Some wounds never close; they just teach you to live with the ache.
Another dark night. The moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and the starless sky seemed to swallow everything whole. Rain fell softly, its droplets like a thousand delicate yellow threads shimmering under the streetlamps' glow. The trees bowed sullenly, the wind biting into their leaves, pulling them along and blowing them far away.
In the corner of a small village pub, two familiar faces slept soundly, oblivious to the vampire watching them from across the room. If you asked me, I could think of a tastier meal than two fifty-year-old men reeking of alcohol and nicotine.
Probably the vampire considered this as well, or maybe he just sensed my disapproving glance. The bloodsucker must have decided it was time to leave and look for more refined delicacies because he quickly stood up and stepped out into the pouring rain without a word.
I sighed deeply and took out my mug to start my well-deserved cocoa break. I sat down in my familiar seat and enjoyed the rhythmic thrum of the raindrops mixing with the soft hum of the music. It would have been much more enjoyable, though, if the melody hadn't been mixed with the sound of regular number one's wrenching too.
I only hoped that the guy had reached the toilet and didn't think about what an unpleasant night I would have if he hadn't.
So I sipped my cocoa in the utmost peace and quiet. Everything was so unusually calm. Somehow, after the war, everything seemed unusually ordinary and calm.
The winds of war, which perhaps threatened the whole world, suddenly died down. The Fifth King appeared out of nowhere and soon disappeared into nothingness—the world slowly woke up and asked questions. How did it happen? Who was responsible for his downfall? Why and how did he do it?
The monsters wanted answers—as I did, just to completely different questions. How could I get over the pain? Will it ever stop hurting?
If I closed my eyes, all I saw was Jo. Sometimes her face was contorted with fear, other times she smiled, and sometimes I just felt like I was falling apart into a million pieces. Since that day, the painful tightness in my chest hasn't left for a single moment. It just kept reminding me of the hole in my heart, the emptiness left after Jo.
Sometimes I could hear her giggle, other times I could hear her calling my name, and there have even been times when I could smell her.
So I visited Gironde again. I just had to know, had to know for sure, that Jo herself had not become a vengeful spirit.
"To what do I owe this visit, dear Shaytan?" Gironde grinned and offered me a seat.
I sat down but didn't speak for a moment. Whenever I had to talk about Jo, I always felt as if someone was pressing his fingers against my neck, yet when I touched it, I discovered nothing unusual.
"I want to know," I said harshly, yet the next moment my voice was involuntarily hushed, "Has Jo... has she become a ghost?"
I looked up at the Necromancer and was surprised because he was not smiling. His face, for the first time, looked ancient, as if he had been through hell and back. In that moment, the shadow of his long life was cast across Gironde's almost expressionless, yet pained features. His green eyes had faded, no longer flashing their usual carefree glee, replaced by a dark and painful gleam.
Every night I dreamed of Jo. Many times she would cry out to me that she was dead and tell me a million times that it was all my fault. Other times she smiled sweetly at me and planted a kiss on my lips, and I would have given anything to really have her by my side—for some reason, these were the more painful dreams.
And then, at that moment, I recognized in the Necromancer's eyes the same gleam I saw in my own when I was standing in front of the mirror.
"No, she has not become a ghost," Gironde said quietly.
And I suddenly didn't know whether his answer had reassured me or whether it had upset me even more. Maybe I was a little hopeful that Jo had stayed by my side... that she hadn't abandoned me. Part of me selfishly hoped that she was looking after me and that I could see her again.
"She fulfilled her destiny so she could move on," the Necromancer continued.
What destiny?! I felt my whole insides clench and heard my teeth gnash. What fate?! She was so young, even in human years! How could such a short life be given to such an innocent and kind girl like Jo?
"Where to?" I asked, hating how desperate I sounded.
"I can't tell you, Shaytan, you know that," Gironde replied, and I hated even more the sympathy and understanding in his voice.
When I slammed my fist hard on the table, Gironde didn't scold me. He simply stared at me with eyes that made me feel there was no one else on earth who understood my pain better.
"Bring her back to me, Gironde," I demanded, "I'll give you my life, my soul, my body, anything, just bring her back to me!"
I saw the answer on Gironde's face, he didn't have to say anything. I hadn't let my tears fall since that day, but now I felt my eyes stinging again.
"I cannot bring her back to you."
I didn't want to hear it. I stood up slowly. I wanted to rampage, to smash, to destroy until the pain subsided. I could feel the beast overwhelming me, running through my veins, drinking its way into my flesh. Yet, for moments, I merely stood still.
"How was I supposed to accept this?" I cried out, not wanting to acknowledge that I was shaking with anger. "Should I let it go? And move on? How... how am I supposed to do that?!"
