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Chapter Text

Vorador wasn’t sure why he still visited the Serefan stronghold.

He had only ventured inside once, many years ago. He had torn through the feeble guard and, upon finding the circle, huddled inside like bugs under a stone, he had slaughtered them. The most powerful men and women in Nosgoth had fallen easily to him. His grief and anger had destroyed them. It wasn’t until he returned home and his anger cooled that he even realised he had not killed them all. He had spared Malek deliberately. Defeat was worse than death for the warrior, but he hadn’t meant to spare the others, time, death and dimension. He had often thought of hunting them down, but time had wearied him and in the end, he had not followed through with the thought.

Yet, despite it all, he still visited the stronghold every few years. He knew Mobius dwelt within, but never tried to reach him. The time streamer worried him. He had never understood time travel. That a person could be born in one year but could influence events centuries before their birth and after their death, both confused and worried him. How much damage those individuals could do frightened him. So he monitored the old guardian.

He was watching the stronghold through his ravens on the day that the blue wraith emerged onto the balcony. The creature radiated with purpose and destiny in much the same way that Janos had before his ‘death’. Even now that he was ‘dead’, Janos’ still pure body radiated with a kind of energy that had Vorador uneasy. He watched the creature as it stopped on the stone platform and looked out at the world. It was grotesque, little more than a walking skelington with only a few scraps of flesh still clinging to its chest and abdomen. Its legs and arms seemed to have fared better in death, boasting powerful muscle and the sharp claws of an evolved vampire.

He watched as the creature leapt from the balcony and vanished beneath the water, only to emerge across the lake and release the underwater gate before making its escape. Vorador considered staying at the stronghold, but decided quickly against it. This creature was far more interesting. He had never seen it like before. It clearly wasn’t human, and it was more demonic than vampiric. When he saw the path the creature was taking, he guided some of his ravens to a bridge and waited. When the creature passed, he fled, fearful it would sense him, but not before he had caught the scent. There was an element of vampire, but there was something else, something he knew he recognised but couldn’t put a name to.

Where had this creature come from?

And why did Vorador feel he knew him? Or knew of him? Vorador shook his head in confusion. He disliked this. He could practically smell manufactured destiny on this creature. All his instincts warned him to stay away, yet he followed. The creature continued on its path and across the second bridge, this one raised high. Again Vorador ventured closer, but he could sense nothing further from the creature. He expected it was heading to the pillars and was not surprised when it slaughtered the guards and opened the way to the glade.

Vorador cast his attention to the pillars and flinched. There was someone waiting at the pillars. Vorador focused his attention on the stranger and quickly deduced he was vampiric and well evolved. Clearly, this was no fledgling. But Vorador had never seen him before today, and that simply could not be. Vorador knew all the vampires in Nosgoth, and he knew he was the only evolved one left after the witch hunts.

So, where had this one come from?

He watched and listened as the blue demon and the stranger spoke. His ravens wandering closer, not unnoticed, but neither of the strangers seemed to care that they were being watched. Vorador understood their conversation, but not all the references. His head perked his ears at the vampire’s name. He had heard it somewhere before, but in his surprise, his memory eluded him. Kain’s words were so shrouded in enough metaphor that Vorador had a hard time following and he tensed when it became apparent that the events were unfolding as Kain spoke of them.

He watched, bile rising in his throat, as the pillars blackened at the exact moment Kain had said they would. He was unsure exactly what was happening, but after centuries spent with Janos and the ancient vampires, he knew what the pillars of magic felt like enough to recognise when something was going drastically wrong. Kain continued to speak even as the pillars blackened around him, his voice far too calm, too controlled for someone witnessing the fall of the pillars.

Vorador continued to listen until Kain had disappeared and the blue demon, who he learned was called Raziel, moved away. He watched, still confused, as Raziel held up his arms, turned and then vanished from sight and all other senses.

He called more of his Ravens and sent them out. He wanted to find him.

He was unsure why he had continued to follow the creature. It was strange, but he felt drawn to these two. There was something achingly familure about the vampire and blue creature, something he could not put his finger on and it concerned him.

When his raven’s spotted Raziel in the swamp he focused his energy and moved himself to the ancient temple. He wanted to see Raziel with his own eyes. In his haste he had been spotted and he made his escape. He continued to watch as Raziel entered the temple that had been sealed for centuries and felt his stomach drop.

This was prophecy, it had to be. Janos had spoken passionately and at great length of prophecy. He had failed to mention much in the way of specifics but he had spoken with such intent and reverence of the fabled saviour and his capabilies that Vorador couldn’t help but recognise him now. Unsure how to feel Vorador had moved back to the Temples entrance and waited. Years and years of indoctrination prevented him from following Raziel despite his personal distaste for prophecy and religion.

