A NOTE FIRST: a little background information is in order. Don't worry, the spoiler-ing is minimal. In book eight, there is a scene where Alucard has a flashback to when he's little, a small kid with dark hair (consistent with when Count Dracula was imprisoned in the Turkish Sultan's castle at 13), he was abused terribly. Radu is Vlad Dracula's younger brother. They were both imprisoned. Also, at that age, he was Catholic (as is said in the manga). Basically, something happens and he reverts back to this form, thinking he's still 13, it's 1444, and that he's imprisoned by the Sultan. The only person who can be trusted to take care of him (who else?) is Integra. Yes, this is AxI. No, it's not pedophiliac. R&R please!

CHAPTER 1

The first thing he was aware of upon waking was darkness. For several minutes he thought he hadn't opened his eyes, but then he blinked and realized that they'd been open all along, it was just very dark where he was.

I'm dead, he thought.

But that wasn't true, was it? He flexed his fingers. They were still there, all ten of them. Then he wiggled his toes. They were there, too. Dead people can't feel their fingers and toes. But still, wherever he was sleeping, it was awfully stuffy.

"Radu?" he called, barely above a whisper. If the Sultan was near, he would be angry if he were disturbed. Still, maybe he was in this stuffy place in the first place because he'd upset the Sultan. He couldn't remember.

The material beneath him was soft and comfortable, but not comforting. After all, the Sultan's bed was supposed to be comfortable, too. The thought made him gag. He fought it back and tried to sit up, but was greeted by a soft "bonk", indicating he'd knocked his head against something. He rubbed it. Didn't hurt. But…

Timidly, he reached upward with both hands and felt his palm touch a smooth surface. It was vast and long, and he could feel no end to it. It covered him, enshrouded him, resting on top of him like a

Coffin lid.

"Radu?" he cried out, louder this time. "RADU!"

In panic, he pushed upward with all his strength, not expecting the heavy object to budge. His head filled with nightmarish thought of what would happen if on the other side was six feet of earth. Shock and relief flooded through him as it went flying, flipping over and landing with a thunderous crash.

He sat up.

The room was made of stone, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. Perhaps he was left for dead after all in a rock tomb? No, that can't be it. He saw a table not very far away, and a chair, and a shelf with a few old books on it and a half-empty bottle of red wine. The thought didn't occur to him that he could see clearly without any light.

His gaze fell on the heavy object he had pushed off of himself. A coffin lid. A real coffin lid. He looked down and saw the silky material he sat on lining a large wooden case, definitely shaped to fit a human, though one much larger than himself.

A shiver ran down his spine and he crawled out as quickly as he could manage, falling on all fours on the cold floor. He felt around carefully. Definitely stone. Though rooms like this weren't uncommon in the Sultan's dungeons, and Lord knows he'd been locked away in enough of them to know, this one was different. He hadn't been here before. Still, this must be the Sultan's palace.

What did I do this time?

Try as he did he couldn't recall, so he stood, dusted himself off, and looked around. The room was clean and had a strange sense of occupancy even though everything looks like it's fallen apart from disuse.

"Radu?" he called again, though softly because it was quite obvious his brother wasn't in the room.

There was only one door out the room, and from the looks of it he doubted he could open it. It was huge, and constructed of a shiny medium he had never seen before. Nevertheless, he gripped the handle and pulled, and like the lid of the coffin, it moved easily. This was encouraging. As he peeked out, he wondered maybe if he wasn't meant to be locked up after all.

The hall before him was long and silent. Rolls of identical doors lined each side, standing like soldiers. Beside some of them were strange boxes protruding from the wall, lined with buttons printed with single-digit numbers. Perhaps they were prison cells. A strange which light washed over him. He looked up to see he oddest contraptions embedded in the ceiling, emitting light, but without fire. Unable to figure out what sort of Turkish sorcery this was, he decided it was better to ignore it.

He went to the door right next to his room. This one didn't look as heavy. He knocked on it and called his brother's name. Nothing. He tried the next one, still nothing.

In this manner, he went down the hall, knocking on each door and glancing up occasionally at the strange white illumination instruments in the ceiling. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he clutched quickly at his chest. The cross hanging around his neck sent a wave of encouragement through his body as his hand closed around it.

"Oh Lord Father," he whispered, kissing the cross, "give me strength."

The eleventh door he came to was constructed like the one he had emerged from, cold and shiny and looked as if it weighed a ton. Unlike the rest of the place, it gave him a familiar feeling. He kisses the cross again before pushing the door open.

His blood chilled as his eyes landed on another coffin, this one smaller but no less menacing. Before he could turn and bolt, its lid moved, then lifted. A figure rose from within. It was a woman, dressed only in a large shirt with writings he couldn't read. She ran a hand through her hair, and looked straight at him.

Her eyes glowed, red as fresh blood.

"Who's there?" she asked sleepily and yawned, just wide enough for him to see the sharp canines protruding from her mouth.

"Master?" she said. "Is that…"

He ran, stumbling as he did, half-crawling when he couldn't get up fast enough. A monster! There was a monster in the Sultan's palace!

In his mad scramble he tripped on a flight of stairs, falling forward hard enough to knock out a few teeth. None fell out though, and he didn't stop to wonder why. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could and pushed open the nearest door as soon as he reached the top and kept running.

The world had gone mad.

Everything he saw was strange. The floors and walls of this place, which he has now established not to be the Sultan's palace, were polished in the strangest way. The fixtures of the rooms looked like they were of another world. Several times he saw men coming down the long, clean, illuminated halls and quickly hid. Their clothes, demeanor, and actions were all beyond alien to him. And more over, his brother wasn't anywhere to be found.

