Okay, so I was going through other fics and discovered a spoilers for the end of series 3. Unlike everyone else, I sort of like the end of series 3. Okay, I don't like blood-thirsty Vlad and I DO want him back to how he is at the beginning, but the ending shows that Vlad isn't going to find being the chosen one as easy as he appears to do at the start of the series.

Plus it gave me an idea. I've been wanting to intergrate my characters into Young Dracula somehow and now I know how.

So I hope that you stay with this fic because it's going to give you a new perspective on what the Chosen One really means.

Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula. This is just my view on how the Chosen One thing should go.

The cave was half lit by a fire burning in the centre. A figure huddled by it, absorbing the warmth and the light it provided. Outside, thunder crashed, lightning flashed and the rain continued to soak the ground. The figure was watching the entrance, waiting for something.

Someone appeared at the entrance, a young boy. He looked barely older than seventeen, but the figure by the fire knew that he had seen many things in his short life, touched by the lives of those who had lived much longer. The boy staggered in from the rain and slumped by the fire. He was drenched. He cast the figure a fearful glance.

'It's alright, young man,' she said, standing upright, 'I know that you will do me no harm.'

Despite the unusual context of the sentence, the boy relaxed. Now that he could see her, he saw that she was nothing more than an old woman, with matted grey hair pulled back into a loose bun. Her eyes were sharp however and they examined him closely.

'Are you thirsty?' she asked.

The boy flinched at the question, but nodded. She moved further from the fire, towards the back of the cave that was swallowed in shadows. She tried to carry a large metal pot, but she could barely lift it off the ground. He was at her side so quickly she had barely seen him move. He took it from her and placed it over the fire. To this she added water, cinnamon, herbs and other powders he could not name. He was pretty sure one of them was chocolate powder.

They sat in silence whilst she stirred the mixture, waiting for it to boil. Finally, she reached for a mug and ladled some of the mixture into it. 'Drink this,' she said handing it to him. He reached for it gratefully, thanked her and took a sip. A wide smile spread across his face. 'It's my granddaughter's favourite drink too, although it works better with milk.'

The old woman watched the young man gulp the rest of the mixture down. When he was finished, he sat with the mug, unsure what to do with it. 'There's more if you want it,' she said, seating herself down in her original position. His mug was full before she had finished.

She watched him for a while before saying, 'I know why you're here.' He looked up in alarm. She was very calm when she spoke. 'You don't need to say anything; I know exactly what you need to see and what you need to hear.' The boy stared at her. If he had been breathing, he would have held his breath. The old woman sighed. 'Unfortunately, the key ran off.'

A flicker of confusion flashed across his face. The old woman contemplated her sentence and corrected herself before he could ask anything, 'well, was chased away to be exact.' This answered no questions so she scooped a log from the fire and stood up. 'Come, I'll show you.' she turned to venture back into the cave when a gust of wind blew the length of the cave and the torch went out. 'Oh.'

There was snap and the flames flickered again from the end of the stick. She raised her eyebrows and glanced back at the boy who was suddenly looking rather sheepish. 'No need to hide what you are,' she said briskly, 'you would do a pretty poor job hiding it from me.' He blinked, surprised.

She continued moving onwards and he followed her. They ventured away from the entrance of the cave and her living quarters, deep into the cave. The boy was a step behind her and could see her pulse beating beneath her wrinkled skin, hear her heartbeat pounding in his ears, yet had no desire to go any further. He felt comfortable with this old lady, more comfortable than he had been amongst anyone for a long time.

They reached the end of the cave, at the heart of the mountain. She stopped and lit two torches that stood either side of a stone platform. They were surrounded by stalagmites, ducking stalactites, but before them, the area was clear. On the platform, a stone pillar stuck out of the smooth wall that marked the end of the cave. The boy approached it. Inlaid in the pillar was a pair of handprints.

'That's the lock,' the old woman said. He turned back to her. She shook her head, 'you could try placing your hands in there, but I doubt anything would happen.' She thought for a moment as he approached the pillar and then called out, 'actually, I don't think that might be a good idea, considering what you are.' He froze, his hands millimetres above the indentations. He could feel pinpricks on his skin, a static tingling that caused the hairs on his arms to stand up on end. He withdrew his hands sharpish. Yes, he thought, something bad probably would happen if I touched them.

The old lady hummed in thought before saying, 'there's only one set of prints that will open the door and reveal to you all you need to know, the prints of my key. But like I said, it got chased away.'

'Where will I find it?' he asked hoarsely. She could see the hunger for the knowledge in his eyes and the desperation.

'I don't know, unfortunately,' she said sadly, then sighed, 'a pity really because I am mightily fond of my key.' The boy groaned, which turned into a snarl and he lashed out at the pillar. With the force that he hit the pillar with, she was surprised that the entire cave didn't come crashing down around them.

'Stop it,' she snapped and he stopped instantly. 'That will bring you no closer to opening it and, more likely, make the whole cave crumble.' He bowed his head and stood on the stage like a little boy after being told off by his mother. She hummed thoughtfully before continuing, 'the only way to see what is beyond is to find my key.'

'I'll look for it,' he cried out, at her side in the second it took her to blink, 'what is it?'

'It's a person, of course,' she exclaimed, 'alive, mind you, or you'll be waiting another hundred years before another comes along. I suppose, correctly, that you want to find out this century.' He nodded enthusiastically.

'Go home then,' she said. Her answer took him by surprise and started to shake his head, blurting out excuses. 'I don't want to hear what you've done,' she shouted over the top of him, 'whatever it is I'm certain your family will forgive you, you being who you are.' He flinched and turned away. 'Well you need to stay somewhere,' she said crossly, 'otherwise how do you expect to find it.'

He looked at her curiously. She was smiling. 'I'm certain if you can't find my key,' she said and, before his eyes, began to disappear, 'my key will come to you.' She faded from sight, leaving him surrounded in darkness.

What do you think? Interested or not? Whatever your opinion, I'd love to hear it, so please review.