When Raziel emerged he confronted him.

He expected grand speaches, dramatic, possibly even life changing events but instead he was met with posturing and confusion. Within moment’s it was clear that Raziel had no idea who he was, and that he was angry and confused. A dangerous combination.

During the conversation Vorador remembered where he had heard the name Kain before. Vampires meddling in the affairs of men, he remembered the tale and how it had sparked Moebius’ little genocide. It angered him deeply but confused him even more so, the vampire in the history tale had been named Kain, and he had been depicted in the tale as a fledgling. Was it possible that that Kain and the one talking at the pillars were the same? It was unlikely though, despite the circumstances not enough time had yet passed for the fledgling in the tale to have matured the way the vampire in the glade had clearly been. No doubt that fledgling was dead.

Raziel’s anger frightened him, such mistakes could be made by those with power when they were angry. So Vorador offered advice to stay away from humans and retreated.

He retuened to the stronghold, sending his ravens out into the countryside to listen to the human’s patrolling the pathways. They mentioned Raziel as he had hoped they would, but they also spoke of something else. His curiosity peaked when he had overheard Moebius’ men speak of the Soul Reaver, he had known Moebius had the blade in the Keep, but had never really thought of it, for there had been tales of moving the blade to Avernus, and there had been tales of the blade disappearing entirely. But these men spoke of the broken blade being mended.

He considered this carefully and after only a little hesitation he infiltrated the Keep with ease. It was never hard to steal inside even when the Serefan were in power but now it was child’s play. The cathedral was large but not particularly impressive, not to one who had seen the stone work of the ancient vampires. He had moved silently through the empty cathedral and had entered the tomb of William the Just and indeed the blade had been restored. But the tomb was cracked down the centre, it looked as if a god had ripped it in two and the mortals had pushed it back together. The blade rested atop the fractured stone and it was indeed whole once more.

Vorador had paused, his hand lingering over the relic, restored and whole.

Perhaps prophecy might be true.

Chapter Text

His home had been attacked, but not by Moebius and his pathetic army. Vorador had fortifications that would stop a group of people from getting in. He had protections inside and outside the manor, not to mention the treacherous nature of the swamp itself. But instead of the half expected army, he had been attacked by a lone, fledgling vampire. The brash bastard had waltzed into the mansion, easily bypassing Vorador’s more formidable defences and sending a chill down Vorador’s back. There was something about this creature, this fledgling, that was eerily familiar.

Initially, Vorador had shaken off the feeling of trepidation. He had many children, young and old. The young had sheer numbers on their side and the elder children had evolution, skill and knowledge on theirs. It would not be much for them to kill a lone fledgling. However, he quickly realised his mistake when the unmistakable smell of vampire blood permeated the manor. The brash fledgling was butchering his way through the manor with little thought or care for numbers or the age of those he slaughtered.
It quickly got ridiculous and Vorador sent out a silent command for his remaining children to fall back. He waited alone in the dining chamber, pointedly ignoring the rising feeling that he knew this creature, or had at least seen it before. Instead, he considered how he would handle the situation. He tapped his talons on the old wood of the table and pondered. This was clearly a powerful creature. It might be worth making an ally if possible. But it was also a very dangerous creature. It might be safer just to kill the thing.

The dining chamber door opened abruptly, and the fledgling entered. Vorador considered destroying it while it gaped at him, but the wide-eyed look gave him pause. For all its power and the odd feeling, it stirred in him this was a child, a child he could mould if handled carefully.

“It’s not often I see one of our own,” he began, hoping to ease the tension but not wanting to show weakness. “Especially one as young and foolish as yourself. Nonetheless, drink. Drink deep and indulge your gift.” He sent a cup to the fledgling but almost sent it clattering to the floor when he caught the scent of the fledgling under the reek of blood. He knew that scent. He remembered the pillars glade and the conversation between the blue demon posing as a saviour and the elder vampire. This fledgling’s scent was the same as the elder vampire.

But how?

He spoke, masking his confusion and subsequent nervousness with a monologue about his own history. He noticed the fledgling’s eyes catch fire when he spoke of his attack on the circle all those centuries ago, so that was why he had been sought.