"Oh heavenly Father," he whispered through trembling words, holding the cross tightly, "never have I…"

"Hey!"

He spun around. A man was coming towards him. He was dressed in tan colors, and wore a patch over one of his eyes. His long hair, braided to the tip, was a shade of sunset red he had never seen before. Without a second thought he ran down the nearest corridor.

"Hey kid!" the man shouted after him. "You can't be in here!"

He climbed more stairs, kept heading upward. Some of the halls were lined with large windows, and the bright sunlight shining in made his eyes water terribly. He rubbed them and kept running.

Finally, in a shaded corner, he stopped to rest, the cross still clutched tightly in his hand. He brought it to his lips again.

And stopped.

It was stained red, as were his hands. He felt his throat constrict as he touched his face again. His fingers came away with spots of blood. His face was covered with it. It ran from his eyes in rivers.

"Oh God…"

His body shook violently. He couldn't stop it. The cross fell from his hand and dangled at his chest as he raised both hands to eyelevel. Red. They were red. Red from the blood flowing out of his eyes.

It was then that he noticed the man standing not more than ten feet away. He didn't know how the man had managed to sneak up on him, but by the time he scrambled to run again it was too late. A strong hand seized his arm. A sense of doom washed over him.

"Hey now," a gentle voice said. "How did you get in here, little guy?"

He didn't dare look up. If this man were a personal servant of the Sultan, meeting his eye would result in punishment for disrespect.

"Where'd you come from?"

He kept his head down. The hand on his arm loosened a bit.

"You don't have to be scared," the man said. "I'm Walter, what's your name?"

Slowly, timidly, he raised his eyes to look at the man. He looked perhaps fifty or sixty, though he may be older, it was hard to tell. He was dressed in dark, form-fitting clothes that was, again, strange to him. His hair was peppered with grey and tied back in an odd fashion. On his nose rested a strange device made of wires and a pair of round glass pieces.

As he looked at him, the man's expression changed. This raised alarm in him immediately.

"Please don't punish me," he begged, getting to his knees. "I didn't mean to…" what didn't he mean to do? He had no idea.

The man kept staring at him.

"Don't tell the Sultan," he continued, red tears streaking down his cheeks. "He'll beat me, he'll…"

The man said a word, but he didn't understand. He had no idea what an "Alucard" was.

oOo

The man named Walter seemed to have no intention of punishing him, or even taking him to the Sultan, from this he can only conclude that he didn't work for the Sultan or wasn't faithful to him in some way. Instead, he took him to a room that was lined with white lines and smelled like lilacs, gathered water in a white basin, and washed his face with a wet towel.

But this didn't mean he was safe from danger, a fact he was well-aware of as he stood there and allowed himself to be washed, clutching the cross to keep from losing courage and running away.

After a while Walter put the towel away and just stood there, studying him, as if at a loss for words.

Finally, he said, "you better not be yanking my chain."

He had no idea what that meant and kept silent.

"OK," Walter said, crossing his arms. "What do you think Integra's going to say when she finds out about this little prank of yours?"

He didn't know who Integra was either.

"You don't want her to lock you back in the dungeons again, do you?"

The image of the coffin appeared in his mind, followed by the red-eyed woman. With a hard sob he fell to his knees again before Walter.

"No! Don't put me back there," he cried. "There's a monster down there! She has red eyes… please!"

For a moment Walter did not respond.

"I'm dying." He wiped his eyes and held his red-stained hands to Walter. "There's blood coming from my eyes…I just want to see my brother. Please…"

Walter sighed and rubbed his temples. "You can't be serious," he said.

"My brother, one last time, please!"

With a firm but kind hand, Walter lifted him to his feet. "Alright," he said. "Say I believe you. Let's go see if we can straighten this out."

He wiped his face. "Are you taking me to Radu now?"

The old man blinked at the name in surprise. "We'll see," he said, and took his hand.

They went out of the washroom, down the hall, and up another flight of stairs. There were only a few rooms on this floor, each with large, strong doors painted a magnificent white. Walter stood before one of them and knocked.

"Enter," came an authoritative voice from inside. He shivered and was suddenly afraid.

Walter pushed open the door, tugging at his hand as he hesitated. "Come on," he said. "It's OK."

"Who's that with you, Walter?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir Integra," said Walter.

He allowed himself to be pulled inside. This room was as strange as the rest. It was large, and the only furnishing inside was a large desk, a strange-looking chair, and shelves lined with books and notes. Behind the desk, in the chair, sat a man with long hair, blond and bright as brilliant silver. Between his lips was something he assumed to be a tobacco pipe, since it was smoking. But…

The man looked at him with shiny blue eyes. "Who's the kid?"

Walter chuckled. "Perhaps you'd like to look a bit closer."

"Sir Integra" stood, circled around the desk, and came up to him. He was tall, slim, and had very fair features. He wore a dark ensemble, and a cross was fastened to his collar. This was comforting. For a moment he wondered if perhaps Integra was a woman, the way his body was shaped, with obvious curves.

But a woman in pants? Impossible…

Integra approached him and lifted his chin with one gloved hand. He gazed into his eyes and sneered, making him feel uneasy.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I am not," Walter replied. "I don't think he is either."

"Why is he in this form?"

"If he'd indeed serious, then I think something tempered with his memory, I just don't know what. He seems to think this is his natural form, and that he hasn't been anything but."

Integra looked at him again. "Let's see then," he said. Then, addressing him directly, "How old are you?"

"I'm thirteen," he answered in a small voice. Integra raised an eyebrow. Walter made a soft sound of surprise.

"And what's your name?"

"Vlad."

TBC