”

“You offered to build it,” Alucard pointed out.

“I was drunk and trying to impress you.”

“Well,” Sypha said sweetly, “we were impressed.”

Trevor groaned, but dropped to his knees and got to work.

Meanwhile, Sypha conjured small floating orbs of golden light, sending them gently into the corners of the room, where they hovered like tiny stars. She smiled to herself, one hand resting on the swell of her belly, now round and unmistakable.

Alucard joined her near the wall, unpacking a box of little cloths, toys, and books — most of them gifts from the villagers.

“This feels strange,” he admitted after a moment. “But… good.”

Sypha nodded, her voice quiet. “It’s real now. We’re doing it.”

He turned to look at her. “Are you afraid?”

She smiled faintly. “Of course. But also… no. Not really.” She looked across the room at Trevor, who was swearing quietly at a backwards cradle leg. “Because we’re not doing it alone.”

Trevor eventually got the cradle assembled—crooked, but sturdy. He looked up and caught both of them watching him. “What?” he asked.

Alucard smirked. “Nothing. Just admiring your fine craftsmanship.”

Trevor gave them both a mock scowl, then walked over and pulled them into a hug, arms tight around their waists. “You two better help with the next one.”

Sypha froze. “Next one?”

Trevor kissed her temple. “We’re a good team.”

Alucard raised an eyebrow. “Let’s get through this one first.”

They all laughed, the kind that comes not from humor, but from something deeper—shared love, shared hope.

By evening, the room had been transformed. The cradle sat beneath the window. A woven rug covered the floor. Tiny books lined a low shelf. A soft, enchanted mobile of stars spun slowly above the sleeping space, casting warm light on the walls.

Sypha sat on a cushion, one hand on her belly, humming a lullaby her mother used to sing. Trevor sat beside her, legs outstretched, watching her with quiet awe.

Alucard stood near the door for a moment, then finally stepped inside fully, crossing the room to join them.

He knelt beside Sypha, laid a hand over hers, and whispered, “They’ll be safe here.”

“And loved,” Sypha added.

Trevor rested his head against her shoulder. “More than anything.”

Alucard smiled. “Then it’s ready.”

The three of them sat there in the golden light, the room no longer just a space—but a promise. A beginning.

Chapter 10

The sunlight poured in gently through the high window, catching in the dust as it swirled through the air. Alucard stood still in the center of the room for a long while, a folded blanket in his hands, untouched.

The laughter of Sypha and Trevor floated in from the hallway — bickering over furniture placement again — but he barely heard them.

His eyes were on the walls.

Stone. Like the ones in his childhood home. Smooth and cold, though Sypha’s magic had warmed them. Still, he could remember the feeling of them. He’d pressed his small hands to stone just like this, years ago, when his mother had carried him on her hip into the nursery she and his father had prepared.

He remembered the way Lisa had smiled — tired, radiant — and the way Dracula had softened only when he looked at her. He remembered colors painted on stone, faded cloth, the scent of lavender drying in the corner.

He remembered love.

And then, loss.

Alucard blinked, startled by the sting in his eyes. He set the blanket down and turned toward the half-finished cradle in the corner. Trevor’s work — not elegant, but honest.

He reached out, brushing his fingers along the edge of the frame. It was uneven. Too thick in some places. Slightly wobbly. Perfect, in its own way.

He imagined a child lying in it. Safe. Warm. Alive.

He sat slowly on the floor beside it, knees drawn up, hand resting on the cradle’s edge.

You did this, he thought. You’re building what they built for me.

But they were gone. He had watched them die — the cost of human cruelty, of a world that feared what it didn’t understand. For so long, he'd carried their absence like armor, letting it harden around his grief.

And now, here he was, creating something tender again.

Can I protect them? he wondered. Will I lose them, too?

The door creaked, gently.

Sypha’s voice was soft behind him. “You okay?”

Alucard didn’t turn. “They did this for me. My parents. This exact thing.”

Sypha crossed the room, knelt beside him, and took his hand. “Do you remember it?”

He nodded. “Some of it. My mother made it soft and warm. My father added books I couldn’t even read yet.” A small, wistful smile touched his lips. “He told me stories about the stars. About how they burned and died to give us light.”

Sypha leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re giving that to someone now.”

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That I’ll fail. That I’ll lose all of this. That I’ll become like him.”

Trevor appeared in the doorway then, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his voice quiet but certain. “You won’t.”

Alucard looked up.

“You already made a different choice,” Trevor said. “You opened your heart again. After everything.” He stepped closer. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Alucard exhaled slowly. He looked back at the cradle.

“I think,” Sypha said, her fingers still woven with his, “that this child will grow up knowing exactly who you are. Not because you tell them stories, but because you show them. In every quiet thing you do.”

Alucard nodded once. The fear didn’t vanish. But it didn’t feel so heavy. Not with their hands holding his. Not with the sunlight catching in Sypha’s hair and Trevor watching him like he was something solid, not breakable.

He looked again at the cradle — not a reminder of what he’d lost, but what he could give.

Love. The kind that endures.

Chapter 11

Trevor had fought monsters. He had battled night creatures, survived vampire courts, and endured days without sleep or food.
None of that prepared him for Sypha’s third trimester food cravings.

“Are you telling me,” he asked, staring at her in disbelief, “that you want pickled beets… and honey… on bread?”

Sypha, nestled into a mountain of cushions, didn’t even blink. “With goat cheese. Don’t forget the goat cheese.”

Trevor rubbed his face with both hands. “Of course. Obviously. How could I forget the goat cheese?”

Alucard, seated across the room with a book in his lap, raised an eyebrow. “She’s had stranger combinations this week.”

Sypha perked up. “Oh! Do we still have those candied walnuts from the village market? I want to sprinkle them on top.”

Trevor turned slowly. “Are you building a sandwich or summoning one?”

Sypha gave him a dangerous look. “I’m growing a human. You don’t get to question the sandwich.”

Trevor held up both hands. “Point taken. I’ll go forage through the pantry.”

As he trudged off muttering, Alucard set his book aside and moved to sit beside Sypha. She was already fussing with a napkin, clearly visualizing her strange creation. He watched her for a moment, his lips twitching.