“You may have seen the mural in Avernus,” he said, portraying a semblance of pride that even the circle members had deemed his stand against Malek worthy of immortalising. He was thinking on the stained glass in the cathedral when the realisation hit him like a war hammer to the gut. It wasn’t just the scent of the fledgling that had him nervous, he knew the look of this one as well. In William’s tomb, there was another glass etching or another famous battle. The King versus the Vampire Assassin.
Vorador looked at the fledgling, who was obviously waiting for him to continue his story. Hell, even the fledgling’s armour was the same as it was in the mural. He continued on with his telling of the attack on the circle, coughing occasionally or taking a drink to mask the shaking in his voice and hands as he put two and two together.

This creature, barely a month old now, was the same creature that had stood with the blue demon in the pillars gladly and was the same vampire who had killed William the Just. It was the same creature. Vorador dropped his own cup, and at the fledgling’s raised eyebrow, tried to make it look like he had cast the offending object away in distaste rather than his own worry and distraction.

There was only one way this could be possible, time-travel.

Vorador tried to slow his breathing and took a deep breath through his nose, his children’s blood was the strongest scent in the room, under that was the smell of the room itself, and under that was the scent of the fledgling, unique and tinged with a large dose of power. He could smell the pillars. He recognised the scent from the other guardian’s, now that he had noticed it, he could practically taste the residual magic coming from the fledgling.

He was a pillar guardian.

That explained a lot.

Taking a moment to appreciate the first vampire guardian in centuries, Vorador smiled at the fledging, earning him a look of simple confusion, so he continued with his story. Whilst talking, he tried to feel out which of the guardian’s this fledgling could be. He’d lost track of who was alive and who wasn’t. The last death he recalled were those that he caused, but it was entirely possible that another could have fallen without his notice.

He pondered on it while he spoke. He clearly wasn’t time, as Vorador knew Moebius still lived. He had seen the fledgling use a ridiculous amount of brute force, but the Conflict guardian was still alive… sort of. There had been a lot of magic flying around earlier than well, a lot of different types of magic. Perhaps this was a new state’s guardian?

“As Ariel dies, I am being born to take her place as Balance Guardian. Such is my destiny.”

Vorador swallowed hard and stood. The fledgling Kain raised an eyebrow at him, apparently innocent of Vorador’s thoughts and the knowledge of what he would one day become. Standing in front of him now was the hub of the circle, dear god.
Vorador had never truly wanted to meddle in the affairs of time-travel and those who know its secrets. For the slightest thing, the smallest wrong move could bring the future down in ruins around his feet. But so many had died in the genocide, so many that he had cared for had fallen to Moebius’ mob and the creature in front of him was the apparent cause. With that thought, he felt his talons tense and had to concentrate to stop himself from leaning across the table and tearing the fledgling’s throat out.
Anything to stop what had happened.

But he could not kill this one, for he had seen what he would do when older, had seen how the fledgling when older had tried to reason with the blue creature, the creature that had made Vorador think of old paintings, of head-crests and battles. Perhaps the ancients were right, perhaps their saviour had come at last, as had another, the ancient enemy had been prophesied to raise a champion of their own.

What if this one blinking at him now with a rather confused expression on his face was all that stood between Nosgoth and the ancient enemy and destruction? Vorador bit the inside of his mouth in frustration. Why had Janos not told him more? Why had he left him so defenceless against all of this? Why had he only told him scraps?

Kain coughed quietly, and Vorador glanced at him. The fledgling was frowning at him. Vorador shook himself. This one was so young, but already he had proven himself strong and unusually attuned to the magic in their land. So no Vorador would not risk killing the one who had a chance at saving them all, even if he didn’t really believe that the ancients were right or that this fledgling stood much of a chance of doing anything. The young rarely survived these days.

But still, he would do something.

He disliked meddling in the affairs of time travel, but he would risk it for this, and so he warned the fledgling Kain,

“Do not meddle in the affairs of men.” He could only hope it would be enough.

Chapter Text

It had not been enough.

He had foolishly allowed himself to think that if he might gently steer Kain, guide him not to meddle in the affairs of men, then he could alter the world they all now lived in, preventing the mortal’s focused hatred of vampires. But it had not worked. Moebius still patrolled the land, and he was getting closer.

Vorador had ordered those of his fledglings that were left to run. There were few of them now, not since Kain’s arrival and subsequent desecration of his brood. But those who survived he had ordered to flee. They would struggle on their own out in the world, but at least it would be an uncertain fate as opposed to certain demise if they remained. Some had, of course, stayed. They had refused to leave their home, they would fight to protect it. They would die.

Vorador had remained. He had thought about leaving, about delaying what he thought of as inevitable. But found that when he took the first step towards an escape, his heart had twisted inside of him. He could not leave, not while Janos remained in the garden tomb. He knew it was foolish to remain to protect someone who had died centuries ago, but in his eyes Janos was not truly dead, at least not yet. The heart still beat somewhere out in the land.

