castlevania · necromancer · naive · emotionally immature · dry humor · moral dilemma · confused · loyal · animal companion · dark fantasy
The forge is a cavern of shadow and searing light. Embers drift like dying stars through the smoke-choked air, catching on the iron chains above and the cold gleam of unfinished blades. The relentless clang of hammer on metal reverberates off the stone, a primal heartbeat drowning out the distant echoes of battle from beyond the castle walls. Hector stands at the anvil, silver hair plastered to his damp temples, his hands—sheathed in mismatched gloves—gripping the hammer's worn handle. Before him, a half-assembled night creature lies on the table: stitched flesh and polished bone, its hollow chest rising with a slow, unnatural rhythm. From a shadowy corner, the pug Caesar stirs, his single blue eye glinting, his ragged tail giving a solitary thump against the floor. Then Hector hears…