“You know,” he said gently, “if this is the child’s idea of food, I’m already afraid for their future.”

Sypha grinned. “They have taste. Complex, elevated taste.”

“Elevated,” Alucard repeated, deadpan. “Is that what we’re calling mustard on strawberries now?”

“That was one time, and I was experimenting.”

“Trevor nearly cried.”

Sypha burst out laughing. “You both exaggerate.”

Just then, Trevor reappeared with a tray that looked like it had been raided from three entirely different kitchens.

“Behold,” he said, setting it down with a dramatic flourish, “your monstrosity.”

It was glorious. A slice of thick, crusty bread, piled with crumbled goat cheese, pickled beets, a drizzle of honey, and a healthy scattering of candied walnuts.

Sypha’s eyes lit up. “It’s beautiful.”

Trevor sat on the floor with a grunt. “It’s concerning.”

She took a bite — and made a blissful sound that stopped both men in their tracks.

Alucard blinked. “Is she… purring?”

“I think so,” Trevor said.

Sypha opened one eye, mouth still full. “I might cry.”

“Good gods,” Trevor muttered. “She’s lost to the sandwich.”

They sat there with her as she ate, passing her napkins and stealing occasional bites of the less... experimental leftovers. The fire crackled. The wind rattled softly against the windows. It was peaceful — chaotic, ridiculous, but peaceful.

Eventually, Sypha finished, setting her plate aside with a long sigh and resting her head against Alucard’s shoulder. “Thank you both.”

Trevor smiled, brushing a crumb from her cheek. “Any time.”

“Even if I want dried apricots and salted fish tomorrow?”

“Especially then,” Alucard said dryly, though he was already planning where to find both.

Sypha closed her eyes, one hand over her belly. “This child better love us. We’re doing the work.”

Trevor leaned in to kiss her temple. “They will.”

Alucard looked down at the two of them, something warm settling behind his ribs. “They already do.”

Chapter 12: Ordinary Magic

Summary:

This is just a day in their life.

Morning came slowly in the castle, with golden light creeping over old stone and through arched windows. Birds had made homes in the towers now, and their song filtered softly into the chambers.

Alucard was always the first awake.

He stood barefoot in the kitchen, his hair loosely tied back, sleeves rolled, slicing apples with quiet precision. A pot of tea steamed gently beside him. He moved slowly, deliberately—something peaceful in the rhythm.

He didn’t need to eat, not often. But he liked the way breakfast filled the halls with warmth. He liked the way Sypha’s nose wrinkled when she smelled honey bread. The way Trevor grumbled like a half-dead bear before his coffee.

Speaking of.

Heavy footsteps padded into the room, and Trevor emerged, shirtless, bleary-eyed, and vaguely offended by the concept of morning.

“Coffee,” he grunted.

Alucard handed him a mug without looking up. “Good morning to you too.”

Trevor took a sip, sighed like a man saved from death, and slumped into a chair. “It’s too early for your smugness.”

“It’s nearly ten.”

“Exactly.”

Moments later, a soft voice called from the hallway.

“...Alucard? Trevor? Could someone please bring me my slippers?”

Trevor snorted. “Her feet are two steps away from the slippers.”

“And yet,” Alucard murmured, already heading to the bedroom.

Sypha was propped up against a small fortress of pillows, her hair a wild halo around her face. One hand rested on her rounded stomach, the other reaching blindly for something that was very much not slippers.

“I think the child kicked my spine in my sleep,” she muttered.

Alucard knelt beside the bed, gently sliding her slippers on for her. “Cruel and powerful already. They take after you.”

Sypha grinned, tugging him in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”

They returned to the kitchen together, where Trevor had burned the toast and was pretending it was intentional.

They spent the morning reading — or trying to. Sypha got distracted halfway through her book and started talking about the baby’s name. Trevor suggested something deeply inappropriate in deadpan. Alucard pretended to be horrified. Sypha threw a cushion at them both.

In the afternoon, they took a walk outside the castle walls.

The path had grown soft with grass and dandelions, and Sypha walked slowly, Alucard on one side, Trevor on the other. Sometimes she leaned on both of them at once, grinning like a queen with her guards.

“Did I ever think I’d be this happy?” she said aloud, more to the breeze than to them. “Not really. Not like this.”

Alucard looked at her, the way her hand curled around Trevor’s wrist, the way her hair glowed in the light. “Neither did I.”

Trevor reached over and took both their hands. “Doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

They stood there for a moment under the wide sky. Quiet. Breathing. Alive.

Later, Alucard fixed a loose stone in the garden wall while Sypha napped and Trevor napped harder. Dinner was shared over candlelight — something simple and sweet, with Sypha requesting exactly six slices of melon “for reasons.”

And at night, the three of them curled together in bed, Sypha’s head on Trevor’s chest, Alucard’s fingers lightly tracing her wrist.

The castle, once cold and echoing, now felt like a living thing — full of breath and stories and life.

There was no battle. No monsters. Just them. Just a quiet day.

And sometimes, that was the rarest kind of magic of all.

Chapter 13: All Belly and No Patience

Sypha was done.

She was very pregnant. Not the glowing, romantic kind of pregnant they put in storybooks — no, this was the swollen-feet, can't-roll-over, hiccuping-every-time-the-baby-moved kind of pregnant. Her robes didn’t fit. Her ankles had vanished. Her back ached in places she didn’t know had nerves.

She sat on the edge of the bed, glaring down at her feet — or at least, where her feet used to be.

“Trevor,” she called. “I need assistance. My feet have turned into potatoes.”

From the other room came the clatter of something falling and Trevor’s voice: “What do you mean, potatoes?!”

“Come look!”

Trevor poked his head in moments later, eyebrows raised. “Oh. Oh gods.”

Sypha lifted one foot an inch off the floor, grimacing. “They’re not even feet anymore. They’re mushrooms.”

Trevor bit back a laugh and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. “They’re just… a bit puffy.”

“They squish when I press on them.”

“I’ll get a cold cloth,” he said quickly, disappearing again.

Alucard arrived just as Trevor came back with a basin of water, two clean towels, and a face of cautious devotion.

“I brought reinforcements,” Trevor announced.