His last futile attempt to retrieve it by sending their ‘saviour’ to Avernus seemed to have failed, but despite all his plans crumbling around him, he could not let go of that last desperate shred of hope. Somehow, something would come right in all of this, but exactly what he did not know.

He lifted his sword and considered where would be best to make his last stand. He thought about going to the garden tomb, but quickly decided against it. They wouldn't go to Janos. He doubted they even knew Janos was here and if they found Vorador in the house, then they would have no reason to go into the garden. Janos could stay safe if he made his stand here.

He chose the East Wing Library in the end. It was his favourite. Despite being born into poverty hundreds of years ago, he treasured the books that Janos had taught him to read. The library, with its quiet peace and fond memories, would make for as good a place as any to die.

He settled himself into one of the larger chairs, resting his blade across his lap, and offered a prayer to any god that would listen. He had never prayed before. He had always felt foolish at the thought of praying. Even during the ancient vampire’s war with the Hylden, when he had still been human, he had not prayed. Nor had he prayed when Janos’ teeth broke the thin skin on his throat. He had trusted Janos not to let him die despite the odds and the risk they were taking. He had not preyed when he had found his Sire’s corpse in the ruins of the aerie and he had not preyed when he sent a half wild fledgling out to perform the impossible or when he had sent their ‘saviour’ out to find the heart.

The smell of humans was thick in the air. He could tell they were close. There was a horrendous crash from the front of the mansion and Vorador sighed. He wondered if they found it as easy to get in here as he had when breaking into the Keep after finding Janos in the ruined Aerie. They were inside the mansion now. He could hear them all, hundreds of them. After the initial crash, they moved quietly, hoping to surprise him. Foolish creatures. He did not call out to them, instead he waited for them to find him. He would live or he would die, if he died then Janos would be at the mercy of these animals, if he lived he would likely die another day, it was only a matter of time before Moebius and his mob did what the Serefan had failed to do.

Vorador sighed, louder this time, listening as footsteps drew closer. He winced as the door shattered, wood splintering and falling to the floor as the mortals came in. He knew he could not win. He was grossly outnumbered, but still he fought; many fell before him but not enough, it could never be enough. He felt Moebius; staff move closer to him, close enough to make his heart burn. He had let out a cry. It couldn’t come yet, not so soon. He hadn’t killed enough of them yet. He could never kill enough of them.
Moebius had spoken to him, he was sure of it, but the words had not truly registered; they didn’t matter, anyway. He had failed, failed his children, who would be hunted down within the week. He had failed himself, allowing himself to fall so easily and he had failed Janos, Janos who slumbered in the tomb at the foot of the gardens. No doubt they would find him, and no doubt his ultimate resting place would be a pyre in the Serefan stronghold. Once the body was burned, there would be no hope of returning the heart.

The staff kept him still and agonised for the trip north from the forest, so much so that he did not register the screaming crowds of the city. He did not recall how he had gotten to the stand where the guillotine stood. His mind only fully returned when the staff was removed. He saw the crowds then and knew what was about to happen to him.

He did not feel the blade when it fell.

Chapter Text

Vorador opened his eyes and was genuinely surprised.

Looking up, he recognised the canopy above his bed, and the smell of smoke burned his nostrils. He was in his mansion, his ruined mansion. He had never expected to see it again. He recalled the mob; the crowd gathered to see him die and then the blackness. The blackness must have come when the blade fell.

He moved, trying to turn his head, and felt the world spin. His stomach clenched at the sensation and threatened to throw up what blood it still held from the battle before his death. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another. He would not vomit all over himself. That would be the ultimate humiliation in this most recent farce. He groaned as the nausea ebbed.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said. Vorador thought for a moment, trying to pin down the voice he knew he recognised. It took him a moment, but he remembered Kain.

“Kain,” he said, his voice hoarse and almost silent. He felt the bed he was lying on shift as someone leaned close. He risked opening his eyes and flinched. He had been expecting the arrogant fledgling, the ankle-biter who had killed William the Just. This was not that creature. This creature was fully grown and far larger than the fledgling had been. Vorador frowned at him, again feeling the faint wisp of recollection in the back of his mind. “I know you,” he said.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the vampire said. “Although the me you know is currently otherwise occupied.”

“You!” Vorador jerked as he tried to sit up without thinking. The nausea returned full force and Vorador was disappointed in himself when he threw up what little remained in his stomach, although at least he rolled over so he didn’t cover himself in it.

“You might want to avoid sudden movements,” the vampire said, sounding both amused and concerned. “I imagine you have the mother of all headaches right now.”

