Hunter of Zero (Bloodborne/Familiar of Zero) ch.2

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Siesta yawned as she trudged through the quiet corridors of the Academy. For a place as grand and sprawling as the Academy of Magic, a small army of staff was needed to keep everything running smoothly. After all, the students here weren't just any ordinary children, they were the flower of nobility not just from Tristain but from neighboring nations as well. Expectations were high, and the staff had to be alert, attentive, and diligent at all hours. Siesta wasn't alone as she made her rounds. The soft murmur of other servants preparing for the day echoed through the halls, cooks readying breakfast, maids tidying chambers, and stewards ensuring that every detail was perfect for their young masters. For Siesta, her job today was a simple one: collecting the week's bed linens to be sent for washing.

It was mundane work, but it paid well enough. For commoners, opportunities like this were few and far between. She didn't mind the simplicity of it; after all, it was honest work, and it gave her a chance to catch her breath before the day's chaos truly began. As she turned a corner, her arms already full of folded sheets, she stopped in her tracks. Ahead of her, a man was walking leisurely down the hall, carrying a bundle of linens. Siesta blinked in surprise. 

"Oh? Are you new?" Siesta asked, tilting her head curiously.

The man turned to her, offering a small, polite smile. "In a sense," he replied, his voice smooth and calm. "I was simply wondering where to place these." He gestured lightly to the linens in his arms.

Siesta's curiosity was piqued. His accent was foreign and manner precise. Unlike most of the staff who were common, he oozed proper breeding. He also was calm, almost unnervingly so, as though he had all the time in the world.

"Um, the laundry room is down that corridor," she said, pointing to a door at the end of the hall. "In fact, why not let me handle that?" 

"Ah, my master would be displeased if I let others hold her things. Why not let us go together?" He suggested.

Siesta hesitated. It was not strange for noble families to send their own private servants for their children. But they were usually far and between and did not usually last for long for the Academy had its own staff and for a private servant to attend to their needs was a snub for it made it seem like the Academy was incapable of servicing their wards. 

"Your master?" she asked, tilting her head. "Are you one of the new attendants for the nobles?" 

The man's smile widened faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "In a sense," he replied, his voice as smooth as silk. "I am bound to serve her will, though my duties are… unique."

Siesta furrowed her brow, unsure of what to make of his cryptic response. Her. So one of the younger girls, then. Perhaps some of the nobles were shy and needed a bit more of home to help them ease out of their shell? "Well, all right," she said cautiously, shifting the weight of her own linens in her arms.

"Lead the way," he said with a slight bow, gesturing for her to go ahead.

As they walked side by side, an uncomfortable silence settled between them. Siesta couldn't help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He moved with such fluidity, his every step deliberate, as if he were gliding rather than walking.

"So," she began, trying to ease her nerves and break the silence, "you're not from around here, are you? You don't sound like someone from Tristain."

He chuckled softly, a low, pleasant sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "You're quite perceptive," he said. "No, I am not originally from Tristain."

A foreigner! Siesta preened at that. Hiring foreigners for staff was not a uncommon practice. It was mostly a show, a noble wanting to add some exotic flair to their household. "Oh? Where from?" she questioned. By his accent, Siesta figured he was Romalian. But his skin-tone suggested he was Germanian. She had an ear for such things thanks to the Academy's diverse student body. 

"Yharnam," he revealed. 

"Yharnam," Siesta repeated and furrowed her brow, trying to place the name. Yharnam. It didn't sound like any place she'd ever heard of. Not from Romalia, Germania, or even Albion.

"I've never heard of Yharnam," she admitted, glancing up at him. "Is it one of the smaller cities in Germania?" 

The man chuckled softly though there was no humor in the sound. "No, miss. Yharnam is…quite far from here. A place that few have reason to know, and fewer still have reason to visit."

Something in his voice sent a chill down her spine. There was no boastfulness in his words, no pride in the way he described his homeland.

"Well...what can you tell me about it?" Siesta asked, curious still despite her discomfort. The world was wide after all and to hear stories was one of the ways she herself could travel places she realistically could not go to. 

