It was early morning, though the sun had yet to rise. A pale mist clung to the earth like a half-forgotten dream, curling around the island's edges. The grass was damp with dew, and the air carried that hushed stillness that only existed between night and dawn.
Cassie stirred beneath the tangled sheets, her sightless eyes fluttering open. Her hand reached instinctively to the empty space beside her—and found nothing. Her brows furrowed.
Where was he?
She sat up slowly, arms stretching with a quiet yawn before she wrapped the blanket around her bare shoulders. Her hair was a mess—so was the room. A shattered whiskey bottle lay like a defeated soldier on the floor. A chair had apparently met a tragic end. The bed was damp with sweat and warmth, her body aching in that strange, satisfying way that made her cheeks flush even before the memories returned.
She blinked once, then twice—and promptly flopped back down onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.
Gods... what did I do!?
Her fingers peeked through to touch her own face, warm with embarrassment. She rolled onto her back, staring into nothing but seeing more than most ever could. A moment ahead. A memory behind.
Sweaty sheets. His lips on her throat. Her breath caught in his mouth. The way he whispered things into her skin that made her toes curl and her thoughts vanish.
Oh no. Her face turned crimson. For the love of all dead gods… Did I really—?
Her hands flew up again. When did I become so brave?!
Then she frowned, correcting herself.
Brave? I was drunk, that's what I was. I needed three shots of whiskey just to look him in the eye, let alone… that.
The memories came back in broken fragments. The heat of his hands. The sound of his voice, low and amused. The pressure of his mouth on hers. Her fingers still remembered the feel of his spine, his breath on her collarbone. The burn of it at first, the sudden spark of pain... and then, the softness. The slow surrender. Bliss. A dizzying, devastating sort of closeness that unraveled her completely.
She groaned, dragging a hand through her tangled hair and rolling in the sheets like a restless kitten. Her foot caught the edge of the blanket and she yelped, half tangled, half amused.
Then she stilled.
Her fingers brushed the sheets and... oh.
Blood.
A flush crept up her neck again.
Oh gods, was that weird? Does he think it's weird? Did I say something stupid? Was I—
Her mind spiraled in a flurry of embarrassment until a colder thought struck.
Wait… where is Klaus?
Her gaze swept the room like a storm. The emptiness beside her was suddenly louder than anything. She sat up again, alert now, heart thudding—not from fear but from that unsettling feeling of waking alone after something… real.
Then she saw him.
Klaus was sitting on the floor, barefoot, shirtless, calm as ever—completely absorbed in whatever strange sorcery he was practicing. His long fingers were splayed open, his posture relaxed but focused. His eyes glowed faintly with that familiar amethyst light that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.
Gods, she thought fondly, he really does look like he swallowed the whole cosmos.
Nebulous tendrils of violet spirit essence drifted from his palms, swirling in slow spirals like galaxies in miniature. At the center of it all was a single golden drop of ichor—radiant, divine… and quietly terrifying. It pulsed like a heartbeat, drinking his essence with quiet greed. Despite its brilliance, its light didn't reach the room. It was as if it had been muffled, deliberately veiled.
Cassie tilted her head, curiosity overtaking embarrassment. Did he… suppress it so I wouldn't wake up?
She shivered as a cool breeze slipped in through the open window. Wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, she climbed out of bed, her bare feet silent against the floor. Without a word, she lowered herself beside him, her head coming to rest gently on his shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
Klaus gave her a small, sideways smile—lazy and fond—then returned his attention to the essence before him. More and more of his spirit essence was drawn into the ichor, until only one core remained untouched, pulsing with untapped power.
Cassie watched, quietly mesmerized. The moment was too surreal, too strangely beautiful for her to interrupt.
Then he frowned.
The morning chill brushed against her skin, and before she could shiver again, Klaus waved a hand. The window closed with a quiet whisper, and warmth settled into the room once more. He leaned back against the wall, sighing softly as glowing runes flickered in the air, like tiny fireflies caught mid-dance.
Cassie nestled closer, blanket still wrapped around her like a cocoon, her voice muffled as she whispered against his shoulder.
"…So… are we pretending last night never happened, or do I get to tease you about it forever?"
Klaus glanced at her, his smirk deepening.
"That depends. Do I get to tease you back?"
She pouted, tugging the blanket higher. "Only if you can remember all the embarrassing things I said."
He chuckled. "I remember everything." He leaned his head back, eyes closing for a moment. "especially the part when you asked me to transform into a woman."
Cassie let out a scandalized yelp, immediately bonking him on the shoulder. "I did not!"
"You absolutely did."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not."
She buried her face in his arm, groaning. "Kill me. Just kill me now."
Klaus chuckled again, wrapping an arm around her blanket-swaddled form.
"Too late for that," he murmured. "I'm keeping you, darling."
While Cassie was still quietly dying of embarrassment beneath the blankets, Klaus's attention remained fixed on the runes drifting in the air, their light reflecting in his cold, faintly frustrated eyes.