“You could say that.” Vorador managed to lie back. “You were in the pillars clearing that day. You are Kain, the arrogant little ankle biter all grown up.”

“Well done.” Kain dipped his head. “I wondered how quickly you would figure it out. I’ve been making bets with myself to pass the time.”

“Time? How long have I been-” Vorador started, but stopped when Kain waved a large taloned hand at him.

“Only a day or so.”

Vorador felt a chill rush through him.

“If you feel up to it, I can see about finding someone for you? I did what I could, but I must confess healing a decapitation is not something I have any experience with.” Vorador nodded, and the world moved a little less than it had the first time, although still enough to make him groan. He watched as the elder Kain walked away, apparently to find him someone to eat. Vorador snorted at the idea of the angry fledgling playing nursemaid. The role didn’t seem to suit the elder Kain well either, although at least he was more stoic about it.

Closing his eyes, Vorador tried to think clearly. How was he still alive? He gently tensed each of his limbs, making sure everything moved as it was supposed to. He was sore and stiff all over, but everything from his feet to the tips of his ears seemed to work.
He let out a sigh of relief.

He heard footsteps returning. Apparently, Kain had people on hand for Vorador’s recovery. He opened his eyes again and watched as the elder Kain thrust a baffled man in his late twenties at him. Vorador didn’t recall grabbing the man, but when he regained his mind, the man was dead in his hands, his shoulders crushed under the force of Vorador’s grip and his throat torn out. Dropping the corpse, Vorador sat back on the bed and tried to breathe slowly and keep the blood down.

“Janos!” Vorador blurted suddenly as his sire rushed into his memory. Vorador looked at Kain. “In the garden, there is a tomb.”

“I thought it rather elaborate for a groundskeepers’ hut. But your sire is gone.” Vorador had the sudden and distinct impression that Kain knew more than he was saying, but the look the elder gave him stopped him from voicing his thoughts.

“Why?” Vorador said, eventually.

“Why what?”

“Why am I alive? I was dead. I was supposed to be dead. How am I here?” Vorador had a thousand questions, but this seemed the most pressing.

“I thought you might wonder about that. The short answer is that you are needed.”

“Needed?” Vorador ran his hands over his throat, trying to feel where the blade had cut him, but his skin was smooth.

“Yes. There is much to consider and I am at a loss how much of it you already know.”

“Why am I needed?” Vorador said firmly, his voice a little louder than he had been managing.

“There will be a war, possibly a few wars, and vampires are almost gone from this time. We need numbers, and right now, that burden falls on you.”

“Who decided that?” Vorador glared. He was no one’s broodmare.

“I did.” Kain crossed his arms over his chest in such a manner that Vorador could see centuries of leadership in his form alone.

“Used to giving orders, are you?”

“Yes. It’s an old habit learned over a millennium of only arguing with one person.” Kain visibly deflated.

“Just one?” Kain reached behind him to touch the hilt of his sword. It was then that Vorador noted Kain wore the Reaver and that the blade was more than it had been when Vorador had crafted it, it blazed with white fire.

“The rest were all too terrified. It was terribly boring.”

“That sounds like an invitation for me to argue with you?”

“You could try if you like, but I think you don’t want to. You know as well as I do that if we are to have any hope of survival that we need to be more than we are now.”

“What’s the point? Moebius will-”

“Moebius is dead.” The Reaver flared at the words and Vorador flinched.

“Dead? It’s about time.” He smirked at his own pun.

“True.” Kain sat on the bed beside Vorador. “But he is not the true enemy, not really.”

“There’s more?” Kain nodded.

“Perhaps worse, perhaps not. But regardless, you are needed.”

“To be your broodmare.” Vorador snorted. Kain shrugged.

“If you like, but also a guide. The me who truly belongs here is a bit of a prat. He needs guidance.”

“You want me to babysit you?” Vorador couldn’t help but laugh.

“You seemed to take some sport out of it.” Kain smiled a small smile. “You enjoyed knocking me down when I got too stupid.”

“Can you not talk about my future in the past tense, please?” Vorador winced as his stomach rumbled.

“If you feel up to walking a few feet, I have larder for you.” Kain managed not to look too smug.

“Very well, but before you abandon me to raise your army and you. You are leaving, aren’t you?” Kain nodded. “Good, then I trust you will at the very least enlighten me why I am going to be doing this?” Kain stood and helped the shaky Vorador to his feet. The world spun slowly this time, the dizziness getting better.

“I will explain what I can. The rest you will have to figure out yourself.”

“This is why I hate time travelers,” Vorador said as they started towards the door.