My awakening is early as usual. At a time where the sun still shines orange and when the roosters do not yet yell, it is perfect for me. Knowing that Vela must still be asleep, I get up the floor with the least amount of noise possible. After a few seconds, my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. Illuminated solely by the light that comes under the entrance door, I check the bed next to me. There's no one there. Her bedsheets show signs of being pushed away, and her bed curtains are drawn open too. To verify my suspicion, I draw open the blinds. From one glance alone, I know that that it is not as early as I assumed it to be. It must be nine in the morning. How peculiar. Given some time to reflect on it, I understand that something fundamental has changed. Even the day before, where I slept, I had been awoken by Vela in the middle of the late morning.

For whatever reason, there is, my time spent in sleep grew longer and longer. While there's nothing that demands my immediate attention or early wake, it is still something I've grown accustomed to. Without wanting to waste further time, I head down the stairs.

Despite what I assumed, there's a distinct sound of activity that comes from a room. The sound of the sizzle of oil and the clamour of household objects. Since there is a smell of food, too, I assume that Vela is cooking.
I don't have much else to do, so I just sit at a table and wait. Peculiar. This table is far bigger than it needs to be. Large enough to take up a grand room by its own merits, there are even a dozen or so chairs that accompany it. The perfect size for a large gathering, such sights are not uncommon within the residence of a prolific mage family. And yet, if my sentiment proves to be correct...

"Morning!"

A greeting emerges from the kitchen. One said with an interesting amount of excitement and expectation to it. I assume she heard me coming. After a few moments pass, her body enters from the kitchen. With an apron that covers her entire torso and messy hair that paint a harsh contrast against her usual twintails, I feel something. Perhaps, greater ease of mind, or a certain sense of tranquillity, I'm not sure. All I know is that I don't feel as threatened as I usually do. Or maybe not threatened, but rather having to take into consideration certain actions, ethics and norms into consideration.

"You sleep well?"

"Yeah, I slept fine, thanks."

I then understand Vela is right in front of me. It must have taken me a split second longer than usual to comprehend that fact. Peering at me, her face is almost uncomfortably close to mine.

"Alrighty, that's good to know. Breakfast'll be made in a jiffy, so uh, just wait a few minutes."

After she says that, Vela returns to the kitchen. I understand now. My mind is slower than usual today. Not enough to be detrimental in usual situations, however. In battles where even a fraction of a second can make all the difference, I need to be on guard. A few minutes pass, and Vela begins the short process of setting up the breakfast table. Carrying a few metal trays covered by lids, I cannot discern what's inside.

Uttering a word under her breath, she then lifts two of the lids.

"Ta-dah! Pretty good, right?" She says so with a cheerful smile.

I look to the breakfast dishes. There's a selection of very nutritious foods on display. On one tray, there is a selection of buttered toasts and broiled grasshoppers. With their wings, legs, and head removed, I can recall more than a few fond memories of eating them. While more than a satisfactory treat on its own, there's also a bowl of diced raw leeks to accompany it.

"Oh, oopsies."

Vela swaps the two trays between us. As if nervous at what she presented before, she looks at me apologetically. Rather than the previous selection of insects, leeks and toast, there is instead barley porridge. Paired with various green herbs, garlic and slices of barbequed peppers, it's more than a good meal in its own right. Considering what it is, it should be enough.

"I'll be right back."

Though, Vela has more. Once again, she departs for the kitchen. Returning with even more food, this time, she brings a dark green bottle of unspecified contents and another tray. The heavy metal lid makes a subtle scraping sound as it lifts. There are two bowls. One with a thick brown liquid with chunks of rice cake floating in it, and another just empty one.

"By the way, Mayevil, do you drink?"

Drink? At first, I don't quite understand. Every living being depends on water, so I think she means if I'm suicidal.

"I mean alcohol, by the way."

Alcohol. Yes, drink can infer to the consumption of these beverages too.

"No, not usually."

"Mhm. I seeeee."

Vela remarks while stroking her chin. Her head bobs up and down, and on top of that, she shuts her eyes too. A moment passes, and her body jolts forward.

"Ah, sorry! You can start eating, by the way. No need to wait for me."

With her acknowledgement, I begin my meal.

Time passes as I savour the food that is given to me. Chewing, feeling its texture and taste within my mouth, I give myself ample time to process it before swallowing. It's a shame. This food can definitely be considered good. Which only makes it all the more tragic that it is given to someone such as me.

"Vela, it is unnecessary to put this much effort just for me."

She looks with blank confusion at my statement. As usual, her hand instinctively reaches for her chin.

"Well, compared to what you've done for me, it's not really that much of a hassle."

In terms of pure effort, her statement can be considered to be true. But, when presented with the context around it, it does provoke a few questions. All things considered, I am still a prisoner. A prisoner under her jurisdiction, my own satisfaction should not be of consequence. No matter the treatment I get, the sentence is all the same.

"Is all of this homemade?"

Vela nods.

"But don't worry about it. It's not like I made most of it. So you don't have to worry for my being."

Right. Up until recently, there must have been another person living here. Now that they are gone, however, I am able to reap the fruits of their labour. Seeing that I understand, Vela continues to eat. Dipping a piece of her bread into wine, she munches on it with ecstatic movements.

"Ohmph, shpeaking erf Marvil."

Vela audibly swallows what's in her mouth before letting out a great breath of air.

"Pardon me asking but, are you a Ramsotra?"

Ramosotra. An umbrella term used to describe the warriors and martial artists of Criland. A nearby country known for its association with demons and physical and mental discipline, the correlation is understandable.

"No, I'm not. Though I was apprenticed under the tutelage of a few."

"Oh damn, that explains why you're so strong. Your aura is really impressive, you know."

"Impressive?"

"Yeah, I mean to take on a giant ape's punch and those powerful sword slashes like they're nothing, sheesh."

At the mention of sheesh, she smiles. One which leads with a furrow of her brow makes her seem really delighted. Of course. Such a reaction is natural. The ability that gives such durability, known as aura, is merely a byproduct of resolve. The strength of the soul, it is a power that, when developed, can be fueled into magic or other supernatural idiosyncracies.
In the case of aura, it is the most base and fundamental skill of all. Accessible to everyone, given enough training and practice, it is what stops any threats of danger.

Essentially, at the most fundamental level, it is the ability to prevent others from rewriting the information of your body. Even spells designed to inflict psychic damage or rewrite memories must first go through aura before anything else. Mages, as a general rule, possess less of it. As they redirect their resolve towards magic instead, they give up general durability in place of it. A trade-off for flexibility of application over pure martial prowess.

A bell rings. My significant reflection breaks by the sound of metallic echoes through the room. That's fine. Recollecting fundamental information and principles, while helpful, should not be overindulged.

"Oh, lemme go get it."

A toast in her mouth, Vela approaches the window to the outside. She stares in silence for a few moments.

"Uh, Mayevil, do you know a pale moustache man with an umbrella?"

"I know many pale moustache men with umbrellas."

"Ok, that one was my bad, but could you like come here and check it out?"

This time, she speaks with a greater sense of emergency. Fluctuating in volume and temperament, I come to see for myself. Sure enough. Just outside the gates of the building stands a pale moustache man with an umbrella. In a similar garment to yesterday, the individual is none other than the vampire known as Landidus.