Crimson Reflections
Alex remained motionless, enveloped in the plush crimson robe that clung to his newly bathed form. The silk-like material glowed in the dim light, the golden stitching reflecting the warmth of the magic-walled sconces. It wrapped around his wide shoulders and powerful chest, encasing him like a second skin—familiar, yet alien. As if it had belonged to another, yet was destined for him.
Dressing in it had not been natural. His waist knot was intricate, and the inner lining of the robe flowed over him with a silken touch, each movement strangely sensual. His fingers stumbled at first, unpracticed with its ceremonial folds. But then, within him, something awakened—silent but absolute. His hands started to move with a strange skill, impelled not by memory, but by instinct. An echo he had not known existed. Maybe a residual echo of the one whose name he now bore: Alex Bloodheart.
When finally the robe settled into position, an odd heaviness fell across his shoulders. It was not just the material—it was something beneath. It felt like inheritance. Like a mantle. Not merely of a prince, but of something freshly minted.
He walked slowly towards the towering obsidian mirror standing in the corner, its dark border carved with roses and thorns and fine fangs. His breathing caught as his reflection stepped out of the darkness.
"…Is that really… me?"
It wasn't the overworked scientist he remembered from home—no longer unkempt hair, no circles underneath tired eyes, no dirty hands from ink and wiring. The man in the mirror bore little resemblance to the one he once knew.
He was. breathtaking. And deadly.
His hair, now pale pink and cut to his shoulders, glimmered dully under the vampire glowlamps. Silken curls curled around his face, the tips caressing his collarbone. Crimson-red eyes glowed with unnerving depth, no longer clouded by doubt or exhaustion. They sparkled like jewels carved from moonlight and blood.
His features had been honed—cheekbones defined, jawline chiseled clean, lips pale but plump. His stance had altered as well; he stood taller, more stable, as if the ground itself recognized him.
And his physique…
His eyes fell lower, breathing faltering. The robe defined his chiseled form, lean and hard—not the work of human exercise, but something deeper. Each movement held superhuman elegance. Each breath emanated silent vigor. Even the way his muscles moved under the robe seemed. primal.
Polished.
Seductive.
His fingertips touched his cheek, as if to verify the existence of what he witnessed.
"This isn't science…" he breathed, voice little more than a whisper. "This is… the legend we pursued. What she and I hoped to discover… before we died."
And the words struck him—hard.
"I actually did die back there… didn't I?"
Flashes: the canyon of rocky terrain, the blast of gunfire, blood staining his shirt, Anna's frantic final gasp for breath. His throat constricted. A raw, stinging pain throbbed behind his ribs.
"My mother Anna…"
The sorrow was silent but crushing, wound deep within his chest.
Then, as if beckoned by his suffering, a voice called out—cold, crystalline, robotic.
[Mission: Find your first Empress. Complete the Vampire Blood Ritual. Activate the Bloodwing System to full capacity.]
Alex's fists curled into fists. Jaw clenched. The sorrow remained, but beneath it, something else had grown.
Resolve.
If finishing the ritual would open the system, perhaps he might find the truth. Perhaps this strange route—this world—was the only option left now.
His hand slid down to his chest, fingers hovering over a slight, pulsing throb. The dragon core. It beat, old and vibrant, as though slumbering under his flesh.
And through it all—her fragrance remained.
Rose.
He recalled the feel of her fingers in his hair, the tender manner in which she'd cut it, the way she regarded him with something that was more profound than reunion. Her presence still clung to him like the warmth in the air, like fragrance interwoven into fabric.
His heart skipped a gentle beat… and then hammered harder.
Something had shifted. Something essential.
When he had first come to in this world, panic had held sway. Confusion hung over every thought. The icy marble floor, the scented air, the weight of a foreign body. And her—a stranger who said she was his mother.
All of it had been foreign. Even his own face.
But now…
Now, clad in red and gold, standing in front of a mirror that did not deceive him, he felt anchored. As if the tempest within had subsided. As if he were home.
Perhaps it was the bath. Perhaps it was she.
Her hands hadn't simply washed him. They'd calmed something wild and raw. Her fingers had been more than a mother's—they had been ritual. A form of grounding he hadn't realized he required.
His mind, once fragmented like scattered shards of glass, now centered with coherence.
"This life," he breathed, "it's crazy. But… it's a do-over."
He stared at his reflection once more. The red eyes, the regal stance, the faint inclination of a smirk beginning to form on his mouth. He nearly laughed.
"I've read enough novels to know how this goes," he said wryly. "System. Harem. Vampire powers. Dragon bloodline… A mother who's too beautiful to look at without flinching—"
He stopped abruptly. The smirk faded.
"…Okay, that last part's still weird."
His hand rose to the nape of his neck, massaging away the increasing heat. Her bath-side touch flooded his mind—the way her eyes lingered a fraction too long. Her fingers, slow and knowing.
And he—he hadn't gazed at her as a son should.