For seconds I gasped for breath, afraid of losing myself, but the next moment Gironde put his hand on my shoulder in understanding. He looked at me with a mournful smile, and I saw something in his eyes that made the shivering stop. What exactly it was that I saw, I had no idea.
"Even if it hurts terribly, you still have a famiglia to stay strong for."
I pressed my lips into a sharp line and hit his hand.
"Fuck you."
Why can't you just bring her back to me? Without saying thank you, I ran out of the Necromancer's crypt.
(...)
The memories were hazy, fading like fragments of a dream—tiny shards that, upon waking, dissolve into distant, indistinct shapes. No doubt, I remembered. It was as though it had all been a nightmare, one that could easily be forgotten if I chose to.
But I couldn't forget. It was terrifying to know that, having lost my head, I had killed on instinct alone—that I could have killed Alex or the others.
I talked about it at length with my brother. He suggested that I try to harness my abilities—tap into the strength I had long been trying to suppress. He believed it might prevent me from slipping into a trance and killing again.
His first task for me was to accept myself. Easier said than done, especially since I'd thought I had already done so over the years. We began training again, just like when I was a child. We'd been fighting each other for about a week when he asked Alice to join us.
"We're taking a more extreme approach today," my brother declared, his voice carrying a note of warning. "So brace yourself, little brother. Today's training could very well kill you."
He was always so dramatic. Without waiting for a response, he drew his sword and lunged at me. Alice, meanwhile, notched an arrow and drew his bow. No sooner had I dodged Des's blade than I found myself leaping to avoid Alice's arrow.
Once again, I got a painful reminder of just how fast Des was. Ruthless, precise, and never wasting a movement, his form was flawless, and his sword swings were the most lethal I had ever encountered. I couldn't dodge them all. My only good fortune was the rapid healing of my wounds. In addition, I had to watch out for Alice's arrows though, or I would end up impaled.
I grew careless for just a second—and he hit my shoulder. The arrow lodged deep, but I yanked it out quickly, the wound already healing as I pulled it free. We used arrows on purpose so that we wouldn't have to open the wound a second time after training.
They continued to attack until the sun sank beneath the horizon, and I thought for a brief moment that Des would call it a day. But no. He didn't stop. He pressed on, relentless, without a pause or a word. Then, his sword began to glow—a sharp, blinding light that shimmered ominously. His movements hadn't changed; they were as fluid and deadly as before. But now, I struggled to keep up.
When I dodged his first strike, I yelped in pain. My shirt had been singed, the fabric smoking where the blade had passed too close.
A hole had burned right through my shirt, and my skin blistered despite the attack not landing fully. That was enough to make me cautious, more aware of the distance between us. I kept trying to evade him, striking back when I could but admittedly, I was pretty lacking.
"You can't win by just running," he observed as I dodged yet another blow.
"I know," I spat through gritted teeth.
But what else was there to do? My body was slowing, exhaustion creeping in. Des's blade sliced through the air so close to my shoulder that I could almost feel the sting before it happened. But that wasn't my biggest mistake. I made that one when I lost track of Alice.
Before I could react, an arrow pierced my side. The pain was sharp, but not enough to incapacitate me—yet. Alice, always precise, nocked another arrow. This time, I was ready. I managed to snatch the second arrow out of the air, but my luck had already run out.
Des swung his blade, and I knew I wouldn't be able to dodge. Time seemed to stretch and warp. The edge of his sword crept slowly toward my shoulder, and I froze, instinctively raising my hand to shield myself. My eyes clenched shut as I braced for the blow.
The searing heat of the blade hit my palm first, followed by a sharp stab of pain and the pungent scent of blood. My heart pounded so loud in my chest that it almost drowned out Des's laughter.
I opened my eyes, confused. "What are you laughing at?"
"For a second there," he grinned, "you seemed like you were starting to change. Looks like all it takes is to put you in a near-death position."
"But I can change at will," I muttered through gritted teeth. "You've been playing with me this whole time?"
"No," he said, eyes narrowed with sudden intensity. "This was different. Trust me, I felt it. It was your... other half."
At that, Des's demeanor shifted. The playful teasing was gone, replaced with something far more dangerous. His strikes came faster, sharper—relentless. I could barely keep up, the speed of his movements overwhelming me. It was only thanks to the speed inherited from certain ancestors that I was able to dodge his successive attacks.
Burns flared across my skin, even though they disappeared quickly, the pain blinding. I lasted barely five minutes facing a despicably motivated Des. After that I just collapsed—unable to move, my body trembling.
Des slid his sword back into its sheath with a quiet click.