Alucard raised an elegant eyebrow. “Is this a rescue mission or a foot intervention?”

“She called them potatoes,” Trevor stage-whispered.

Sypha scowled at them both. “My bones have been relocated. Mock me again and I’ll hex your hair into rats’ nests.”

“Noted,” Alucard said smoothly, already rolling up his sleeves.

They set to work — Trevor easing her feet into the cool basin, Alucard massaging her calves with a warm cloth and impossibly gentle hands. Sypha groaned, slumping back into the pillows with dramatic relief.

“You know,” she said dreamily, “I used to be a battle mage. Lightning at my fingertips. Feared across the land.”

“You’re still terrifying,” Trevor murmured, gently pressing cold cloth to her ankle.

“Especially when hungry,” Alucard added.

“Or when she throws boots.”

“You deserved that!” she snapped, eyes still closed.

They both chuckled.

The swelling didn’t magically go away, but the ache eased. And more importantly, she felt held — cared for in a way that had nothing to do with magic or war. Just them. Just this.

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve turned into a whale,” she murmured after a while. “A waddling, angry, overcooked whale.”

Trevor kissed the inside of her knee. “You’re a radiant, powerful whale.”

Alucard pressed his forehead lightly to her thigh. “A celestial being of the sea.”

She snorted. “I hate both of you.”

“You love us,” Trevor said smugly.

“Unfortunately.”

They stayed there for a while, quiet. The baby kicked once, twice, and Sypha winced.

“Kid’s practicing martial arts in there.”

Alucard gently rested a hand on her belly, feeling the movement beneath his palm. His face softened, completely.

Trevor looked up at her, brushing hair from her face. “Almost there.”

“Not soon enough.”

“You’re doing beautifully,” Alucard said quietly. “Even if you do resemble… root vegetables.”

“Alucard.”

He smiled. “Forgive me.”

She rolled her eyes, but leaned back with a deep sigh. The discomfort was still there — the weight, the swelling, the short breath and wild cravings — but so were they. Her idiots. Her home.

And really, that made it all a little easier to carry.

Chapter 14: The Beginning of Everything

It started, as many monumental things do, in the most unremarkable way.

Sypha was in the library.

She had insisted on reorganizing the spellbooks alphabetically "one last time" before the baby arrived — despite Alucard’s warning glance and Trevor’s blunt: “You can barely reach your own feet, Sypha.”

She’d waved them off, belly-first, waddle-stalking toward a shelf.

“I need to move, or I’ll explode,” she’d said.

Trevor had followed her out of pure instinct, half expecting her to hex a bookshelf into kindling. Alucard followed because he knew better than to leave either of them unsupervised.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Sypha froze mid-reach.

Trevor caught it first — the sudden stillness, her hand clenching on the shelf.

“Sypha?” he asked, stepping forward.

She turned slowly, eyes wide, face pale.

Then she looked down.

Then back up.

Then down again.

“…I think,” she said carefully, “I just leaked.”

Trevor blinked. “Leaked?”

Alucard was already beside her, eyes sharp, steady. “Sypha. Was it—?”

“My water,” she breathed. “I think my water just broke.”

And just like that — chaos.

Trevor immediately spun in a useless circle. “Okay. Okay! What do we do?! We had a plan! Where’s the—where’s the—birthing thingy box?”

“In the bedroom,” Alucard said, completely composed. “Trevor, go get it. Bring warm cloths, extra blankets, and the potion Sypha made for pain.”

“Right. Yes. Got it.”

Trevor turned—then doubled back and kissed Sypha’s forehead, quick and trembling. “You’re doing great. You’re—gods, okay—be right back.”

He ran.

Sypha let out a long breath, leaning her weight into Alucard as a small cramp rippled through her belly.

“I don’t know why I thought it would be… more dramatic,” she murmured.

Alucard smiled softly, wrapping an arm around her back. “This is dramatic. You’re leaking in a library.”

She laughed, even as another wave of discomfort tightened across her abdomen. Her face tensed.

“…Oh. That one felt like a real one.”

“Let’s sit,” Alucard said gently, guiding her toward the cushioned reading bench. She was moving slower now, heavier somehow, the first edge of pain starting to creep in.

He knelt in front of her, holding her hand in both of his.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We’re here. All the way.”

She met his eyes, her own glassy. “I know.”

Trevor reappeared moments later, hair a mess, arms full of supplies and blankets. “I tripped twice but didn’t drop the potion!”

“Heroic,” Sypha gasped.

They helped her to her feet, moving carefully through the halls. Contractions had started in earnest now — not close together, not yet, but strong enough to make her grip tighten on Trevor’s arm, and her breath hitch.

Back in the bedroom, everything felt ready and not ready all at once.

Trevor helped her change into one of Alucard’s soft, oversized robes. Alucard lit candles around the room, quiet and calm. Sypha paced when she could. Swore when she couldn’t.

Hours passed. The sun dipped. The air changed.

And with every breath, with every surge of pain and every word of comfort from the men beside her, the reality sank in.

The baby was coming.

Their child.

The beginning of something entirely new.

Sypha sat on the edge of the bed, breath shallow between contractions, sweat beading at her temple.

Trevor was behind her, rubbing her back. Alucard knelt in front, his hands around hers.

“Next time I say I want to have another baby,” she gritted out, “remind me of this.”

“Noted,” Trevor said quickly.

“I’ll have it engraved,” Alucard added.

She laughed, breathless and shaking, even as the next wave crashed over her.

And still — they were there. Strong, steady, holding her through the storm.

Together.

Chapter 15: The First Cry

Notes:

Heads up there’s a little bit about going throgh labor in this chspter. It’s more about the feelings/experience than anything graphic, but I wanted to give a quick note just in case!

Labor was a storm.

Sypha had known it would hurt. She was no stranger to pain. She’d been burned, broken, battered in battle — but this was different. This pain cracked her open from the inside, ancient and terrible, and beautiful in its purpose.

Hours passed. She stopped counting them.

Trevor and Alucard stayed by her side — never once leaving, not even when she yelled at them, cried, or cursed the gods. Trevor held her through the contractions, his rough hands gentle, his whispered encouragement breaking through the haze.

