Chapter II

Changes

A roar awakes me from my daze… or maybe it’s the rain. I’m still recovering from the attack, Oris is gone and I know his secret.

How could so much happen in such a short space of time? I feel as though the world has conspired against me. I thought Oris was rock solid. I thought that if everything else fell apart - even the earth itself - I’d still have Oris there to make it all better. I feel the way I felt before I met him: Alone and scared.

Today started like any other day… apart from Oris. Then again, he’d been acting weird for weeks now, so I guess it was like any other day. He always wakes first. I woke up, got ready, made my bed and looked out the window to see the customary sight of Oris training outside. He’s taught me a lot, but seeing him dancing around the field, a sword being driven this way and that… it reminds me how much I have to learn.

I’ve always wondered what he trains for. He’s never really told me. Every time I ask he always says that he’s training for nothing and that it’s really just to keep him sharp for work. But I’ve always wondered where the past-time began. How did it start? Was there a time when he had to train? Did he like me, have to stay in shape to protect himself… or perhaps to protect someone else? Or… was he training for this… his big change?

I’d have a hard time believing any of this if I hadn’t witnessed his transformation. In an ironic sort of way, the only person I would have believed this story from was Oris himself. I think I would believe anything he says. Oris doesn’t joke. So when he confessed… or divulged, I suppose, that he was a vampyre many centuries old… I only sort of believed him. But then he changed.

His eyes normally dark, brown eyes turning completely black, his irises and pupils dissolving and re-emerging as black orbs with narrow, white slits - The memory is too fresh. I watched as his mouth closed over on his normal teeth and then re-open to display razor, ivory daggers. Even his hands imperceptibly changed from the worn digits I was familiar with and into ten long weapons curved like scythes.

On the whole he looked the same. Round face; pale skin; short, dark brown hair and stubble spread evenly across his face. His clothes were still the mud-soaked mess they had been minutes prior. The long, black leather coat was still recognisable under the brown slush; his t-shirt was caked in muck as well and I could only see flashes of it’s true white colour when the breeze blew through the leather coat. His loose, black linen trousers, although relatively unstained, were dripping wet. The only change was his eyes, teeth and hands, but their change made him look like a completely different person.

I’ve always believed in magick, so there was a part of me that hoped this was all some kind of very expensive, magick fuelled joke… but after the ordeal we’d just been through, I knew better. The part of me that wanted to believe this was all some ill-timed prank has wanted to believe so much more before. It’s the same part that’s still hoping I’m going to wake up at any moment.

I stand up and head in the direction the roar came from, which is, by no coincidence (I feel), the direction Oris went in. I don’t know where or why I’m going. I feel as though I’m being steered by something stronger than myself. The Haunter follows me, ever silent.

It turns out I’m headed into the forest. Oris’ last words echo through my head.

I try to forget it. What else did he say? Something about fate… and it being too late. I’m not sure… maybe he wasn’t thinking right… I hope he wasn’t thinking right, because I can remember very clearly something he did say.

“Stay away from me, Jem. Get the hell away from me!”

Even remembering it sends a tremble down into my chest. He hit me as well… but why would he say that? That was the reason I fell. Sure he hit me hard enough, but I’ve dodged enough of Oris’ blows in training to avoid, by comparison, the feeble shove he gave me. It was the words that really hit. “Get the hell away from me!”

Is this all some kind of trick? He never plays jokes though. Was this some kind of way to get rid of me? Had he grown tired of my company after three years? Maybe I was holding him back? Is that why he changed into that monster? Did he choose a life as a monster rather than a life with me? I don’t understand.

Even my own investigation into him, into what that horrible device was… it was fruitless. Buxton, the Hillhouse, it feels like a million miles away. I can barely believe that I was headed into this forest less than a day ago. Going to find out anything I could about the creepy machine Oris keeps in his study. I don’t know much about it… but Oris changed recently. In the last six weeks… something happened to him.

Just because I first saw the machine six weeks ago doesn’t mean it hasn’t been there longer. For all I know Oris could have had it before I even arrived there. Oris always keeps the study locked. He doesn’t have to… all he had to do is ask me to stay out and I would, but he locks it anyway. And every week he locks himself in there… he goes into that study, the tiny box of a room and doesn’t come out till morning.

There’s so much that doesn’t make sense. We’ve been weird with each other recently as well. He started acting weird, then I started acting weird, then I started trying to find out what had made him change in the first place…then he started getting weirder because of that. I wanted to ask him what was going on, but I was scared he’d ask me about my own past, if I asked about his. So I investigated him instead.

