Ashes Washed Ashore

Dakim, after a long silence, answered Isolde's question.

“The Ashen Lash… I found it by chance. Lying half-buried in the riverbed, carried downstream from the ruins of Dracula’s keep.”

Isolde raised an eyebrow, immediately writing down in her manuscript. 

"How very convenient. A divine relic that should have vanished with its master, discarded like laundry in a gutter. One wonders if the gods are careless... or merely playing says with us."

Sylphidia, still huddled over her flute, snorted in annoyance. "Pfft, what's so shocking? Even holy weapons get bored of their owners eventually."

Vera, more practical, looked at Dakim with some apprehension. “But if it came from Dracula’s castle… doesn’t that mean the ruins are still tainted?”

The knight nodded. “Yes. The land there is scarred. The river carries the ashes, the stench, the remnants of his reign. I thought the Lash would be… purified by the waters. Instead, it resisted. It called to me.”

The group fell silent.

Only Ayato frowned: the comment resonated within him, like an uncomfortable echo, a reminder that he himself carried something that didn't quite belong to him—the strength of Wyvern, Cerberus and Maxwelious, pulsing beneath his skin.

***

The nocturnal stillness of the cemetery was broken only by the whisper of candles and the occasional creaking of ancient wood.

Isolde rested inside her coffin, the lid barely ajar, while the others slept under the protection of the divine statue. 

However, something began to vibrate in the air: a soft but insistent resonance coming from the Ashen Lash, placed beside her body.

Her eyelids closed deeper, and the real world faded away.

A dark, misty river stretched out before her.

The moon illuminated a man in a trench coat and cowboy hat, standing on the current, floating with natural nonchalance.

"Ah, my dear Isolde," he said, tilting his head theatrically. "You're still sleeping in coffins, like a serious vampire. I hope you at least enjoyed yesterday's vintage wine..."

Isolde frowned, crossing her arms. "Ardyn Valmont... I didn't expect to see you here more than 170 years after your passing. Especially not in a dream induced by a weapon that supposedly disappeared with Luke Valmont."

The vampire remembered that Ardyn was an old ally of hers in her crusade against Dracula and his Infernal Castle, although she remembered that, unfortunately for her, Ardyn was far from the ideal hero prospect.

Because the 4th Generation Valmont had a bad habit of being an alcoholic, a womanizer, and a witty one. And yet, he was one of the good guys.

Ardyn skipped a little over the current, as if floating on water. "Oh, yes, Valmont ghosts have a nasty habit of appearing when least expected. Besides, this Ashen Lash has his own tastes… and it seems he's chosen you for company."

Isolde sighed. "And I'm afraid you didn't come here to chat out of politeness. What is it you want?"

"Hint," Ardyn replied with a mischievous smile. "Tyrants and Lone-Demons aren't simple chess pieces, especially when the Grim Reaper himself brought that lunatic Baal'tazar back..."

Ardyn continues speaking, but in an unclear voice...

"You'll need to recover your best weapons if you want to survive what's coming. Some have been taken from you, others... hidden. For example, if you pay attention to ancient rivers and the shadows of castles, you might find what belongs to you."

Isolde raised an eyebrow, remembering that Ardyn was very prone to acting on hunches and intuitions, so he may have noticed Azrael. "Ah, as always, cryptic instructions, but with style. Why don't you tell me straight, then?"

Ardyn shrugged and took a step back, tilting his head with amusement. 

"Because the point is in discovering the pieces for yourself, and believe me, my dear, the journey teaches more than the answer. Besides... there's someone young in the group who could learn something from me in the meantime."

Isolde frowned, recognizing the hint. 

Her mind returned for a moment to Ayato, whose erratic and peculiar strength reminded her of how Ardyn had been like him in his youth (but a more loser version with women, but he's not a vicious one).

"I see... you want to act as a mentor to that stubborn man, don't you?"

"Just so he doesn't destroy everything before his time," Ardyn replied with a wink. "Remember: a good game requires that all the pawns know their moves... although some, like you, are already accustomed to moving their pieces on their own."

"You're not getting away from me! I have a question for you..."

Isolde prepares for something that has driven her mad all this time, and the back and forth she has had during her long dreams.

"Is it true there are rumors that you have an illegitimate offspring of who knows who, and that she may even be of a long-lived species?!"

"Well, you never get over your habit of checking everything out for yourself~"

In the dream, he answered while looking at her conspiratorially, hinting that this offspring could become an unexpected ally, or perhaps... someone that even Isolde could have met indirectly during that century plus seven decades of difference.

The mist began to dissipate, and Ardyn's voice slowly faded: "I'll see you soon, Isolde. Take care of the Ashen Lash… and that young Lone-Demon who reminds me so much of myself… so he learns to move the pieces without destroying the board~"

When her eyes opened, she was back in the vault. The Ashen Lash rested beside her, silent, but resonating with an energy that now seemed almost familiar.

Isolde sat up slowly, with a mixture of resignation and amusement. "Very well, Ardyn… your riddles, your jokes, and your chatter… I'll remember. But next time you appear, I expect a coffee."

Then, the first light of morning barely broke through the clouds, illuminating the vault where the group had spent the night.

Isolde said quietly to herself. "I hope your mysterious daughter proves useful… or a problem in the long run…"

***

When everyone awoke, Vera was the first to sit up, stretching her arms.

Dakim inspected the cemetery, while Sylphidia sighed from her flute.

Ayato stood up, feeling the power of the assimilated souls throb beneath his skin again.

"Good," Dakim said, shouldering his sword and carrying his whip.

"We must advance toward Ferro Scuro before the Tyrants and Lone-Demons extend their influence. The city won't wait for us."

The group began walking in the early morning. 

The wind stirred leaves and dust, and a disturbing vortex formed before them.

From the mist emerged a female figure: heels that clicked on the stones, a black corset adorned with lace and feathers, a plague doctor-style mask with a fine beak and metallic details, and an air so polished it seemed artificial, as if "Photoshopped."

The crows around her didn't fly freely, but moved like extensions of her body.

"Welcome," she said, her voice firm and melodious. "My name is Yuzuru Kurohime."

Ayato frowned. The woman was no simple traveler: her presence emanated controlled and dangerous power, elegant and calculating, practically the opposite of the erratic and uncontrolled Tatsuya.

Isolde made a mental note: this Lone-Demon manipulator of the air and crows could be an ally or an adversary, but her appearance was no coincidence.

And as the mist swirled around them, she couldn't help but smile slightly: Ardyn was probably enjoying the movement of the pieces on the Luminovia board, making it clear that there were still mysteries and challenges to be solved.