Work Text:
Theme: Flowers
Summary: Before leaving for the New World, Mizrak takes time to visit the graves of his fallen brethren.
Fandom: Castlevania Nocturne/ Mizrox Week 2025
Universe: Post Canon
“If you stand outside in the rain without your umbrella, you’ll make yourself ill.”
There was a small pause before a small, deep chuckle escaped from his chest. “Can vampires even get sick?”
There was a sound of fabric moving over his head, and he no longer felt the drops cascade on his brow. He turned to look into his partner’s vibrant green orbs, which held the familiar humor he had gotten used to.
“No, but I thought it was a nice joke to ease the tension.”
Mizrak snorted, laughing again. For a moment, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he took the umbrella from his lover. “Thank you,” he replied as he stepped closer; now both vampires were taking shelter under the parasol.
A kiss pressed against his forehead, and Mizrak sighed, accepting the small gesture. It had been almost half a year since he died and came back to life as an undead- 6 months of learning to accept his new reality, while still being the man that he was. He’s not at the level that Olrox has displayed due to age and intelligence, but the former monk was indeed strong enough to venture out on his own to feed and fight against the vampires that still hunt the French countryside.
Now, they were preparing to depart from Europe, traveling across the ocean back to Olrox’s homeland. The political environment was changing, and the revolutionary fire that had burned through the wicked nobles now turned on themselves as false testimonies and betrayals spread within. And while Olrox was powerful enough to fight off simple mortals, he did not doubt that the elder Belmont would use this as an excuse to avenge his daughter’s death. And no matter how much Olrox trusted Alucard, he did not want to place his faith in the dhampir's ability to stop Richter’s grandfather.
So Mizrak was now bidding farewell to the second place he had called home. Part of him wished he could stay longer, pay his penance in these troubled lands, but unfortunately, he agreed with Olrox on the decision to leave France. The last thing they wanted was to be a target and waste time running from their enemies. At least in the New World, the lands were vast enough for both of them to disappear for several decades.
The basket handle pressed against Mizrak’s hand, and the object brought back the somber thoughts to a halt as he looked down at the various flowers inside. Each plant represented an important theme- a meaningful response to the recipients who will receive it.
“I can return to our shelter,” Olrox suggested. “Allow you to have your private moment.”
The offer was tempting. They had come a long way towards respecting each other’s preferences. Olrox understood that this was important to Mizrak, and the monk appreciated it. But his lover was a part of his life - well, his undead life. And it did not seem right to continue this moment by himself when Olrox was integral to everything that had happened those many months ago.
“If it is not troublesome for you, I wish for you to remain by my side,” Mizrak whispered as he stepped forward, pressing his forehead against Olrox’s shoulder. “I need… strength for what I am about to do and-” Here, he seemed to choke on his words, a lump in his throat as he tried to speak again.
He had prayed fervently during the night after it was announced they would leave this land. He asked for courage and wisdom for the next step in his new life. Olrox guides him, but sooner or later, Mizrak would have to make decisions, and despite becoming a vampire, he had not forsaken his God.
Olrox cupped his face, making him raise his eyes to look into the older vampire’s. “I can be your mountain during these times of trouble,” he replied, kissing Mizrak’s lips to offer comfort to the monk’s anxiety. “I’ll stand by you for as long as you need me to.”
They share a quiet moment before pulling apart, as the daunting task awaiting Mizrak seems less of a burden with Olrox’s promise of support. Both men turned and walked into the overgrown field next to the familiar destroyed church of Machecoul.
The weather was an overcast afternoon, with the sun hidden away by dark clouds and sheets of rain. But it was a perfect time for them to venture out to their destination, as most people were in their houses to avoid the chill air and the rainy weather. Perfect for two individuals who did not desire attention as they completed the tasks at hand.
It took a moment for the pair to reach the sectioned-off area. Vines and grass traveled the surface of the stone half-walls that surrounded the makeshift graves of the fallen. There are no names for these individuals buried here, yet Mizrak knew each one who was interred in these unmarked graves.
Each man had a name, dreams, hopes, and fears. They were a living, breathing person.
These men were his family, his brethren, and he'd….
He took a deep breath to stop the tremors that wanted to accompany the tears that were flowing from his eyes.
Mizrak does not regret taking a stand against the evil machinations he had helped perpetrate in the name of fighting the Revolution. But it does not stop the guilt that he feels - while he got a second chance, they were not able to. They died for their beliefs and were now buried in unmarked graves. Never to return to Malta.
He released a tremble through his body, and for a moment, all he could see were the furious gazes of his brothers in faith. Hateful eyes glare deep into his soul, and for a moment, Mizrak wants to run away, back to his room and never leave again. Guilt and shame gripped his body, but they were released when he felt the hands of his lover grasp his again.
“You can do this, Mizrak,” Olrox whispered. “I’m right beside you.”
The former monk looked into those green eyes, which promised love and devotion, and took a deep breath. Courage flooded back into his being as he took a step forward towards the nineteen graves.
“I’m sorry that I have not visited you since your passing. I…. I was a coward. Not only that, but I felt unworthy to stand before when I betrayed our vows and stood against you.”
He swallowed the lump that was in his throat and began again, feeling confident as Olrox continued caressing his hand.
“I am sorry that this happened - that I raised my sword against you. But I am not sorry for standing up for what is right. What we were doing - what the Abbot was making us do-”
No.
That was not fair.
The Abbot did not make them do anything. They were willing to walk with the Abbot and his madness. Willing to take innocent victims and turn them into hellish creatures, damning their souls.
There was nothing honorable about their actions. They were just as wicked and deceitful as the revolutionaries they claimed to fight.
Mizrak took another deep breath, steadying himself. “We were wrong,” he mutters. “We were wrong about everything. Our path was not right, and we allowed the Abbot’s plan to go too far.”
More tears fell from his red eyes, yet he dared not wipe them. “I do not regret standing against evil. But I regret not allowing you the chance to stand beside me. To pick the right path. Maybe if I fought more, spoke my mind-” He took another gasping breath.
“Maybe you would be returning to Malta, carrying our oaths and service, instead of lying in the cold ground.”
He was not a man of many words, rather a man of action, and Mizrak felt he could say all that he needed to say.
“I will always remember each of you,” he said as he knelt at the first cross. He laid 3 different flowers on the ground next to the wooden symbol. “I will carry our sins and use my new life to make up for the damage we have done. Rest now.”
Mizrak studied each flower as he placed it on the graves, knowing what they represented.
Poppies to honor and remember.
Purple Hyacinth for the sorrow and regrets.
And finally, the White Tulips to apologize and give respect.
All nineteen graves were given the flowers. All nineteen graves were paid respect. As Mizrak finished placing the last flower on the final grave, he looked to the side and spotted one more marker. This one was different, as it had a name attached to it.
His name.
And underneath it were the same flowers, but with white petals as well.
Lilies.
Flowers that represented a reborn deceased soul.
His soul.
Arms wrapped around Mizrak’s waist, and the monk sobbed from pain and sorrow, but also from newfound hope for the future with his love.
~Fin