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“What are we doing here?”

“I am keeping my word - what is it that you believe you are doing?”

“You cannot possibly think I can simply walk away from this. This is my family - my blood on the line.”

“And you doubt my discretion?” Allaein took a step closer, close enough that their breath intermingled. 

Andrej gazed into the roiling scarlet depths of the blond's typically serene pools. Very little could incite such chaos, but it was one that he could see knew no end. Could not be assuaged. In his eyes, there was only one answer for those who had risen against them. They had taken what was never theirs to claim, and Allaein had the eyes of a man who was willing to raze every inch of this plane as recompense. 

“Never, brother, but we could do this together.  Imagine, you and I once again, to take back all that is owed to us?” Andrej clasped Allaein by his inner forewarm with a firmness that brought them practically chest to chest. “Please…don't do this.”

For but a moment there was a flicker - a yield, perhaps? It was disarming enough to bring a smile to Andrej's lips, but what came next left little but the sting of shock in its wake. 

From the depths of his being, he felt himself come undone and explode apart. Every fragment turned in on itself and burst outward, travelling at a speed that made any comprehension of the world around them impossible. The sharp impact of his form hitting stone was only mildly dampened by plush lining of the sacophagus Allaein had misted him into. The shock alone forced the air from lungs and rendered him unable to move. Few things could overpower him to such an unsettling degree, but Allaein was much older than he and of a bloodline to rival the gods themselves.

“Forgive me.” He breathed, a hand reaching out to brush over Andrej's visage. “I promised your father.”

“Al-” Darkness came with a suddenness that was incontestable and complete. Within a moment he was within himself, drifting the bankless plane of his subconscious. It was not long before the endless night shifted into the endless dream. 

For every moment that passed, it felt a century had gone by. So many times had he called to Allaein from his stone prison, begging for his release - for a sign that there was some end in sight. Rage came later - the despicable seething variety that brought a man to contemplations of murder and oblivion. Perhaps this was what grieving truly was. It was not long before the begging resumed. The stage of negotiation, they would call it, but it was for naught. There came no answers to his propositions. There was naught but the world he had created for himself in his seemingly timeless prison. Eventually, beyond the rage and resentment came understanding and acceptance. It had only taken him roughly two centuries, but he would say he was a better man for it. That was when the suffering had at last ceased. 

Allaein was a good man. Surely he would never have placed him here if it were not for his own good. Besides, they were truly like brothers, and betrayal was not something he had ever fancied Allaein for. No… he would wait. He would await the day that they would meet again and tell him that he had at last come to understand his heart's intent. 

Time passed in such peaceful form for many a decade more. In the face of the western mountains, deep within the cavern there, Andrej was at rest. Beyond his oasis, the world had developed, crumbled, and had been rebuilt anew. His slumber spanned many monarchs and many wars. Many civilisations and empires had come and gone, and it wasn't until the rumblings of war broke out across europe that he felt the first shivers of consciousness begin to take. 

Little by little, for several decades, he allowed himself to acquiesce to the gentle tug of it. Like being drawn from the depths of the ocean, he floated gently to the surface. At first, it was tempting to thrash. To break free of the deep's hold once and for all was his only dream when Allaein had consigned him to such a fate, but restraint was not beyond him.

Instead, he basked in the peace. The quiet gave him the opportunity to prepare himself for the new world beyond his chamber. After all, there was no telling what would meet him. Perhaps this tomb would seem a mercy, then. Still, it would be a relief to know at long last what was to come.

Without warning, the peace rippled. The grinding of stone against stone as the lid of his coffin slid free was deafening and sent a shockwave of horror through his chest. Despite having awaited this very moment, the fear of something sinister to follow was ever-present. 

Soft moonlight trickled in through the mouth of his tomb and spilled across stone so dark it was nearly black. It twinkled, harsh against his eyes as they adjusted to his surroundings. Even in the night, he recognised it in an instant. He had been here only once before with his father. Apparently, Allaein had also been privy to their family's most precious secrets.