"Ah, the weather is cold and foggy," the man dismissed. "There is no light that can touch it, and the architecture leaves much to be desired. The only thing that made it relevant was its healing arts." 

Siesta bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She was used to chatting with the other staff, trading gossip and lighthearted banter, but this man's descriptions of his country were unflattering to the extremes. Pride of their homelands was a common sentiment for both noble and commoner, a unifying force on matters that set both apart. Tristain might be small compared to the other nations but even she found things to be proud about. 

"You mentioned healing arts," she said after a moment, eager to steer the conversation into happier topics. If she could ever practice magic, she would love to heal people. 

His smile widened slightly, though it still didn't reach his eyes. "It healed, in a sense." he replied, his words as cryptic as ever. "The healing arts of Yharnam was the only thing going for it. Such as it was that foreigners would risk travel just to be healed there." 

"That sounds wonderful!" Siesta beamed. "The magic must be otherworldly."

For the first time, his smile touched his eyes. "Oh, you have no idea." 

She opened her mouth to ask him more about it, but they had already reached the laundry room. Siesta stopped, gesturing toward the door.

He inclined his head in thanks, stepping inside to lay the linens carefully on the sorting table. The head laundress glanced up, her sharp gaze narrowing at the sight of him, but before she could speak he had already turned back toward the hall.

"Thank you for accompanying me," he said, his tone courteous yet remote. Then, as if something had only just occurred to him, he added, "Ah, one more thing, may I know your name?"

Siesta brightened again, pleased that their odd little exchange had ended on a friendlier note. "Siesta of Tarbes," she said, dipping into a neat curtsy.

He placed a hand over his chest and bowed with grave formality. "Well met, Siesta of Tarbes."

"And you?" she asked, head tilted with curiosity.

The man paused, his expression unreadable, as though the question had taken him by surprise. "My name?"

Siesta giggled. "Do they not have names in Yharnam?"

"Oh, we do," he murmured, gaze drifting ahead as if looking somewhere far beyond the corridor. "It is only that mine has slipped from me. It has been so long."

Siesta blinked, her laughter faltering. She searched his face for the hint of a joke, but there was none. "Slipped from you?" she echoed, voice soft.

He inclined his head, as if acknowledging the absurdity. "It happens when you throw yourself into your profession and title, you forget other things." 

"Ah," Siesta nodded in understanding. She looked upon him, empathy in her eyes. He sounded so grave and tired about it that she wondered what sort of profession he had before he got hired by his master. "What did you do that you forgot yourself, mister?" Siesta asked. 

"I was simply a Hunter," he replied. "A Good Hunter."

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Louise woke to the sound of birdsong and rustling sheets.

"Good morning, Master," her familiar greeted, his voice so quiet that Louise had to strain to hear it. An ordeal for anyone just waking up, but somehow, she managed.

"Mnn," Louise acknowledged groggily, pulling the sheets over her head to block out the light.

"Did you have good dreams?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"My dreams are none of your business, familiar," Louise bit back, her words muffled by the fabric.

"Well, if they are bothering you, I ought to be concerned as a good familiar should, yes?" he countered, his tone calm, though the faintest trace of amusement lingered.

"You're not a good familiar," Louise grumbled, burrowing further into the sheets. "You're barely even a familiar. You're just...annoying."

"Annoying, am I?" he replied, his tone light but maddeningly composed. "I see. Perhaps you'd prefer a more traditional familiar that doesn't speak or think. A dog, maybe? A nice, obedient creature to fetch your slippers? Does master wish for I to bark?"

Louise peeked out from under the covers, her glare sharp enough to pierce steel. "Don't push your luck, familiar," she snapped. "And don't you ever ask such a thing from me ever again, you degenerate freak."

He chuckled softly, the sound smooth and infuriating. "Ah, my mistake, Master. I'll be sure to remember that."

Louise groaned and yanked the sheets back over her head, determined to block him out entirely. She had slept long and deeply, but her body still felt drained, as though she'd spent hours running. Running through streets slick with blood, monsters lurking in the shadows, and that woman...tall and soft, her presence both soothing and haunting.

