Castlevania: Symphony of the Night Epilogue
By Aujang Abadi
Do you remember us, Simon?
There was no answer.
We are your ancestors. Your brothers, your sisters, your family. Can you hear us, alone in that world? Speak to us, Simon. We miss you
Still the silence prevailed.
Leave him be. You do not know how badly we have hurt him.
Why will he not speak to us, father? We cherish him; he is our savior. He is so unhappy, living among those mortals. A Belmont deserves better.
Being a Belmont has cost him everything, my children. He is deaf to your ears and scornful of your love. As I said, leave him be. We have plagued him long enough.
Their voices were lost in the void of eternity.
Can you hear us, alone in that world, Simon? We love you. Do you remember us, Simon? You promised you'd remember… you promised…
The darkness was overpowering. But this was not as before; it was not the thick blanket of ignorance. This was the inky black of misery, of waste, and broken souls. He sat alone, upon the ancient throne of the Belmont clan, curled along its granite flaws. He drowned in a river of his dusted tears. Clutched in his hands lay the ashes of a rose that had long since decayed. Sarah had loved roses. He had loved Sarah.
Sunlight did not penetrate this room, but he saw perfectly. The history of his clan, forever locked into battle with the darkness, was etched onto the walls around him. A broken chisel sat next to the throne, abandoned after it outlived its purpose. His hands were caked with limestone from the effort, but he had recorded their entire history, ending with his own, into this room. He was the last of the proud clan, for what little it was worth to him. Their legacy had killed everything he had loved. He wondered if any of them laughed at the dramatic irony.
"Simon Belmont, Vampire Killer. Slayer of his brethren, rapist of his family, and the last of his line. Fitting, no?" The still air echoed his dry, humorless chuckle, and the darkness offered no response. "And you, silence, you sit upon my shoulder and whisper in my ear, tempting me to speak so you may find the respite that you know I am forever denied." He sighed, and leaned into his throne. He'd been speaking to himself often. "Sleep offers little salvation, for one such as me."
Why can he not hear us, father? We cry out to him!
How foolish my children have become. Look at him, all of you, look at him. This is what we have made him. His duty has raped all that he believed in, and yet he goes on.
Simon was deaf to their discussion. He sat upon the throne and stared into nothingness.
Why is he so miserable, father?
Do you know what it is like, children, to find yourself adept at what you despise?
He gently moved his fingers upon the left armrest, tracing the tiny runes. In the distance, the incessant trill of his only companion, the blue robin he had frightened so long ago, sang out. With the grace of a man who's nothing left to lose, he rose from his iron throne and walked towards a boarded window, tapping the wood quietly.
"Are you hungry, little one?" It chirped in response, dancing just outside of his sight, on the other side of the barrier. "Before I die, little one, I will rip the boards from these windows, so you may feast on my flesh." How morbid he had become.
Do you remember, Simon?
His hands stopped their movement.
My son. I have a gift for you.
As he laid his head upon the black boards, light flooded the room. The boards burst apart, letting fresh air seep into his black, fetid world. He fell back, covering his eyes as intense, white beams lanced into his eyes. Blindly, he stumbled about, trying to find the source.
Do you hear us now, Simon? Can you see us?
"What? What happened? Who are you?"
Your family, Simon. Couldn't you hear us? Why won't you speak to us?
"Go away, I want nothing to do with you bastards! Look at me! Look at what my dear 'family' has done! Haven't you taken enough? Finish it, devils! End it now!" He screamed in defiance, his throat raw with misuse and emotion.
We love you, Simon. Come back to us.
"Never! God take my soul before I ever look upon the face of another Belmont! Your cursed blood destroyed my life! You took her from me! The one thing I ever loved, you stole!"
We had no control over that, Simon. She is with us now. She waits for you. Come back to us, Simon. We love you.
"Go away!" He shouted, filled with antagonistic rage. "Torture another broken man!"
The light flared again, and Simon groaned in pain. His eyes, so unused to the brightness, could not focus properly. He fell to his knees and crawled towards the throne. As he approached it, a blurry shape distorted the seat. He saw something so small, so incredibly small, lying on the dusted granite.
Simon. Forgive me. I am so terribly sorry. For all that I have done to you.
"Leave me! Can none of you damned spirits let me die in peace?"
We love you, Simon. Look; look at our gift.
He stopped, bending over the throne. His lungs heaved from the exertion. He peered down to see a newborn child clawing at the air with tiny hands. Simon's breath stopped in his chest. He watched this small miracle stare back at him. In a wild torrent, the hatred that had festered in his withered body broke free of its barricades and rushed away, replaced by a profound awe. The child thrust a hand upward, trying to reach Simon's form. Gently, almost reverently, Simon clasped the tiny fist in his own. His grey eyes wandered upwards, into the blinding light once more.
His name is Richter, Simon. Richter Belmont. We love him, like we love you.
He is your son, Simon. Yours. Forgive me, my child, for my crimes.
And then they were gone; only sunlight blessed the room. Silence fell, a thick blanket over father and son. Simon's free hand carefully slipped under the baby and lifted him up, cradling the body to his own filthy chest. Looking down upon his son, the pain of his ordeals melted away. Beautiful, innocent grey eyes stared back up at Simon, alight with curiosity. Richter had his father's eyes. Simon's eyes fell to the throne once more. Scrawled beneath where the baby had lain, in deep, careful script, were these words:
Promise you'll remember me, Simon.
He smiled, for the first time in an eternity. His child's breaths slowed, as Richter nestled into the protective embrace of his father, and drifted off to a peaceful sleep. A single tear fell from Simon's left eye, dragging over his dirty cheek and washing the skin clean once more. He did not try to stop it, but instead spoke in a quiet, calm whisper, careful not to disturb his progeny's slumber.
"I remember, Sarah. I remember." And quietly, with his son in his arms, he walked back into the light.