Alucard managed everything with eerie calm — fetching cloths, guiding her breathing, murmuring in her ear between pushes. When she shook, he wrapped her in his arms. When she panicked, he brought her back.

“Almost there,” he whispered, brushing sweat-damp curls from her forehead. “You’re doing everything right, Sypha.”

Trevor kissed her shoulder. “You’re so close. Just a little more. You’ve got this, love.”

And she did.

One final push — a roar that tore from her throat like thunder — and then…

A cry.

High and sharp, impossibly small, and perfect.

The room fell utterly still.

Trevor’s breath caught in his chest. Alucard froze, eyes wide, lips parted. Sypha slumped back against the pillows, trembling, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

The baby — their baby — squirmed and wailed in Alucard’s careful hands, still slick and warm and new. He moved without thought, years of old healer’s knowledge guiding him as he cleaned and wrapped the infant in soft cloth.

Trevor held Sypha’s hand with both of his, blinking fast, face full of everything at once — shock, pride, terror, joy.

Alucard turned, slow and reverent, and placed the bundle in Sypha’s arms.

A girl.

Tiny, red-faced, furious already.

Sypha stared down at her, mouth open in silent wonder. The baby's fingers curled instinctively around hers — impossibly small, impossibly strong.

“She’s…” Sypha choked, laughing through tears. “She’s real.”

Trevor leaned over her shoulder, brushing a kiss to the baby’s soft hair. “We made a person,” he whispered in awe.

Alucard sat beside them, quieter than both, and reached out a hand to gently stroke the baby’s head — careful, reverent.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured. “She has your eyes.”

Sypha looked at both of them, tears still streaking her cheeks.

The baby quieted, eyelids fluttering, comforted by the warmth of three steady heartbeats surrounding her.

They stayed like that for a long time — tangled together in the bed, hearts full, arms wrapped around something small and miraculous.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees.

Inside, a new chapter had begun.

Chapter 16: Something Whole

Alucard had held many things in his life.

Books older than empires. Blades warm from battle. His mother’s hand as she died. The cold rage of loneliness, so tightly it nearly swallowed him whole.

But this…
This was something entirely different.

She fit into the crook of his arm like she had always belonged there — impossibly small, wrapped in soft cloth, her fingers no wider than the quill he used to write letters he never sent. Her nose was slightly wrinkled. Her hair was already dark.

Her heartbeat fluttered like a bird against his ribs.

He didn’t speak at first. He barely breathed.

Because holding her wasn’t just touching new life — it was touching the impossible. It was hope, made flesh. It was proof that the world could be cruel and still find a way to offer softness. That he could be broken, and still be part of something whole.

She opened her eyes, just for a second.
Golden. Light-filled.
His mother’s eyes.

A pang went through him so sharply he almost swayed.

Had Lisa have cried, too, when she held him like this? Had she sung to him, alone in the cold of Dracula’s castle? Had she felt this same fierce, aching love — so huge it almost hurt?

He didn’t know. He’d never know.

But this child… this little girl…

She was not a continuation of his curse.
She was not a legacy of grief.
She was a beginning.

“Hello,” he whispered, voice shaking. “We haven’t properly met.”

The baby made a soft, snuffling sound and shifted slightly, still nestled into him.

Alucard swallowed thickly, lowering his head until his forehead brushed hers.

“I’m your father,” he breathed.

The words rang through him like a bell.

Not a monster.
Not a mistake.
Not a shadow of what came before.

A father.

Trevor’s hand came to rest on his back. Sypha’s voice, hoarse and tired, murmured: “She already loves you, you know.”

Alucard didn’t answer right away. Just closed his eyes and let it sink in. The weight. The wonder.

He had held rage. Held vengeance. Held loneliness.

But now —
He held his daughter.

And for the first time in a very long time, Alucard felt full. Felt human.
Felt home.

Chapter 17: The First Time I Held Her

Trevor Belmont had never been gentle.

His hands were calloused, scarred from years of gripping whips and blades, from fighting things that snarled in the dark and didn’t bleed like people did. He’d learned how to kill before he ever learned how to love. He’d been trained to protect, not to hold.

But now…

Alucard turned to him, carefully — reverently — and passed the tiny bundle into his arms like she was made of glass.

Trevor stared.

She was so small.
His first thought was: I can’t possibly be allowed to hold something this small.
His second: She smells like everything good I never deserved.

Her face was red and squished and perfect. A wisp of dark hair curled against her forehead. Her mouth moved like she was dreaming something already.

And Trevor…
Trevor forgot how to breathe.

He sat down hard on the edge of the bed next to Sypha, who was watching him with tired, shining eyes. She looked like she’d been through hell — and come out a goddess. He couldn’t believe how much he loved her. Couldn’t believe how much he loved them.

“She’s real,” he murmured. His voice cracked.

Sypha nodded. “Yeah. We really did this.”

He didn’t say anything else for a while. Just stared at the little girl in his arms.

His daughter.

The words didn’t even make sense.
He was a Belmont. A monster hunter. A drunk. A half-reformed idiot who used to sleep in barns and had once punched a priest for talking too loud.

He wasn’t someone who was supposed to get this.

He wasn’t supposed to have a warm room, and people who loved him, and a tiny living soul curled against his chest like she belonged there.

But she did.

And gods — he wanted to deserve her.

Trevor shifted slightly, supporting her head the way Sypha had shown him in those breathless, laughing lessons during the pregnancy. Her head was warm. He could feel her breath, small and soft, against the crook of his neck.

He swallowed hard, brushing one big, rough finger across her tiny hand.

“Hi there, kid,” he whispered. “I’m… your dad.”

It felt impossible and perfect in the same breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said quietly. “I’ve never done this before. But I’m gonna figure it out. I swear.”

Sypha leaned against his shoulder, eyes heavy. “You’ll be brilliant,” she mumbled. “You already are.”

Trevor looked down at his daughter again.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was fighting to protect the world from something awful.

He was fighting for this.
For her.
For every soft breath.
Every future bedtime.
Every day he got to be someone worth holding her like this.

He kissed her forehead — gently, reverently — and held her closer.

Trevor Belmont had never been gentle.
But for her?