"Why do you even care about my dreams?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because," he said, his voice dropping to something softer, almost tender, "if they trouble you, it's my duty as your familiar to know. To protect you, even from nightmares."

Louise froze. His words caught her off guard, their sincerity cutting through her grogginess. She hated how they made her feel vulnerable. She shook her head, shaking off the creeping warmth in her chest.

"Stop saying things like that," she snapped, sitting up abruptly. Her pink hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed with irritation. "You're just trying to sound important, but you're not. You're just some...weird man I summoned by mistake."

"Ah, but I am not just one weird man now, Master," he replied smoothly. "I am now one weird man who is the familiar of Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière...and that means something."

Louise blinked, momentarily stunned into silence as he set her clothes for the day down on the nearby chair, neatly ironed and waiting for her. He sounded so sincere, so annoyingly genuine, that it threw her off balance. He looked pleased, proud, even, that she was his master.

Her cheeks burned with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "W-what are you doing?"

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked sweetly, his eyes alight with a playful glint that only made her blush harder.

"N-no," Louise bit back, her voice faltering as she tried to regain control of the situation.

His lips curved into a beaming smile, and he pressed a gloved hand to his chest with exaggerated reverence. "Oh, my Master is so kind, so gentle. Truly, it has touched my heart."

Louise's face turned scarlet. "Get out!" she screeched, hurling her pillow with all the force her frustration could muster.

Her familiar ducked effortlessly, the pillow sailing harmlessly past him. With a bow far too smug for her liking, he straightened and turned to leave, the door clicking shut behind him.

Left alone, Louise flopped back onto her bed with a groan, burying her face into the sheets. "Stupid familiar," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes wandered to the neatly prepared academy uniform draped across the chair. Her irritation simmered, but a small part of her, an infuriatingly persistent part, admitted that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't entirely insufferable.

When Louise finally emerged from her room, dressed in her uniform, she found him waiting outside. He was clad once more in that absurdly ostentatious outfit. Despite herself, Louise couldn't help but stare.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow beneath his hat.

"I'm going to have to get you out of those clothes and into something more presentable," Louise said, her tone sharp.

"Is there something wrong with my attire?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

Truth be told, Louise couldn't find anything inherently wrong with it. The outfit had a certain rugged elegance, and the craftsmanship was impeccable. The gold buttons gleamed in the light, and the tailoring was far too fine to be anything but high-end. But still…

"…It's too dramatic," Louise declared at last. "We're in the Tristain Academy of Magic where students are trying to master themselves, not parading about like some Albionese mercenary."

Her familiar tilted his head, as if genuinely considering her words. "Dramatic? This is practical where I come from."

"Practical?" Louise repeated incredulously, throwing her arms up. "You look like you're about to duel someone in a thunderstorm! Do you have any idea how much attention that outfit will draw?"

He chuckled softly, clearly amused by her outburst. "Perhaps that's the point. If I'm to protect you, wouldn't you want someone who stands out?"

Louise crossed her arms, her cheeks puffing slightly in frustration. "You look like you're trying to outshine me, and that's not going to happen." 

"I am your familiar, am I not?" he replied smoothly. "If I'm to reflect you and your House, then naturally, I must embody boldness, command, and an air of authority. Impossible to ignore, just like you."

Louise opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. He wasn't wrong, exactly. And yet…

"Why didn't I summon a dragon instead?" she wailed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Her familiar's eyes gleamed with something cryptic, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Well…you did wish for a familiar that was divine, beautiful, and powerful."

Louise froze, her eyes narrowing. "What did you just say?"

Instead of answering, her familiar turned toward the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway. Students were beginning to stir, their familiars trailing behind them. But as they approached, Louise noticed something strange: the other familiars gave hers a wide berth, their unease palpable. One student  stumbled as their familiar tugged desperately to the side, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and Louise's. It was even more ridiculous when said familiar was a literal floating eye.

"What's wrong with them?" Louise asked, her gaze darting between the frightened creatures and her familiar.

He didn't answer. Instead, he adjusted his hat and commented calmly. "Perhaps they do not like squid." 

"Squid?" Louise raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," her familiar replied. "Come, and let us get you breakfast."

