True to his words and peculiar form of hospitality, the old man whisked up a beverage for Burn.

  Rejeg the hot chocote—partly out of suspi and partly because he wasn't keen on being coddled like a toddler—Burn found himself staring do of tea instead.

  But this wasn't just any tea; it was an overly sweet coilky to the point of being infantile. Clearly, the old man hadn't received the memo that Burn was no longer in short trousers.

  As Burn took a relut sip, his face torted in a grimace worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, all thanks to the saccharine overload.

  this, the old man clucked sympathetically, "Why? Did I fet to add sugar again? Poor boy, it’s bitter, right? I’m so sorry."

  His tone was dripping with such earhat it bordered on edic.

  Burn, already on edge from being treated like a misbehaving child relegated to the kids' table at Thanksgiving, found his irritation bubbling like a poorly brewed potion.

  The siy in the old man's voily served to grate further, as if he genuinely believed he'd brewed a batch of uened sorrow instead of a dental nightmare.

  "Now, dear child, please share your s with Father. It was quite tumultuous outside for a time, wasn't it? Did you seek shelter and assistance here? Tell me what troubles you, and I will do all I to help."

  If Burn hadn’t been aware of how dangerous the old man in front of him was, he might have actually gagged. The overly sweet tea had nearly made him gag as well, but this was even more ing.

  "What is this pce?" Burn asked, maintaining his cold and vigint demeanor.

  The old man hummed thoughtfully. "This... is a church. A pce where you worship God?" he replied, tilting his fully covered head to the side as if truly puzzled by Burn's question.

  "I saw you draining a creature's blood in one of your chambers. You still cim this is a holy pce?" Burn asked sharply, his tone low and acg.

  "I uand... you've witnessed our less favorable side. It's unfortunate, as we are not in a position to defend ourselves uhese circumstances."

  "But child," the man said as he slowly lifted the mesh fabric c the upper half of his face, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes—"Could you perhaps be more uanding about our only means of sustenance?"

  As Emperor Bur a chill slither down his spine, his golden eyes wide the sight of the two glowing red orbs surrounded by an abyss of darkness.

  Being on the receiving end of that crimson gaze was an experieo itself. It was suffog, like wearing a turtleneit by an overly affeate grandmother, or in this case, a grandfather—tight, itchy, and uing.

  The air seemed to thi, each breath a borious effort, as if he were trying to ihrough a straw at a high-altitude training camp.

  The cold that apahose eyes was not the refreshing chill of a brisk fall evening but more akin to the ued shock of sitting on a frozen toilet seat in the dead of winter—a jolt that sends unwele shivers across your entire body.

  Yuck.

  Moreover, the sheer heaviness of that stare pressed down on him felt a lead b. So oppressive.

  Burn's senses were overwhelmed, eae dialed up to eleven as if his body was trying to perceive dahrough every possible el.

  “Alright, please stop that or I’ll vomit right on your expensive rug,” Burn said with narrowed eyes.

  A flicker of surprise passed through the old man's exposed red eyes, quickly followed by a glint of curiosity.

  Though subtle, these ges were disible—a brief interruption in his otherwise posed demeanor, like a ripple on a still pond, revealing a depth of emotion momentarily before returning to calm.

  Silence.

  “Are you siauseous? Here… drink your warm milk tea, dear,” the old man pushed the tea closer to him.

  “I’m not a kid,” Burn growled.

  Maybe this old man was actually just senile.

  “But aren’t you baby Burn, the young Soulnaught king’s son? You were just born… a couple of months aght?” yep, the old man was actually senile.

  “I’m not going to tinue pying yame. Don’t randomly try to surprise me that you know who I am, old vampire,” Burn tered after trolling his popping angry veins.

  The pair of red eyes were smiling.

  “But I do know who you are,” the old man chuckled softly. “I’m sorry for teasing you. This old man ’t help it.”

  After a brief cozy silehe man sat reed on the chair and sighed. “You might not remember me, but I met you when you’re still so small. My name is Gran Gran Vd.”

  “That’s not your name.”

  “ht. It’s how the children call me.”

  “I’m sure no children would call you that.”

  “Huh? What do they call me, then?”

  "Stop stalling. Just tell me what this pce really is. Have I e to the wrong church?" Burn asked, his frustration mounting.

  “Oh, you’re searg for something? Is it yran Gran Vd?”

  Burn’s face twisted in anger as he grasped the armrest of his chair. “I’m going to start speaking casually to you, old man.”

  “Hohoho… you sound a lot like your mommy…” Vd smiled.

  Burn’s toied. His mouth shut.

  “How’s my sweet Viviane? Is she healthy?” The old man’s voice was deep and warm.

  A heavy silence fell over them, thid dark, stretg endlessly before Burn finally broke it.

  "She passed away."

  ***

  It was like a roller coaster ride.

  Surely it wasn't Burn's favorite pastime, but here he was, strapped in and climbing the big ine.

  Bured from the man’s abilities that he was a vampire. The hypnotizing red eyes, the attire, the blood draining and how old he actually sounded.

  Not just any vampire, but the kind who wielded his supernatural abilities with the finesse of a seasoned maestro.

  Instead of unleashing hellish fury oorch-bearing mob, he opted fentler mischief—mind trol at its mildest, as if swatting flies with a silk handkerchief instead of a sledgehammer.

  He was an odd ohis Vd—quirky yet not malevolent. His tacti dispersing the mob were more about cheeky interferehan any dark, annihitive force.

  It was the supernatural equivalent of a grandpa pulling s from behind ears, albeit the s were people’s wills and the ears were their minds.

  Like prank-loving-old-man-vampire-grandpa.

  And—he even knew Burn's mother's other name, Viviane. Only her closest rivy to that alias, which painted Vd not just as a mischievous old bloodsucker, but as someone signifitly closer to the family than Burn might have guessed.

  Vd had dubbed himself 'Father,' too, a fitting title in this bizarre sanctuary that masqueraded as a church. It seemed this gregation of fully-covered vampires might actually believe in something divine, despite the obvious irony of their situation.

  A vampire church was about as ventional as a shark vegetarian supproup.

  Burn’s curiosity spiked—why would a band of vampires need a church? (Everyone was wearing full body ce garments, remember?)

  Seeing the situation, they might know about Man Le Fay tht?

  “Huh? Man Le Fay?” Old Man Vd asked, “Whose child is she? Do I know her parents?”

  He is senile.