I felt cool at first. I gave myself a name... a new name and I hired an old researcher to find out about Oris’ machine. I even used my training to steal money to pay the guy. Buxton was afraid of me as well. I felt great… important, I suppose. I didn’t lose sight of why I was doing any of it either. I knew I was there to help Oris. I didn’t let the young, rich Bryce take over. He was a character I created; calm, collected, insightful, bright and direct; all manner of cool. What shocked me more than anything was that I could actually play a character like that. He was everything I wanted to be… with the possible exception of the name.

But neither Buxton nor the illustrious yet fictitious Bryce could help me. There’s a slim chance Buxton was holding out for more money, but I’m sure he was too scared of me for that. No, I think he really was stumped. No wonder, though. Oris the vampyre? I didn’t even think vampyre were real. If Buxton doesn’t believe in magick then what are the odds of him believing in a mythical monster like a vampyre.

Even after learning that Oris is a vampyre, I‘m left with more questions. Like the inscription on the device: ‘Hunt Alone’. I don't want to know what that means. I learned Darklandish in school so the translation is probably accurate, but I desperately hope it isn't. The rest of the inscriptions on the device are completely alien to me and they should be. Like Buxton said, the device is from far distant lands. So the real question is, vampyre or not, why does he have this ancient device from worlds away in his study?

No, that‘s a lie. The real question I want to ask is why did he do this? Why did he reject me? Why did he suddenly change into that monster? Because I know he chose to do it. He said it was fate…

Maybe that’s why I’m walking. Maybe I have to ask him these things. There’s nothing I can do about his rejection… but if I knew why… The Haunter gives me an accusing stare and its tail straightens in impatience.

“Not now.” I whisper, remembering, only for a moment, why it is angry, before remembering that it isn't real.

I continue into the trees. Outside the forest the rain is falling very lightly, but as soon as I’m under cover of the trees I hear the near deafening roar of the rain hitting the thick leaves above me. I keep walking in my trance. Taking in all my surroundings but having next to no control over my path. It’s like some part of me knows where to go, but is reluctant to let my mind know.

I continue onwards, nonetheless. The Haunter sleeks through the underbrush, avoiding some of the obstacles and passing through others. It’s been with me for years now. It’s a punishment as far as I’m aware. The Haunter is with me to remind me of my crime.

I was once told “every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do”. Given that I was only twelve when I was told that, I didn’t fully understand it. But that sums up my life. I’ve spent the best part of my existence escaping from my past, escaping from the things I didn’t do and most importantly escaping from myself. That’s what the Haunter’s there for. You can run away from everything but your own memories and he’s there to remind me of what I did… and he does it very well.

But I can’t think about my misdeeds all the time and at the moment I find it strangely undemanding to ignore the feline, black shadow as it pads in my wake. I need to find Oris… now. The Haunter seems to get this and though it’s gaze doesn’t leave me, it follows, it’s feet whispering against the damp earth.

I keep walking and unexpectedly the Haunter leaps up onto my shoulder. I can feel his almost absent weight against my neck and think, a little haphazardly about what my remaining family might be doing right now.

My dad… he’ll probably still be caring for my sisters. They were only ten and eleven when I left. And although three years will have stretched their chubby features into something a little closer to a woman’s, I can’t imagine them being any easier to handle.

I left dad to this fate, though. I tried to look him in the eye. Live the lie I had carved so lovingly after my betrayal, but I couldn’t. I managed to warp it in my mind, pretend that, somehow, I was the victim; I could say I was doing my Dad a favour, by hiding the truth from him… but when I looked in his eye, it all fell apart. I knew I had done wrong. I saw my sins in the light. I saw the shadows they cast… and more.

I ran away from home. My Dad had asked me if I was feeling okay… he said I could talk to him if it would help… and I told him ‘no’. I said I was tired; that I wanted to be alone. Who could sleep at a time like that? My family had been shattered in a day… and I pretended to sleep. I’m surprised they didn’t ask questions then. But I waited and waited. I listened to my family as they tried to adjust to the impossible; as they tried to accept the macabre. They didn’t know about the role I’d played.

It all comes back to his eyes, though. I pretended to sleep, but I’d already decided I was going to leave. I think I decided that the moment I looked into those eyes. I waited for my family to gradually grow tired of the acting. I waited for them to gradually realise that things were different now and as they did, their voices grew softer and softer, until they gave in to sleep, the kinder sister of death.