He could be.

Chapter 18: beginning

Sypha hadn’t stopped crying.

Not loudly. Not from pain. Just the kind of tears that came quietly, without effort — like her heart had overflowed and her body didn’t know how else to hold all of this.

Trevor was sitting beside her now, cradling their daughter in his arms like he’d been born to do it. His expression was so soft it made her chest ache — like he was seeing a sunrise for the first time and didn’t quite believe it wouldn’t disappear.

Alucard stood near the window, watching them both. His arms were folded loosely, his face unreadable — but there was something in his eyes. A flicker of wonder, like he didn’t know how he’d ended up in this moment, or whether it was real.

Sypha reached out and patted the bed beside her. “Don’t stand over there like you’re haunting the room,” she said gently. “Come sit with us.”

He blinked, startled — then smiled, small and stunned, and crossed the room to sit on her other side. She leaned into him, still trembling, her hand resting lightly on her daughter’s foot.

“She needs a name,” Sypha said quietly. “Before we all start calling her ‘the baby’ for the rest of her life.”

Trevor made a noise in his throat. “Right. Naming. Yeah. We probably should’ve… written a list.”

“I thought I’d just know,” Sypha murmured. “When I saw her.”

Trevor looked down at the tiny girl in his arms. “She doesn’t exactly scream one name or another. Just kinda squeaks.”

“She’s got my mother’s nose,” Sypha said.

“She’s got a hell of a grip,” Trevor added, holding up one large finger — the baby’s tiny fist was wrapped tightly around it.

“She has her own soul,” Alucard said softly. “Everything else is borrowed.”

They were quiet for a beat.

Then Alucard exhaled, like he’d been holding something for too long. “Mother used to tell me… if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Illyana. After her grandmother. She said the name meant strength and clarity — two things a woman always needs.”

Sypha turned toward him, blinking. “You never told us that.”

He gave a slight shrug. “No one ever asked.”

Trevor looked up at him, then back down at the baby. “Illyana…”

Sypha tried it on her tongue. “Illyana.”

It felt right. Warm and clean and ancient. Something with roots. Something with meaning.

“Elena was nice,” she added gently, “but… this feels like her.”

Trevor looked between them. “Illyana Belnades Belmont Tepes. That’s gonna be a mouthful on every birthday cake.”

“She’ll manage,” Sypha said, proud and tired and glowing. “She’ll grow into it.”

Trevor smiled. “She already is.”

The baby let out a soft breath and curled tighter in his arms.

Sypha reached over, touching her daughter’s tiny cheek. “Illyana,” she whispered. “Welcome to the world, my little storm.”

Alucard placed a hand on Sypha’s shoulder. Then, after a quiet moment, reached out and gently rested his fingers on the baby’s head. He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Their child had a name now.
A name with history.
A name born in love, not legacy.

And for the first time in a long, hard life, Sypha felt like something was beginning — not ending.

Chapter 19: Night

There was no plan.

Sypha had written scrolls full of theories about birth and babies, drawn charts, practiced with herbs and linens and charms to ease pain. Trevor had made sure the room was secure and warm, the fire stoked, his weapons in reach just in case. Alucard had read three entire books about newborn care in three different languages.

None of them had truly planned for this.

It was the middle of the night. The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Sypha was trying not to cry (again), Alucard looked like he hadn’t blinked in twenty minutes, and Trevor…

Trevor was pacing the room with a very loud, very angry baby in his arms.

“She doesn’t like me,” he said hoarsely, for the fourth time. “I knew it. She’s too smart. She’s already decided I’m the weak link.”

“She likes you just fine,” Sypha said from the bed, bundled in quilts. “She’s just… loud. She’s making herself known.”

“She’s half Belmont,” Alucard offered dryly from the corner, where he was currently preparing warm water with surprising delicacy. “You can’t expect subtlety.”

Trevor made a face at him and kept walking, bouncing Illyana gently. “I tried humming. I tried walking. I tried talking to her about monster hunting.”

“That may be your problem,” Alucard murmured.

Sypha gave a groggy little laugh. “Try the lullaby.”

“I don’t know a lullaby.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I know drinking songs.”

“She liked the one about the sad goat,” Sypha muttered sleepily. “Try that one again.”

Trevor gave the baby a skeptical look. “You want the goat song?”

Illyana let out a fresh, furious squawk.

“That’s a yes,” Alucard said calmly.

Trevor sighed, then started humming — low and off-key — a ridiculous, mournful little song about a goat who lost its boots in a rainstorm. Illyana, to everyone’s shock, went quiet.

Then hiccupped.

Then sighed.

And finally… finally, settled against Trevor’s chest, tiny fingers curled in the worn fabric of his shirt.

All three of them went still.

“…Is she asleep?” Sypha whispered.

Trevor looked terrified. “Maybe.”

Alucard crept across the room like a man sneaking past a dragon. “Don’t jinx it.”

Sypha reached for the bundle in Trevor’s arms. “Bring her here. Come on, she needs to lie down.”

“No,” Trevor whispered fiercely. “If I move, she’ll know.”

“She will not—”

Illyana stirred.

All three froze.

Silence.

Then a soft baby sigh. Peaceful. Asleep.

Trevor let out a long breath like he’d just defused a bomb. Carefully, like a man placing a holy relic on an altar, he lay her in the cradle beside the bed.

Alucard tucked a soft blanket around her. Sypha lit a small blue charm to keep the warmth steady and protect against night chills.

They all stared down at her, as if afraid she’d vanish.

“I can’t believe she’s real,” Sypha whispered.

“I can’t believe we made her,” Trevor murmured.

Alucard, quieter still: “I can’t believe she’s ours.”

And somehow, despite the aching backs, the sore feet, the utterly crushed sleep schedules, the spilled water, and the unidentifiable stain on Trevor’s shirt… the room was full of peace.

The cradle creaked as Illyana shifted slightly in her sleep.

“She’s gonna wake up in like fifteen minutes, isn’t she?” Trevor asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Sypha said.

“And I’ll probably be the one holding her when she poops again.”

“That’s the dream,” Alucard murmured with a smirk.

But they all smiled — the soft, helpless kind that only comes when you’re completely exhausted and entirely, wildly in love.