Stepping out, Andrej sighed at the blissful sensation of cool stone against his bare soles. How resplendent. In centuries passed he would have scorned the sharp sting of its touch, but it came now as a comfort. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and immediately succumbed to weakness in his lower limps. His bottom landed atop the sarcophagus' edge and he braced his palms gently against it to gather himself.

The cool breeze that danced across his cheeks and lifted the wisps of hair that had fallen into his eyes brought force a soft hum of appreciation. How he had missed this. Once more he curled forward and made the effort to rise. Gravity felt especially heavy now. Time and all to do with this world had not touched his prison. Only now could he see that he had been spared more than just age. Gazing at his palms and pressing them to his visage, it was as if not a moment had passed. Surely it was Allaein's work. His magick must have protected him. 

Allaein. Where was he now? Was he alive? A sudden urgency brought him stumbling to the mouth of the cavern where he caught himself at its edge, gazing down into the abyssal darkness of the forests below. Warily, he lifted his face to the cloud splotched night and inhaled. If he did not leave this place he would surely die. With nothing more than death to fear, he descended into the void. It was a harsh descent culminating with his unceremonious plummet into thick bracken.

There he lay for at least a day before consciousness found him again, dragging him back into the waking realm with the thunderous crash of a nearby falling bough. Disoriented, Andrej flew upward, once again struggling to gather his bearings. It took several moments for him to determine which direction he was to head but soon thereafter he had begun what was to be a lengthy trek in search of the nearest town. 

Minutes turned into hours and hours crossed into days. He felt his legs no more, and is eyes could hardly process what lie before him. As he struggled to thrust himself forward, he could hear a whisper of doubt creeping along the edges of his mind. Was he truly going to die here? 

“Is this the end…?” Another step and stumble sent him tumbling down a small slope where he collected in a lifeless pile. The brunet reach up rub the dirt from his eyes and found his view obscured by an unnatural darkness. Too weak to respond to the alarm that took him, he inhaled sharply once, fist clenching a dry patch of fallen leaves.

“Not yet.”

Blinking several times to clear his vision, he gazed upon the silhouette that steadily became more and more familiar. But it couldn't possibly be? Such odds were impossible.

“You, my brother, are in desperate need of a haircut.”

Allaein! Shock shifted to elation and swiftly evolved into a desperation to rise from the soil. “And a bath.” He added jovially.

Strong hands hoisted him up and his weight shifted against the man's shoulder. With one arm curled about the back of his neck, Allaein hefted the man securely to himself and urged him forward. “Come, we can catch up at the estate.”

***

The scent of chamomile was comforting - almost as much as the warm of the fur throw draped about his shoulders. He and Allaein had yet to exchange words that morning, but he had a million things he wanted to ask of his brother. Where were they to begin?

Allaein was magnanimous and as patient as always. He was never one to force conversation unnecessarily. Comfortable silence had always been easy with him, though. That much had remained the same, clearly.

“Allaein--” he began, gazing tenatively into the golden liquid cupped between his palms.

“Brother.” acknowledge the blond, his cup a mere milllimeter from his lips. 

“There's naught to forgive.”

For a moment, it seemed Allaein had forgotten his last words before their parting, but a smile soon crept across his lips with a touch of soft humour. “No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings.” Andrej agreed, mirroring his mischief. “Now tell me… what in the hell have I awakened to?”

“It's a brave new world we live in.”

A wry smile took Andrej's features, cheekily exposing a set of pearly canines. “I'm dying to know more.”

Oskar was a man that was loved by many and seemingly despised equally so within his general line of work. The seemingly unassuming Danish man, while taking great pride in his work and maintaining a certain reputation, was very thankful that he had the privilege to tailor his clientele as much as he pleased. It was not that Oskar was a difficult artist and professional to work dealings with. The fact of the matter was that the man preferred certain aspects of his job over others. He was a hyper-realism oil painter through and through. His commission logs were full for longer than Oskar cared to check most of the time. However, that was his bread and butter, predominantly how he sustained himself.