Amy went to bed first, followed by Lucy. But Dad: He didn’t move. He couldn’t sleep… and I knew exactly why. The moment he walked into that room. The room they’d shared, he knew it would sink in. The moment he lay on the mattress; the fresh yet lifeless mattress that hordes of townsfolk had paid to replace. When he did that… that’s when it would really sink in. Because that mattress wasn’t the one they’d shared, it wasn’t the mattress she’d talked him into buying before they dragged it half a mile from the market to the house.

If he lay on that veneer of comfort – that slab of stiff springs, her death would become real, and as strong as my Dad was he wasn’t that strong; Not in that way. I bet there were a million other stories in that room as well, stories I don’t know, stories that would have brought him to his knees if he’d been foolish enough to enter that tomb, that night. Eventually he dozed off on the couch and that was the last I saw of him. A grown man curled on the couch clutching a pink shawl in his hands. Alone.

I remember my stomach lurching as I closed the door… thinking about what the rest of his life would be like. What would Lucy say? Amy would cry… that was all she did, but Lucy… she looked up to me. Lucy would be angry with me… not nearly as angry as she should be, but angrier than I cared for her to be… and Dad… he would be devastated.

The only thing I savoured as I shut the door and severed my family ties forever was that I’d never have to look into those eyes again. Those eyes haunt me more than the cat-like shadow on my shoulder ever could. All the Haunter does is remind me what I left and in turn what I created. But those eyes… they’re the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen; a cold blue that has lost something. Two lifeless sapphires twinkling down on me, thanking the heavens above that they still have something left… totally unaware that a traitor stands in front of them… unaware that they‘re thanking the heavens for the safety of a betrayer and a murderer.

A shiver runs up my back and I shake my head as the Haunter leaps from my right shoulder to my left. I focus again as I travel the forest. I need to keep my guard up. Anything could attack me. Where is Oris? I try to think back… to how this happened. But as much as I can recall recent events, I am thinking about them in the completely wrong way.

My last serious conversation with Oris… when he was about to explain it all; his absence, his silence… He’d mentioned everything: All the little things that had accumulated over the past few weeks, he had listed as though reading them from the growing concern in my mind.

He’d come so close and then I… I pushed too much. What had he said?

“I know I’ve been acting weird, Jem”… and then something about owing me an explanation. What else did he say? - “I’ve needed some time alone.”

It seems so obvious now… he needed time alone? A.K.A - time away from me. But what would bring about a change like this? He’d spent three years without complaint and I refuse to believe that even Oris could go three years grudgingly in my company. No, he used to like me. Something happened to change it… in the last six weeks. Maybe by investigating him I made things worse. No doubt my leaving in the dead of night to ‘read’ would have raised his suspicions. I just felt so alienated, though. I had to know what was going on. And I could remember that thing. He came in, visibly shaking and then he was in the study for a while. I thought he would be in there all night like he is some nights, but he left and not only did he forget to lock the door… he forgot to close it. He went straight to bed. I let curiosity get the better of me and I went in to see. What did I see?

The strangest device imaginable. Straps and long thick needles with dried blood. It was too much. It was a shocking picture of Oris I hadn’t wanted to see. I got out of there as fast as I could. I closed the door over and pretended I’d seen nothing. I let it simmer in my mind: the image, Oris’ strange behaviour and the past he kept secret from me. He guarded his past almost as vigilantly as I did so I expected that this was a just a bump in the road and he'd be back to normal the next day. But the next day he wasn't normal, nor the day after. He kept getting weirder and weirder. Every conversation seemed strained as though his mind was pre-occupied with something much more important. He even stopped drawing in the evenings. Instead he‘d lock himself in the study most of the night.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it like this, though. I shouldn't be reminiscing over the subtle tastes of rejection. I should be thinking about what he was doing in that study. He could be dangerous now. He looked dangerous and from what little I do know about vampyre, I can only imagine he'll be capable of murder. Was he attacked by a vampyre those many weeks ago? Is that what brought on the change? I'd like to believe that, but he told me himself that he'd been a vampyre for hundreds of years. It’s hard to think in this rain. I feel like I’m going round in circles, both in the forest and in my mind.

Maybe he grew tired of me. I could never really see why he had anything to do with me. From our dramatic meeting to the recent attack I only barely survived, I can’t fathom why he’d ever associate with me. But then that didn’t stop him earlier… so why should it now? At least I’ve improved in battle… When we first met, I was a useless, scared little boy: I think I fought quite well, today, given the circumstances.