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"I am telling you, Osmond, something is wrong!"

Professor Colbert's voice rang through the office, carrying an urgency that was rare for him. Normally a man of logic and reason, it wasn't often that he allowed his emotions to dictate his tone. But this was different. To see the Flame Snake so visibly unnerved was enough to give Osmond pause.

Osmond, Headmaster of the Academy, was not one to be easily swayed by impassioned speeches or alarmist declarations. He acted only with certainty, his calm demeanor seldom cracking under pressure. Yet even he could not outright dismiss the weight in Colbert's words. After all, the events surrounding Louise Valliere's familiar were unprecedented. Summoning a human as a familiar wasn't just rare. It was unheard of in Halkeginian history. For such an anomaly to occur, and with Louise, of all students, demanded investigation. Osmond had already spent countless hours poring over ancient tomes in search of answers. To his frustration, he had found nothing.

"And what would you have me do, Colbert?" Osmond finally responded, his voice measured but firm. "The ritual is irreversible. It's not as though we can simply have young Miss Valliere send that man back to wherever he came from."

"You don't understand, Headmaster," Colbert said, his usually calm voice cracking slightly. "That man is wrong. It's like he exudes an unnatural wrongness. The other familiars are practically terrified of him."

Osmond leaned back in his chair, one hand stroking the long, wispy beard beneath his chin. His brows furrowed in thought. "There are only a few beings I know of that can inspire such dread," he muttered. "But they are creatures of the dark, not men."

Miss Longueville, who had been standing quietly by Osmond's side, cleared her throat and drew their attention. "What if he isn't a man?" she suggested, her voice steady but tinged with unease. "A shapeshifter, perhaps?"

Osmond's eyes flicked toward her, narrowing slightly. "A shapeshifter? That would be troubling," he admitted, though his tone remained skeptical. A shapeshifter could mimic anyone or anything, its motives hidden. The mere notion was unsettling, but even Osmond found it difficult to believe. By all accounts, the familiar was a pure man. 

"I do not deny the strangeness of the situation," Osmond decided, his voice calm but resolute. "But we cannot act on conjecture alone. For now, the familiar has shown no hostility toward Miss Valliere or anyone else. We have other concerns to address."

Colbert took a breath, trying to steady himself. He had seen men in their most unreasonable, frenzied states, he himself responsible for some of those moments. The title of Flame Snake was not attained by being merciful. And yet, what he saw in that familiar's eyes was something he could not explain.

Nothing. Pure, unrestrained nothing. No spark of life, no flicker of malice. 

Just a void.

And that terrified him.

"And what happens when that changes?" Colbert finally pressed, his voice low but firm.

Osmond sighed, his gaze drifting toward the window. The sun cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the unease hanging in the air. "Then we will deal with it," he said at last.

It wasn't the answer Colbert wanted, but it was the only one he would get. "Very well," he sighed. "I shall defer to your wisdom, Headmaster."

Osmond nodded, his expression softening just slightly. "Good. This is the start of a new semester. I do not wish for this school year to begin on a chaotic note." He paused, rubbing his temple. "Between this and the political headaches from the capital, I would prefer the Academy to remain as neutral and calm as possible."

It was then that panicked cries erupted from outside the office door. Osmond inwardly groaned. 

"Headmaster Osmond! Professor Colbert!" came the frantic voices of students.

Osmond gestured for Miss Longueville to open the door. When she did, a small group of students stumbled inside, their faces pale with fear. Osmond immediately recognized one of them.

"Ah, young Malicorne," Osmond greeted, though his tone grew wary as he noticed the sheer terror in the rotund student's eyes. "How may I help you?"

Colbert stepped forward, his expression stern. "Malicorne. What's happened?"

Shaking, Malicorne finally managed to blurt it out. "It's…it's Guiche! He-"

"He what?" Colbert demanded.

"He picked a fight with the Zero's familiar! They're dueling in the courtyard right now!"

Colbert didn't wait for Osmond to respond. He was already out the door, his coat billowing behind him.

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A/N: Stay tuned for next instalment. Blonde twink vs Cthulhu. (What the fuck happened to get to that?)