Due to the nature of his skill, a lot of his commissions were portraits of some kind. And more often than not the people paying and patiently waiting their turn were of higher caliber than most. This led to Oskar’s name circulating the realm of fine art for being particularly mindful of discreet confidentiality since most of his work was going into private collections. Occasionally, the Dane put his paintings up in galleries or auction houses as part of business and even philanthropic ventures. All of these activities were a large part of his operation as an artist. His more personally vested interest was art restoration. Oskar absolutely loved being able to soak in the silence of his working space as he toiled away at removing grimy varnish, repairing canvas frames, and even painstakingly painting in crack and chips in whatever work landed in his possession.

And sure. Oskar had his commission logs that he steadily plugged away at on a fairly regimented schedule. But he had also collected a small circle of almost obscenely dedicated clientele. The man was not shocked by much, but sometimes the lengths that his most faithful clients would go to were… interesting to say the least. Oskar had known, though, that who was originally his most faithful patron, an illustrious Romanian woman who he addressed as Lady Dumitra, had long since alerted her brother to his existence and expertise. This really was not a problem. Oskar had found Sir Allaein to be a calmly decisive person who knew exactly what he wanted and by when every single time he had a request be it the commission of a new painting, restoration of an archival piece, or even the requisition of an otherwise elusive piece of art. Only occasionally did Oskar perceive Allaein as being imposing or intimidating. But these occurrences were truly few and far between. And Oskar treated him with the same level of patience and respect he did every other client on his roster.

However, there had been a day in which Sir Allaein had called upon Oskar for a personal meeting to discuss a particularly sensitive proposition. This had not initially felt odd, but all of his years in the fine arts business did not prepare the Danish man for what was being asked of him. While the restoration and upkeep of art was definitely in Oskar’s wheelhouse, he had not expected to be presented with the opportunity to visit and stay in an ancient estate in rural eastern Europe. The only true stipulation was that Oskar be the mindful overseer of the estate and tend to its upkeep as necessary to keep it in optimal condition. It was a daunting project at first but Oskar felt like this was a once in a lifetime opportunity given just how much Sir Allaein had provided him with up to that point.

And when Oskar had gotten into his rhythm at the estate, the Dane pretty much treated the experience as one giant maintenance and restoration project. The management of such came easily to the man, really. What questions and concerns he did have he directed to Allaein, then upon his response Oskar acted accordingly. It was an exquisite opportunity because the painter still got to make art and restore works that he could have only dreamed of getting his hands on previously. He was truly thankful for what Allaein had entrusted into his care.

But one late afternoon, Oskar found himself pacing whilst deep in thoughtful contemplation. The estate was current in about as mint condition as it could possibly be in, and outside of the Danish man’s usual dealings with the property’s archives, he was a bit restless. Upon the massive swathe of land that the estate occupied was an absolutely picturesque lake that Oskar was personally obsessed with. He had a project in mind, but he still did not wish to simply take liberties at will without consulting Allaein first. Thus, the man pulled out his phone to dial up his client, patiently waiting for a type of response.

However, Oskar had not anticipated being received by the other man’s wife, Saša. She was a purely delightful person to speak with, even unexpectedly such as this. In person, the Dane stood outside on a terrace, giving him a clear open view of the lake he had come to love so deeply. On the phone, Oskar patiently waited as Saša went to track down her spouse. He could hear her quiet apologies during the hand over of the phone, but the man took a second to compose himself.

“Sir Allaein.” He began, always feeling like it was not right nor proper to address him by anything else. “I do hate bothering you so. I had not known you were preoccupied with other matters. But I wished to ask if it would be alright if I started plans to construct a bench swing to be placed by the banks of the lake here? I think it would make a marvelous edition and make appreciating the waterfront more accessible when others are visiting. Would this be alright?...”