His eyes fell. Shame twined through him like smoke.
"Why did I feel that?" he whispered. "She's… my mother."
But that word—mother—had felt vulnerable here. On Earth, it had been bedtime stories and lunchboxes. Comfort swaddled in limits. But Rose was not.
She was beautiful. Spiritual. Too great to be contained within a mere word.
He swallowed hard.
"This is not Earth," he told himself. "It's… a world of vampires."
And in that world, power warped everything. Bloodlines distorted rules. He recalled books suggesting royal dynasties with complicated closeness, power forged by nature and heritage.
"Perhaps… here, it's the norm," he murmured. "Romantic relationships between mother and son… particularly in vampires."
The idea disgusted him. But curiosity burned just as furiously as distaste.
He shook his head. "No. Concentrate."
Other questions cut deeper. Such as why his system still wasn't completely unlocked. Why he needed no inherited knowledge—no blood memories handed down like myths. Only pieces. Glimmers of the old Alex.
"I don't even know where I am," he grumbled. "I don't know this palace… all I've known is here. I know nothing of this world."
And yet, there was one person he could approach.
"Rose," he whispered. "Perhaps she can teach me. Guide me. Help me."
Perhaps even introduce him to a ritual partner.
But the idea set off something beneath. His thoughts betrayed him.
He imagined her again.
Water-reddened skin shining in candlelight. Silk stuck to her body. Water running down her neck. Between her breasts.
His muscles pulled tight. A heat built in his stomach.
"Don't think about that. Not now."
But the memory remained—her voice, her breath, her eyes.
And then—
Click.
A soft, measured click shattered the silence.
Alex's eyes flew open. His breathing halted.
The door groaned, the air changed—warm, scented, infused with something impossible to ignore.
He sensed her presence before he saw her.
And then—she was there.
Rose Bloodheart. The Supreme Vampire Empress. His mother.
She came like a moonlit dream, her wet pink hair falling down her back in smooth, radiant waves. Water pearls around her skin, glinting along the curves of her collarbones and slipping beneath the translucent black silk of her nightdress.
The vision took his breath away.
The gown hugged every contour of her body—close over her breasts, cinched around the waist with a scarlet ribbon that only seemed to enhance the lushness of her figure. The skirt brushed her upper thighs, exposing long, slender legs that glided with impossible ease.
Her loveliness was not simply radiant. It was perilous.
Her eyes located his—and she smiled.
As she approached him, he could not look away. His unfaithful and ravenous eyes stayed on the bounce of her chest under the silk.
She saw it.
Her smile grew. She paused in front of him, sultry heat in her eyes.
"My, so still a child," she teased with soft laughter. "Even now, your eyes have not changed."
She cupped her breasts, raising them higher with slow, wicked elegance.
Do you recall?" she asked. "When you were a child, you would sleep curled right here."
His face grew red. Wide eyes. Caught voice.
"M-Mother."
She smiled softly, the sound low and honey.
"You only took from me," she continued, voice filled with wistfulness. "It wasn't until you were ten that you took another's blood. You were such a selfish one."
The warmth behind his ears grew hotter. He could hardly breathe.
But then the teasing abated.
"I smiled like that when you were little," she whispered, her voice little more than a breath. "You just don't recall. I missed you more than you can imagine."
Her hand climbed up. Her palm settled against his cheek.
He did not move.
Her touch was cool. Gentle. Her red eyes scanned his face—not with craving, but with love. True, hurting love.
"I waited all those years," she breathed. "Just to look at your face again. To hold it in my hands."
His throat constricted on a knot of feeling. Something deep within him awakened. Not lust. Not confusion. Something older. Something more sorrowful.
Longing.
He had missed her, too.
Even if he had just awakened within this body… the sensation was there. A pain born of the life he'd been given.
He didn't recall her—but his soul did.
Rose moved forward, pushing a lock of wet hair from her face.
"You've become a man," she whispered. "A prince. The world will soon fear you… and desire you."
He turned his face away, pink hair masking his rosy cheeks.
"I… I need time," he breathed. "Everything's changing too quickly."
Rose nodded with thoughtful comprehension. "Of course," she said. "You've traveled far in a short space of time."
Her voice softened still further.
"You are probably exhausted, my son. Come. Sit down. There is so much to talk about."
She extended her hand.
He stood still.
Then, with a movement slow and almost as if urged by something beyond thought, he accepted it.
Her hand was soft and cold, and when they touched, something old throbbed between them. A bond. Blood calling blood.
He gazed at her once more—and for the first time, really saw her.
Not only the Empress.
Not only the lovely woman.
He saw Rose.
His mother.
And her smile… was the first one in this world that made him feel he wasn't alone.
"Tonight," she said softly, voice full of promise, "you are no longer alone."
And together, their hands still clasped, they entered deeper into the vampire palace.
Towards fate.
Towards desire.
Towards the story just being told under the moonlit darkness of the Bloodwing.