Vlad's gaze travels down the length of his body, and back to his face, his expression implacable. His voice remains level, but not cold. Never cold.

He knows what it is to renounce a power greater than himself.

'I have no desire to fight you.'

He pushes himself to his feet, drawing his robe around himself.

'You must be hungry. And in need of a shave.'

He drifts towards the door, carefully placing each foot and shifting his weight. Feeling the interplay of muscle and bone, feeling the cool stone against the soles of his feet.

He departs, without looking back.