[Memory: Drop of Ichor]
Rank: Unknown
Tier: Unknown
Type: Unknown
Completion: 74.628%
So close. And yet—still just out of reach.
It had been years since he first laid claim to the Drop of Ichor, a mystery nestled deep within his spirit like a sleeping deity. And still, after countless attempts, countless sacrifices, he could not claim it entirely. He had studied it, fed it, tested its limits. It was only after months of painstaking experimentation that he discovered the truth—it required his essence, bit by bit, drop by drop.
But after six long years of feeding it everything he could spare, it hadn't even reached seventy-five percent. It was maddening.
Not that he could afford to feed it every day—there were risks to exhausting one's essence, after all. But every spare moment, every sliver of strength, he'd offered it freely. And yet the progress remained slow. Glacial.
Klaus clicked his tongue, irritation flickering across his features.
"Whatever," he muttered to himself. "Once I become a Master, things will change. I'll be able to finish this… maybe even bend it to my will inside the Nightmare."
He exhaled sharply, letting the anger cool. Impatience wouldn't help. He knew that well. But the hunger—the hunger for more—was ever-present. A quiet burn in his bones. Stagnation was anathema to him. His very soul rebelled against the idea of remaining still.
A soft voice broke through his thoughts.
"How is fear a weapon?" Cassie asked, her tone gentle but tinged with curiosity. "I mean… I don't really get it. Sure, it works, but…"
Klaus blinked. That… wasn't the question he expected. He looked down at her. She was curled against his side now, wrapped in the blanket like a sleepy cat, her hair a wild, silken mess. Her presence was oddly grounding—warm, soft, real.
He let his gaze linger on her for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he spoke.
"Fear is the mother of all gods," he said quietly. "People pray, they beg… they tell themselves there's a plan, some higher purpose, some divine justice to justify their pain. But the truth is simpler. The universe doesn't care."
His voice was calm, but it carried weight. Ancient, cold truths dressed in soft syllables.
"It didn't care when you were born. It won't care when you're gone. It won't even notice. We're all born on strings—fate, duty, guilt, love. You think you're bound by outside forces, but often, it's your own hand chaining you."
Cassie watched him closely, her blind eyes somehow still expressive. She knew him too well to be startled by his darkness. He could be cold, yes, but to her he was also silly, brilliant, impossibly arrogant, and in his own strange way—gentle.
But others didn't see him as she did. Through her Sight, she had seen how the people feared him. Not just his power, but his presence. Where Nephis inspired hope, Klaus inspired reverence… and dread.
He always chose fear over love. Not out of cruelty, but because it gave him freedom. And control.
Klaus chuckled softly, a bitter, amused sound—like he was mocking not her, but himself.
"There's freedom in fear," he said. "Real freedom. Because to be free… you have to understand what enslaves you. And sometimes, it's not the world or the gods. Sometimes, it's just… you."
Then his voice softened, turning casual—almost teasing.
"Men built temples not for gods, but for themselves. To give shape to the chaos. To feel like the universe made sense. But outside their walls…"
He looked inward—into his own soul sea. The glow in his eyes deepened, amethyst light spilling from his gaze like starlight. Within, he saw galaxies spinning in eternal birth and death, a symphony of destruction and rebirth.
"Atoms drift. Stars collapse. Worlds crumble to dust. And what remains? Nothing but motion. The flicker of a mind desperately trying to assign meaning to a void that never asked to be understood... Unknowable, Everchanging And Everlasting..."
He turned to her, lighting a cigarette. The ember glowed like a dying star. Smoke curled lazily around his face, and after a breath, he added, voice lower, softer.
"But to answer your question… let me ask you something instead. Why were we taught to fear witches—but not fear the ones who burned them?"
Cassie blinked. The weight of his words lingered in the air like incense. She frowned, thoughtful, serious—until Klaus, with a smirk, exhaled a puff of strawberry-scented smoke directly into her face.
She blinked, scrunched her nose, and glared up at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"
He grinned.
"What? It's a good flavor. Try it."
She gave him a deadpan stare. "Even if it smells like strawberries, I don't like it."
Klaus chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I didn't like it at first, either. But my mother told me… there's nothing like the feeling of smoke filling your lungs. So I gave it a shot."
Cassie blinked. "Your mother wasn't right in the head, was she?"
He smirked. "Oh, not at all."
She stared at the cigarette, then back at him, and let out a long sigh. "Fine. Just once."
She took it, hesitated for a beat… then inhaled. Instantly her face contorted, coughing violently, eyes watering.
"Ah—nope. Nope. I don't like it!" she choked, thrusting it back at him.
Klaus burst out laughing, plucking it from her fingers as she tried to regain her breath.
"I told you it was an acquired taste."
She smacked his arm weakly, pouting, still half-laughing, half-dying. "You're the worst."
He grinned, exhaling a slow plume of smoke as he leaned his head against hers.
"Yeah," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Hmm... Round six?"