Anemoi 28 – Anemoi 29, Imperial Year 1645
The Capital, Luminara – The Hunters' Hall
The door chimed. Elara looked up. Her pen stopped.
Vlad entered. Black coat, silver buttons. No hat.
His face was bare.
Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass. Silver hair, singed at the edges, falling across his brow. His eyes were red – wine‑dark, tired, but striking. A shallow cut on his cheek, still pink. His coat was scorched. His cloak was gone.
He carried a ruined hat under his arm.
The room didn't go quiet. It went still.
A hunter near the bar dropped his spoon. It clattered on the wood. No one picked it up.
A woman with a scar across her jaw – a veteran hunter – set down her cup. Her mouth opened. Closed. She reached for her companion's arm.
"That's Alucard?"
"Without the hat?"
"He's…" She swallowed. "He's beautiful."
Her companion, a bald man with a thick beard, stared. "I thought he was old."
"He's not old. He's just tired."
Another hunter, younger, leaned toward his friend. "I didn't sign up to compete with that."
"You're not competing."
"Look at him. He walks in like he owns the place. And now he looks like a prince from a story."
"A prince who kills witches."
"Same thing."
The whispers spread. Low, fast, hungry.
Vlad walked to the counter. His boots made no sound. The hat hung limp under his arm.
Margot looked up. Her pen stopped. Her eyes moved from his face to the hat to his face again. She stared. Longer than she meant to.
"Alucard." Her voice was softer than usual.
"Witch," he said. "North valley."
He set a small pouch on the counter. Coins. The letter he'd found. "Proof."
Margot opened the pouch. Counted. Made a note. Her hand trembled slightly. "Bounty is two hundred."
He waited.
She counted coins. Silver. Stacked them. Her fingers brushed his as she pushed them across. She didn't pull back quickly.
He swept them into his belt pouch. Then he set the hat on the counter.
It was charred. The brim was curled, the crown had a hole, the felt was stiff and blackened. It looked like something pulled from a fire.
Margot stared at it. "What's this?"
He didn't answer.
"Alucard. What am I supposed to do with a burned hat?"
Still nothing.
She picked it up. Turned it over. The inside was scorched. The leather band was cracked.
"You want me to throw it away?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He looked at her. His red eyes were tired. "Keep it."
He turned to walk away.
"Alucard." Margot's voice stopped him. "Your face. Everyone's staring."
He glanced at the room. Hunters quickly looked down. A few didn't.
"Let them."
He left. The door chimed.
The Counter – Aftermath
Elara stared at the door. Her hand was still holding the quill. Her cheeks were pink.
"He gave you his hat," she said.
"He did."
"Why?"
Margot looked at the ruined thing in her hands. "I don't know."
"He didn't say anything."
"He never does."
Elara reached out. Touched the brim. The felt was rough, brittle.
"It's ruined."
"He knows."
"Then why keep it?"
Margot set the hat on the shelf behind her. Beside the ledger. Beside the old bounty notices.
"Because it's his," she said. Then, quieter: "And because he trusted me with it."
Elara didn't understand. But she nodded.
"He's handsome," she said.
"Yes."
"I didn't expect that."
"No one does."
The Table – Orin's Group
Orin had been watching. His cup was empty. He hadn't noticed.
"No hat," Dain said.
"We saw."
"He's…" Isolde searched for the word. "Young."
"He's not young," Selene said. "He's old. You can see it in his eyes."
"But his face…"
"Is distracting," Finnian finished. He adjusted his goggles. "I'm trying to analyze his armor, but I keep looking at his cheekbones."
Dain snorted. "You're useless."
"I'm observant."
Orin stood. "We should go."
"Where?"
"Anywhere. We've been here too long."
"Because of his face?" Isolde asked.
"Because we're not getting anything done."
Selene smiled. A rare expression. "You're avoiding it."
"I'm being practical."
They stood. Paid. Left. The door chimed.
The Shelf – Evening
The Hall emptied. Hunters drifted out. The lamps were lit. Elara wiped the counter.
Margot sat on a stool, staring at the hat.
"You're still looking at it."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About a man who kills witches, refuses coin, then gives me his burned hat."
Elara set down the rag. "Maybe he trusts you."
"Maybe he's strange."
"Both."
Margot smiled. A small, tired expression.
"Both," she agreed.
She picked up the hat. Turned it over. Set it back on the shelf.
Then she returned to her ledger.
End of Chapter One Hundred Eleven