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The Dragon Tower apartment was something of a nexus for family type things. Every Dragon who wanted could get their hands on a tome into the place, and the doors were effectively kept open at all times. This appeased Azraeth’s desire to have a place where everyone he loved could come together, a physical representation of the fact that he was reachable basically at any time (after night fall) by anyone who cared about him. In an ideal world, Az would have just removed the hinges of the front door altogether, so that friends and family could come and go, share meals (or blood), converse, and be entertained by each other. Of course all of this situational openness meant that Az very much needed a place that was quiet, where he could go for his version of solitude (which was basically like everyone else’s, except with the addition of a Flynn). When he and his Paladin had moved into the little cabin outside of town, the vampire had installed a doorbot. The device was synchronized to both he and Flynn’s phones, and it alerted them whenever someone either rang the door bell (to which it was attached) or if a person tripped the motion sensor for more than 10 seconds.

There was a tiny camera. Az was in the process of getting dressed when his phone buzzed and he plucked it up, giving a swipe to see his sister. He didn’t quite finish buttoning up his shirt before the world shifted around him. One moment he was at one home, and the next he stood at the front door of the apartment in Tomkin. He pocketed his phone before pulling the door open so he could pull the woman into a tight hug. It was true that he saw her very often; that was one of the perks of the two of them working together. However, Lea had been going through a lot recently. Azraeth didn’t know every single little detail about what had happened, but he knew that she was taking it roughly. Really that was all he needed to know. In the past, the Mystic had made a point of working for the vampire community whenever possible. He had advocated for working with the Broussard blood thieves, for example. And when dire situations inevitably arose, he often tried to find ways for the collective undead to work together. This almost never happened. Even the people who claimed to have the best interests of their kind at heart, often did their own share of damage.

Nobody knew what the **** they were doing. Not really.

Az felt no obligation to be angry at Amalea. She was his sister, and that meant he was supposed to be that soft place she could land when the rest of the world wanted her head on a platter. Other creatures of the day and night could chastise her. Or punish her. Dig their heels in to make her feel the guilt that already hung heavy on her conscience. Or offer her the absolution she would inevitably seek. Azraeth did not care to do any of that.

His sole requirement was to hug her. To let her know that no matter how far she felt she had gone, she could always return home.

All of this was said with touch and embrace, after the manner of the very first men to have separated themselves from apes. Eloquent pronouncements were not necessary, when one was fluent in a language older than English.

He pulled away with a smile, peering into her eyes. “You look like you could use rest.” He admitted before stepping back to invite her inside.

“You know what else you could use? Some tea and some cake.” Of course Az had taken note of the lip piercing, but for him, it was a matter of prioritising. He hadn’t talked to Lea properly in ages, and while he knew the bare bones of what had happened and what was ongoing...well. There were just more pressing matters. He could feel a shift in her energy. Maybe it was because of the way she was projecting herself. Perhaps her confidence had taken a hit. There could have been any number of things going on in her mind, which could potentially impact the woman’s self-perception (and therefore the mask she wore). He hoped that whatever she’d come into contact with hadn’t in some way harmed who she was on a fundamental level. It was, he supposed, the danger of reaching out to touch alien things. When ‘first contact’ was purely theoretical, everything was fine and dandy. But the moment something foreign actually made its presence known? Or worse. When that unfamiliar thing reached back across the void to touch the one who called for it? There was no telling what unforeseen things might happen. Or what impacts those peculiar powers might have.

The door slid shut and Azraeth moved towards the kitchen, which allowed Amalea to either follow along, or drop into a seat at the table, which was only separated from the rest of the food prep area by an island. The water went into the kettle and that went on the stove. There were some seven layer bars in the fridge, because those stored well. There was also a plate of cupcakes (on a cake tray with corresponding lid) on the counter. Though Az rarely used the property, he still liked to keep both blood and food stored, because he knew there would be people who passed through, and because he liked to be able to serve something if he did need to host. He ended up putting together a small plate with a single (oversized really) homemade candy bar, and one of the cupcakes (which were chocolate, with chocolate chunks, and a ‘unicorn’ frosting). He placed the plate on the table before slumping into one of the two seats. When the water was ready, it would be sure to let them know with a loud whistle.

“Tell me about these nightmares, both the ones you have when you sleep and the one you experienced while awake.” He said as he let his fingers weave together in his lap. His gaze cut across the distance between them. He knew that there were some vampires who could walk into the land of dreams and influence them. Perhaps this being Amalea had briefly referenced was doing just that. Or perhaps someone else gifted similarly could put a stop to the night terror. “And you should know that you don’t need to apologize to me for that. You’ve been going through it.” Az felt a little guilty, honestly. He had been very preoccupied with issues going on in his own life. Flynn had been gravely injured only a short time before. It made the Mystic wonder if there might have been something he could have done if he had been able to devote his full attention to his sister. He’d known she was looking for one of the Admin’s keys.

He should have done more follow up. He regretted having not read the bones for her. Maybe if he had seen a warning, he could have told her to flee. And yet he had not. And she was, as he had said, being put through it. Regrets did seem to have that leoprine quality of multiplying.