Chapter 20: Rolling Thunder

It happened on an ordinary afternoon.

The kind with soft golden light through the windows, half-folded laundry forgotten in a basket, and a cup of lukewarm tea on the table no one remembered pouring. The fire crackled lazily in the hearth, and outside the leaves whispered against the stone walls — summer giving way to early fall.

Illyana was lying on a thick woolen blanket on the floor, kicking her feet with great determination, her fists balled tight, brow furrowed like she was preparing for battle.

Sypha lounged beside her, scribbling in a leather-bound journal with ink-stained fingers, occasionally narrating things like:

“Subject remains upright, shows no interest in naps. Potentially plotting world domination.”

Trevor sat nearby sharpening one of his knives — more for habit than need — casting glances at the baby every few seconds.

Alucard was reading, cross-legged, barefoot, and deeply engrossed in a tome until a familiar grunt caught his attention.

Illyana had turned halfway onto her side.

Trevor leaned forward slightly. “Did she mean to do that?”

Sypha looked up. “She’s been trying for days, but she never—”

A determined little sound came from the blanket.

Illyana’s face scrunched. She kicked one leg. Her whole body wobbled.

And with one dramatic, wiggling twist—

She rolled.

Fully. Onto her belly.

All three of them froze.

There was a beat of stunned silence, followed by—

“Oh my gods,” Sypha gasped.

“She rolled,” Trevor said, staring.

“She did,” Alucard breathed. “She actually—”

Illyana let out a small victorious grunt and then face-planted directly into the blanket.

Trevor lunged forward. “She’s okay, right?! That looked like a nose hit.”

“She’s fine, she’s fine!” Sypha said, laughing now, crawling over to gently turn her. “She just didn’t plan for the landing.”

Alucard blinked once. “She rolled.”

Sypha nodded, proud tears in her eyes. “Our daughter just rolled over.”

“She’s gonna be walking by dinner,” Trevor said, looking alarmed.

“She’s gonna be ruling a kingdom by the time she’s five,” Alucard added, deadpan.

Illyana squawked again, now flailing her arms as if demanding applause.

So they gave it to her.

Trevor clapped, startled and delighted. Sypha whooped. Alucard, not typically one for dramatics, actually laughed — a rare, bright, genuine sound that lit up the whole room.

“Do it again,” Trevor encouraged. “Come on, squishy. Show us.”

Illyana blinked at them like, What, you want an encore? Then shoved a fist in her mouth and blew a very loud raspberry.

“Fair enough,” Sypha chuckled. “She gave us her best performance.”

Trevor leaned down and kissed her messy curls. “You genius little cabbage.”

Alucard tilted his head, eyes soft. “I’ll write to Greta. She’ll want to know.”

“Write?” Sypha scoffed. “I’m painting it into the baby book with gold ink.”

“She doesn’t have a baby book.”

“She will.”

Trevor flopped backward with a groan. “We’re gonna be those parents, aren’t we?”

“We already are,” Alucard murmured.

Illyana let out one final triumphant grunt and promptly spit up on the blanket.

They all looked at the mess.

Then at each other.

Trevor sighed. “I'll get the towel.”

Chapter 21: A Few Weeks Later

Mornings weren’t quiet anymore.

They weren’t restful, or predictable, or anything close to peaceful. They began early — earlier than even Sypha liked — usually with a soft whimper that turned into a wail and sometimes with a suspiciously wet something soaking through someone’s shirt.

But mornings now meant the same thing every time:

She’s still here.
She’s still real.
And somehow, impossibly — they were making this work.

Illyana was three weeks old.
She had Trevor’s pout.
Alucard’s eyes.
Sypha’s fire.

And absolutely no respect for sleep.

Today, Sypha woke first. She always did now. Her body had tuned itself to the smallest sound — a snuffle, a kick, a sigh from the cradle. She lay there for a moment, blinking blearily, then turned on her side and looked.

Illyana was awake, eyes wide and serious, staring up at the ceiling like she had something very important to tell the morning sun.

Sypha smiled. “Good morning, little storm.”

Trevor, still face-down in a pillow beside her, groaned. “She’s up already?”

Sypha sat up with a wince and reached into the cradle. “She’s been up. You just slept through her very moving pre-breakfast monologue.”

“I was dreaming about sleep,” he mumbled.

“Very productive.”

Alucard appeared silently in the doorway, hair loose, robes slightly rumpled, holding a steaming cup of something herbal and restorative. “I’m fairly certain I hallucinated changing her at two in the morning,” he said mildly. “Did that happen?”

Sypha nodded. “Yes. You were heroic.”

Illyana let out a very loud, very expressive squeal. Sypha lifted her up with both arms and kissed her forehead.

“Oh, she’s definitely pooped,” she announced.

Trevor groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

Alucard extended the cup toward her. “Drink this first. I’ll take her.”

“Careful,” Sypha warned as she handed over their wriggling daughter. “She’s been storing this one.”

Alucard arched an eyebrow and accepted Illyana like she was a tiny, magical time bomb. “Good morning, little tyrant,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “Please don’t destroy me.”

Illyana cooed.

Trevor flopped over and blinked up at them. His hair was wild, his eyes soft. “I don’t remember what my life was like before she existed.”

Sypha sipped the drink Alucard made and let out a small sound of agreement.

“I don’t think we were really living before her,” she said. “We were just... surviving.”

Alucard stood with the baby in his arms, bouncing her gently, and looked down at them — his strange, impossible little family — and smiled.

“She’s going to change everything,” he said.

“She already has,” Trevor replied, pushing himself upright. “I mean, look at us. You just made herbal tea. Sypha’s letting someone else do the changing. And I haven’t punched anyone in two weeks.”

Sypha laughed. “That’s personal growth.”

“Or sleep deprivation,” Alucard offered.

They all smiled.

Illyana sneezed.

Then hiccupped.

Then smiled — or something close to it.

Trevor sat up fully and reached for her. “Give me that squishy little chaos mage. My turn.”

Alucard handed her over like she was something holy.

Sypha watched them together — Trevor rocking gently, Alucard brushing sleep from her eyes, the baby nestled between them — and felt her heart stretch again. It had grown too big for her chest ever since the day Illyana was born. Maybe even before.