The monster came from nowhere. We’d been walking for ages and I was still trying to figure out where we were going without giving Oris the satisfaction of asking. We stopped at the edge of the Marsh while Oris checked a compass. I felt slightly uneasy at the thought of needing a compass and wondered how far was he planning on going?

He didn’t speak, instead he continued onwards and I followed. Perhaps he’d forgotten that our agreement was to part before the marsh. Either way I wasn’t exactly going to point this out to him. This was my chance to get to the bottom of his behaviour. I felt alienated as it was and Oris made no signal for me to follow. As we squelched through the soft earth he made no conversation, but continued to pad purposefully through the dank field with a hungry look on his weathered face.

He’d been unhappy with me. After he told me he was going out tonight, I considered following him, but he taught me how to track and he’d know I was following him, so I just got dressed and waited outside for him. We argued for a bit, him telling me it was dangerous and me telling him I could take care of myself. He must have been on some kind of schedule, because he caved. He agreed to let me accompany him up to the start of the marsh and I was quite happy with that.

We left silently and sadly the theme of silence continued through the whole journey. He didn’t talk, but led me through the valley that hides our home using a system of jaded sign language. I knew the route. It’s the same route we normally take to the town. I wanted to ask him questions. I could feel something… not a presence, not anything like that. It was like a premonition; a warning that something was about to happen. I knew somewhere in my mind that my time was running out.

He saw it before I did. In fact I wasn’t even sure what was happening until I was cleaved from the ground and cast swiftly across the marshy earth by a huge wet fist. Lights twinkled before my eyes and my vision blurred as the soaking ball of fingers collided with the back of my head.

As I focused my eyes I saw Oris leap the swinging fist and remove his black handled, pewter sword from his belt. He continued leaping to and fro, gradually driving the creature into a frenzy. As it fought, it became more and more furious with every missed assault at Oris.

I stood up, my head still spinning and continued to watch Oris evade and attack what appeared to be a Golem. It consisted of a torso and two huge arms and a bump for a head. Its arms were huge and impressive, even when dripping with soggy earth. It stood on its huge fists to keep the dripping, pointed tip of its torso off the ground while every step it took was a deliberate and violent attack on Oris.

I reached around my person looking for anything that could be construed as a weapon and eventually found a hunting knife in my back pocket. The Golem, meanwhile, was having no luck striking Oris, but likewise Oris’ increasingly narrow escapes from it’s thundering slimy arms were documented by the worried expression on his face. Oris continued to slash at the creature, but to no avail. At first I thought he was only just missing the slimy trunks that the creature was hurling about, but it soon became obvious that his sword was doing no damage whatsoever. At least twice I saw the dull gray blade slice the forearm of the heaving monster and the only damage it seemed to do was a pathetic splash to the slime and a similar splash as it exited the other side of the arm.

Oris also seemed to realise that his exploits were fruitless as well, because he abruptly removed himself from the battle and beckoned me with only a hand gesture. I felt quite pathetic holding my tiny knife while the Golem leapt after Oris using its two massive arms to swing itself forward.

I ran after Oris. If there's one thing I can do as well as Oris, it’s run, and I caught up with him very quickly. The back of his long black coat was splattered with mud as he half-waded, half-ran through the slurping ground. I was essentially covered from head to toe, given that I’d been effectively dragged through the marsh by the force of the Golems punch. I still felt like my brain was rattling around in my skull.

Oris stopped so suddenly that I fell to the ground just to stop myself from colliding with him. He looked backwards and as I did likewise (rubbing my mud soaked hands on my already filthy jeans) I saw that the Golem had disappeared.

It was at this point that I began to wonder where the Marsh-Golem had come from in the first place. All around us was nothing. I could see the spot where Oris had so expertly avoided the onslaught of the monster and even the long score in the ground where I had so expertly been battered to the ground. All around it was nothing... just endless marsh. Even the mountains that hid Oris’ home from the world were enveloped in a thick fog so that only their faint outlines could be viewed through haze.

But then I heard a rumbling and Oris grabbed my arm and uttered the first words he had spoken to me in an hour.

“Get back.” his voice was void of all emotion.

I obliged, partly because I was scared of what was about to happen, but mostly because I wanted Oris to like me again and more importantly to talk to me again. I had barely taken two steps back when there was a green eruption below Oris, which sent him soaring into the air, and sent his sword, blade down, into the wet earth. The creature had dived out of the marsh as though it was a pool of water. It began its descent with Oris below and he hit the ground with a sickening thud while the creature simply dissolved back into the ground. Oris wasn’t moving.