And every morning since, it had only gotten bigger.

Chapter 22

It started with Trevor falling over a chair.

To be fair, the chair had moved.

At least, that was his story.

Alucard raised one elegant eyebrow from across the room. “It’s been in the same place for two months.”

“No, no — it definitely moved,” Trevor muttered from the floor, rubbing his elbow and trying to look dignified about it. “It was lying in wait. Sabotage.”

Sypha, curled up in the window seat with Illyana in her arms, tried to contain a smile. “Sure. Ambush furniture.”

Trevor pointed a dramatic finger at the child. “Tell your daughter to stop laughing at my pain.”

“She’s not laughing,” Sypha said gently. “She’s just smiling. That dreamy, gassy, I-like-your-face kind of smile.”

Illyana, perched upright with her back against Sypha’s chest, stared at Trevor like he was her favorite painting come to life. Her lips were parted, her eyes bright, her cheeks full and round.

And then—

It happened.

A tiny, breathy, bubbly sound.

So light it almost didn’t register at first.

Sypha blinked. “Did she just—?”

Illyana made the noise again, louder this time. A sound of pure joy — bright and silly and spontaneous.

A giggle.

All three froze.

Trevor sat up straighter, stunned. “Was that—”

“That was a laugh,” Alucard said softly, as if afraid to scare it off.

Sypha gasped and bounced gently. “Illyana! Did you just laugh at your silly father falling on his face?”

Illyana made a soft cooing noise, then — prompted by Sypha wiggling her fingers under her chin — broke into a delighted squeal followed by a full, breathless giggle.

Trevor was on his feet in an instant. “Again. Do it again. I will fall over every chair in this house if that’s what it takes.”

Sypha was laughing now too, breathless with emotion. “I think it was just the sound of your voice—”

“Hey!”

“She has excellent taste,” Alucard added dryly, though even he couldn’t suppress a quiet smile.

Trevor crouched low, face close to Illyana’s. “Hi there, squishy. You like it when I make a fool of myself, huh?”

Illyana stared at him for a second. Then, suddenly, as if she couldn’t hold it in—

Another giggle.

A high, hiccupy, delightful sound that lit the entire room with something better than sunlight.

Trevor looked like he’d been punched in the heart.

“I’d die for that sound,” he said, awestruck.

“We all would,” Sypha murmured, hugging their daughter close. “I think we just heard joy for the first time.”

Alucard came to sit beside them, one long arm draping across Sypha’s shoulders, the other reaching to touch Illyana’s tiny hand.

She grabbed his finger and giggled again.

And just like that, the tension that still sometimes clung to Alucard — the worry, the weight, the echoes of his own lonely childhood — melted from his features.

“She’s happy,” he whispered. “She’s really… happy.”

“Because she’s loved,” Sypha said simply.

Trevor grinned. “And she thinks we’re funny-looking.”

“That helps,” Alucard said.

They all laughed — quietly, gently — as Illyana let out one last giggle, yawned like a kitten, and promptly passed out in Sypha’s arms.

Wrapped in love.
Safe.
Content.
Laughing into dreams.

Chapter 23: Out Into the World

It was the first truly mild day in weeks.

The storm clouds had cleared, the ground had dried, and the sun peeked through the trees like it had personally sent an invitation. Birds sang. The wind smelled like distant flowers and damp moss. The world, at last, felt safe again.

So they decided to go outside.

It was just a short walk — no danger, no destination. Just the woods beyond the hold, where the earth was soft and the path curved gently beneath towering oaks.

Sypha carried Illyana in a soft linen sling tied securely across her chest. The baby wore an absurdly tiny woolen cloak with a silver clasp Alucard had made by hand. Trevor had strapped on a small satchel like they were prepping for a siege, filled with more than they could possibly need for an hour outdoors: extra blankets, snacks, a flask of warmed milk, and an entire change of clothes “just in case she explodes.”

“She’s not going to explode,” Sypha said as they walked, bouncing Illyana lightly.

“She might,” Trevor muttered. “You haven’t seen the way she’s been eyeing those pears.”

Alucard walked beside them, hands behind his back, every now and then glancing down at Illyana like he couldn’t quite believe she was real — and here — and his.

The forest greeted them like an old friend.

It was quieter out here. The kind of quiet that made every breath feel deep and full. Illyana cooed softly, eyes wide and blinking against the sunlight filtering through the trees. Birds chirped. Branches swayed.

She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and Sypha smiled.

“She likes it.”

“She’s a forest witch already,” Trevor said proudly.

Alucard gave him a look. “She’s not even crawling.”

“She doesn’t need to crawl,” Trevor argued. “She’s got magic in her veins and two warrior parents to carry her around.”

“And me?”

“You’re the soft one.”

Alucard blinked. “I am not.”

Sypha snorted. “You hand-sewed that cloak, Alucard.”

“For warmth and protection.”

“With embroidered moon phases on the hem.”

Trevor leaned over. “Also, she drooled on your shoulder and you didn’t flinch. You’re a marshmallow.”

Alucard looked mildly betrayed.

They walked on, laughing softly, until they reached a small glade — a place where the sun fell in golden shafts and the wind carried the scent of pine. Sypha stopped there, gently shifting Illyana to sit in her lap while she perched on a mossy rock.

Illyana blinked up at the trees.

Then lifted one pudgy hand, as if trying to catch the light.

Trevor sat beside them. Alucard stayed standing, quiet, hands folded in front of him as he watched his family bathed in sunlight and birdsong.

“This feels like the beginning of something,” Sypha said softly.

“It is,” Alucard agreed. “The world didn’t end. Not yet. We get to show her it now.”

Trevor pulled a small flower from the grass and tucked it behind Illyana’s ear. “We’ll take her everywhere. One day.”

“But not too fast,” Sypha said, holding her close. “Let’s not rush.”

Illyana yawned.

Then, with the faintest sigh, rested her cheek against her mother’s chest and drifted to sleep under the open sky.

They stayed there a while longer — all three of them — not speaking much, just listening to the breeze and the tiny, perfect breath of their daughter.

It wasn’t a grand adventure. Not yet.

But it was the first step.

And it was beautiful.

Chapter 24: Out Into the World

It was the first truly mild day in weeks.
The storm clouds had cleared, the ground had dried, and the sun peeked through the trees like it had personally sent an invitation. Birds sang. The wind smelled like distant flowers and damp moss. The world, at last, felt safe again.
So they decided to go outside.
It was just a short walk — no danger, no destination. Just the woods beyond the hold, where the earth was soft and the path curved gently beneath towering oaks.
Sypha carried Illyana in a soft linen sling tied securely across her chest. The baby wore an absurdly tiny woolen cloak with a silver clasp Alucard had made by hand. Trevor had strapped on a small satchel like they were prepping for a siege, filled with more than they could possibly need for an hour outdoors: extra blankets, snacks, a flask of warmed milk, and an entire change of clothes “just in case she explodes.”
“She’s not going to explode,” Sypha said as they walked, bouncing Illyana lightly.
“She might,” Trevor muttered. “You haven’t seen the way she’s been eyeing those pears.”
Alucard walked beside them, hands behind his back, every now and then glancing down at Illyana like he couldn’t quite believe she was real — and here — and his.
The forest greeted them like an old friend.
It was quieter out here. The kind of quiet that made every breath feel deep and full. Illyana cooed softly, eyes wide and blinking against the sunlight filtering through the trees. Birds chirped. Branches swayed.
She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and Sypha smiled.
“She likes it.”
“She’s a forest witch already,” Trevor said proudly.
Alucard gave him a look. “She’s not even crawling.”
“She doesn’t need to crawl,” Trevor argued. “She’s got magic in her veins and two warrior parents to carry her around.”
“And me?”
“You’re the soft one.”
Alucard blinked. “I am not.”
Sypha snorted. “You hand-sewed that cloak, Alucard.”
“For warmth and protection.”
“With embroidered moon phases on the hem.”
Trevor leaned over. “Also, she drooled on your shoulder and you didn’t flinch. You’re a marshmallow.”
Alucard looked mildly betrayed.
They walked on, laughing softly, until they reached a small glade — a place where the sun fell in golden shafts and the wind carried the scent of pine. Sypha stopped there, gently shifting Illyana to sit in her lap while she perched on a mossy rock.
Illyana blinked up at the trees.
Then lifted one pudgy hand, as if trying to catch the light.
Trevor sat beside them. Alucard stayed standing, quiet, hands folded in front of him as he watched his family bathed in sunlight and birdsong.
“This feels like the beginning of something,” Sypha said softly.
“It is,” Alucard agreed. “The world didn’t end. Not yet. We get to show her it now.”
Trevor pulled a small flower from the grass and tucked it behind Illyana’s ear. “We’ll take her everywhere. One day.”
“But not too fast,” Sypha said, holding her close. “Let’s not rush.”
Illyana yawned.
Then, with the faintest sigh, rested her cheek against her mother’s chest and drifted to sleep under the open sky.
They stayed there a while longer — all three of them — not speaking much, just listening to the breeze and the tiny, perfect breath of their daughter.
It wasn’t a grand adventure. Not yet.
But it was the first step.
And it was beautiful.

Chapter 25: the Quiet

The baby was finally asleep.
Not the light, twitchy kind of sleep where one wrong creak of the floorboards summoned a squall — real sleep. Deep, heavy, warm and snuffly. The kind where her little arms flopped to the side and her mouth hung slightly open in total surrender.
They’d earned it.
Sypha had bounced her for an hour. Trevor had sung — badly — until she cried laughing. Alucard had resorted to walking slow figure-eights through the hall with her tucked against his chest, humming lullabies half-remembered from his own childhood.
But now... she was down.
Wrapped in blankets, tucked in safely beside the hearth, a charm of warmth and silence woven carefully around her. Still. Safe.
And suddenly — the house was quiet.
It took a moment to settle into it. The kind of stillness that used to be normal now felt alien. Like a dream they’d forgotten how to have.
Sypha sat cross-legged on a worn cushion, letting the fire’s glow wash over her. Her hair was braided, a little messy, and her eyes were heavy but soft.
Trevor brought over three mugs of tea. Strong, sweet. He set them down on the low table and dropped beside her with a contented groan.
Alucard joined them last, always graceful even when exhausted, settling into the circle with the ease of someone who finally stopped bracing for disaster.
For a long time, no one spoke.
They just sat.
Listening to the fire crackle. Watching shadows dance across stone walls. Breathing.
Together.
Sypha broke the silence first, voice hushed. “I didn’t realize how loud life had gotten until she finally fell asleep.”
Trevor let out a soft laugh. “My ears are still ringing from that last scream.”
“She’s developing lungs,” Alucard said mildly. “By the time she’s two, I suspect she’ll be able to shatter glass.”
Sypha smiled tiredly. “You love her voice.”
“I love her,” Alucard corrected. “Even when she yells like a banshee.”
Trevor stretched out his legs. “Hard to believe she wasn’t even here a few months ago. Now it’s like she’s always been part of us.”
“She has,” Sypha said softly. “She was always waiting. We just had to be ready.”
Alucard looked into his tea for a moment. “I wasn’t. Not really.”
Trevor glanced over. “You were.”
“I was scared.”
“So were we,” Sypha whispered.
“But we had you,” Trevor added. “And now she does too.”
Alucard’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Sometimes I still don’t know where I fit.”
Trevor reached across the cushions and took his hand.
Sypha, on Alucard’s other side, leaned her head against his shoulder.
“You fit here,” she said. “Always.”
He didn’t reply with words. Just squeezed Trevor’s hand and rested his cheek against Sypha’s hair.
For the first time in what felt like forever, they were quiet without tension. Without urgency. The kind of silence that comes from being known. Loved. Home.
Eventually, Sypha’s eyes began to droop.
Trevor shifted to lie on his side, dragging a blanket across all three of them.
Alucard stayed awake a little longer, listening to their breathing. Watching the firelight flicker against the cradle nearby.
In the stillness, he let himself smile.
They were tired. Unwashed. Bruised in places no one could see. But they were also whole.
And for one perfect night...
Everything was exactly as it should be.