I felt like someone else was in control of me as I swept down next to Oris and tried to make him stir. I saw his eyes flicker and eventually open. Oris immediately grabbed a hold of me and rolled across the ground: the huge thud and murky brown splash to my right told me why.

Oris moved with almost blurred speed and seized his sword again while I tried to remember everything I could about Golems. It was at that moment the Haunter chose to pounce playfully onto my foot. As always, his gaze was upon me, but in this particularly dangerous situation he looked less accusing and more intense than I had ever seen him before.

It occurred to me as I watched Oris lure the thing further away from me, how guilty I felt. This was a similar situation. The Haunter knew this and watched me pointedly. I knew that acting now wouldn’t erase the crimes I had already committed, but I didn’t want to have Oris’ blood on my hands… The thought of two Haunters following me around, fighting for my attention as they tried to stew me in my own remorse, was silently horrifying.

So I acted… recklessly, I suppose. I leapt into action, brandishing my hunting knife and rushing into battle. I dived at the beast before my nerve deserted me and would have collided with his slimy elbow had he not swung his arm at that precise moment. I still remember the mingled and upside-down look of horror and surprise on Oris’ face as I took flight. The arm struck me hard and I soared upwards.

At some point during my ascension I must have closed my eyes, because I remember opening them to find myself sat upon the Golem, its muddy slime oozing into my jeans. My horror was nothing compared to Oris’ who was frantically trying to distract the creature from the fact it had a person perched on its sopping head.

Sitting on top of a Marsh-Golem is a very strange experience. I was supported by the creature, but my hands couldn’t hold onto it. I instinctively grabbed at its head to keep my balance, but my hands simply passed through it and I found only fistfuls of mud. I tried to grab onto the hollow chasms that were the creatures’ eyes but my hands simply passed through the rims: I could hold nothing - but then…

My hand skimmed something solid. It felt cold and as I reached around it, trying to figure out what it was, I had to grip it hard, because the Golem was now flailing frantically about, striving to strike Oris with it’s powerful fists. It eventually stopped and I realised that this object in its head was some sort of flat-ish stone. I assumed that removing it would stop the beast or would at least put us in no more danger than we were already in - I was wrong.

Removing the stone, which turned out to be some sort of crystal, did not stop the Golem. This action, in fact put us in more danger. As I held the crystal in my hand triumphantly, I looked down to see that the beast had changed quite dramatically. The slime it had been oozing had completely disappeared: even my jeans had been miraculously cleaned. This was a small success.

The creature was now the greyest grey I’d ever seen. It was cold to touch, like metal, but the dying sun wasn't reflected in its hide. It still had its powerful hands, but where its fingers should have been were what I can only describe as rapiers.

I’ve been in some tight situations and been face to face with many dangerous creatures, but this thing is definitely the most dangerous thing I have ever seen. It slashed at Oris with its fingers and he narrowly avoided being speared on these treacherous digits, but managed to retaliate with a slice from his own sword. It made the sound of metal on metal and from my perilous, but outstanding, viewpoint I could see that this had made things a whole lot worse. The creature was still oblivious to my presence and I started beating it around the head with the rock I had only just removed.

My timing was nothing short of miraculous, because Oris was inches away from being bisected when the creature turned back to it’s marsh-self. And it’s fingers swung past Oris spraying him with filth rather than dividing him through the torso.

Oris shouted some kind of gratitude and avoided its once again wet fists as it tried to crush him into the ground. Slightly disorientated from its transformation, the Golem struck itself in the head and more importantly sent me falling a good fifteen feet. Before I had time to collect myself, I was being dragged by Oris deeper into the marsh.

I was aware of the creature diving once again into the marsh and then leaping out like some great dirty salmon in front of us. Its fists pounded the ground, but Oris was lightning fast and, even with a confused me in tow, managed to swerve out of its way.

The sun was setting, by this point and pinpricks of starlight began to sprinkle across the purple sky. The blood red sliver of sun glared off of the saturated ground as Oris and I waded for our lives, sloshing through the grass with only instinct and terror as our guide. Oris stopped and I realised once again that the monster had disappeared.

“Jem.” he said, “we need to kill this thing.”- I wasn’t sure if he was thinking clearly.

“Oris… this thing is invincible. Your sword passes through it!” I shouted and noticed that my mouth tasted like dirt.

“I know. We need to change it to metal again… somehow.” For someone with such a ludicrous plan he spoke in a very calm manner.

I didn’t bother listening, but tried to drag him onwards. He resisted.

“Oris. We don’t have time. I don’t want you to die. This thing can probably be beaten, but not by us. Not tonight. Let’s get out of here and we can come back with… I dunno… Anything! We can’t beat him with a sword and a hunting knife.”

“Jem. It’s gonna follow us… and then you- I mean we have to get back home. We need to deal-”

Oris was cut off by a browny-green fist as it thundered out of the ground and sent him spinning into the air. I drew my hunting knife with no real plan in mind. I swung it mindlessly in the direction the fist had come from and only managed to put a relatively deep cut in my own leg - this was how we killed the creature. I’d like to say that by cutting myself, I realised how we could defeat the monster, but in all honesty our success was a happy (and nearly tragic) accident. Even now, wandering through the trees, I can’t imagine how I survived such a blow. But I did.

Oris was busy being pummelled by the creature and I took that moment to run at it. Worried that it was going to kill him I had some spurt of adrenaline or compassion or bravery, I’m not sure which but I ended up on what was now my least favourite viewing platform - its head. Oris was still being battered senseless by it’s colossal fists and I started assaulting it’s eyes, hoping that they were eyes and not just holes in it’s head. My hunting knife of course did no damage, but I accidentally sent the crystal into the air and out of reach.

Concern for Oris overcame everything else and I started trying to distract the creature before it came to its sense and sent it’s steely talons into my friend. For the first time it managed to comprehend I was on its head. I saw an arm rise and sweep towards me and then… not much else.

I awoke, apparently minutes later looking at a navy sky with only a glowing band of burnt orange on the horizon. When I came to, Oris was, if possible, even stranger than he'd been over the past few weeks. He wouldn't look me in the eye and it became immediately apparent why. He congratulated me on defeating the thing, on making it slice itself open, which I hastily pretended had been my intention. I was worried though. His voice sounded… scared. He said he had to explain everything - that he owed me an explanation. I thought my dreams had come true; finally an explanation!

Then he told me his ‘story’. At first I was affronted. I thought he was lying: that he actually expected me to believe such a story was genuinely insulting. After weeks of alienation all he could offer me was a fantasy about a vampyre in hiding. But then it made sense. His reluctance to socialise with others, his secrecy, and the fact that he looked no older than the day I met him. That's what made me think maybe this crazy story was true. I'd seen weird stuff already in my past... so why not?

Then he said he was going to change and I didn't understand. He went a bit crazy I suppose. In the middle of the marsh, next to the hollow shell of the Golem, he fell to his knees, his face screwed up in concentration as though he was trying to stop from exploding... then serene.

The only way to describe his face was serene. He stood up and looked at his hands as they morphed into miniature scythes like the Golems... then his eyes changed. Through his stretched hand spans I could see his eyes change as though the pupil evaporated and then re-appeared as a wide slit down his iris like some scar leading into a cold abyss.

He looked at me through his new body and then said one word.

"Run."

"Oris, I-"

"Stay away from me, Jem. Get the hell away from me!” he shouted and pushed me to the ground, "Get... the hell away."

Then he ran.

I sat alone for a while. Not really sure what had happened. I didn't think about anything except how the moonlight on the wet earth looked so pretty. Maybe I was in shock...

I think I'm still in shock... I'm tracking a vampyre through a dangerous forest. These can't be the actions of a rational person. And what was that roar about? Was that really Oris? It broke me from my waking-slumber. Maybe he ran into trouble in the forest. Maybe he needs my help. No. I know it was him that roared and I know it was a roar of triumph.

So, what did he come out here to do in the first place? At first I thought he wanted to fight that Golem, but now that I think about it he was as shocked as I was by its presence, which leads me to what I consider the only other possibility. Did he come out here to become a vampyre? Did he want to sit alone and watch his final sunset before becoming a monster?

I refuse to believe him capable of that. Even though all evidence points that way, I can't imagine he would ever choose to be a monster. I guess this is what they call faith - unwavering belief in the face of undisputed truth.

But my faith begins to waver when I see him among the deep green trees: a silhouette in the clearing. It is unmistakably Oris. His long black coat quivers in the shy wind, his hair is flattened across his forehead, his fingers have receded into the human equivalent and even though I can't see them I know his eyes have regressed to the eyes that I've known these past three years

It's him. It's Oris

And he's smiling.