He had always hated silence. But somehow, now it was comforting. It was the least horrible thing in his life, which had come to an appalling conclusion.

He averted his eyes from the moon, because the sight made him feel bitter. Its faint light pierced through the small opening above, the only thing that allowed him to see the world he could no longer roam. He looked away and turned slightly, hearing steps nearing his confinement.

His stance was calm, for he knew that the silence was being broken by the guard. He refused to make eye contact when the vampire entered the cell, because he only came in to leave some bread, again. The door was soon locked, and he was left alone once more.

He slowly stepped closer to a wall, and then let himself lean against it sideways. He looked up to the window again, not minding the cold breeze that flowed from it. Without word or emotion, he moved a hand to his neck, now only able to feel a faint soreness if he paid mind to it.

Basking in the silence was part of his routine now. He closed his eyes and just leaned there, not feeling like eating at the moment, even if he perhaps should. Weeks had gone by, and Nerys did come back, as she had foretold. He did not dare speak up again. Well, in reality, he did not say any words she did not demand from him. Any questions she made, he answered shortly, not wishing to anger her.

Everything she had asked was related to her loved ones. She had wished to know how they had been doing, if Lyssa had endured well her presumed demise. For them, she still had nothing but adulation. Meanwhile, he would only receive hate and pain.

He wondered if her change was as torturous as she had described, so agonizing that she could feel nothing but loathing towards him, the one who let it happen. Under such conjecture, he truly wanted to ask her; yet he would not. He would not try to speak with her again.

Things had been better since he resigned to this fate, accepted her hate. Perhaps he was pale, cold, hungry and dazed, and maybe he still struggled to come to terms with the loss of his eye… But it could be worse, very much so. Her bites did hurt, but they were not as harmful as they could be.

The third time Nerys returned, he had less strength to try to struggle. He got weaker each time she fed. She easily kept down his arms, towered over him, and told him to hold still. At first, he did try to lean away, still defiant. But he soon gave up, as there was no point in fighting it. He let it happen, for he wanted to get it over with. There was nothing he could do, and by submitting to that fact, he finally realized that her bite would hurt less if he offered no resistance.

That did not mean he did not fear and tremble, but there was much less pain. Her claws stopped gripping him harshly, and those fangs did not pressure into his flesh as much to keep him still. He was silent and compliant, because then it was easier to endure, for both of them. Sometimes, he could see the Nerys he knew. A few times, she let go sooner than necessary, as soon as she felt coldness on his skin. In many occasions, he would notice a trace of horror in her eyes, small doubtful glances at the blood. She seemed to question herself, and he could swear she hated what she was doing… But the resent, anger and hunger were still there.

There was always a threat in her words, even if she hinted pity in her actions. So he would not try to call for reason and risk angering her more, because that would bring him more pain. Her first bite had been brutal, and it let him know what she could do. He had always known what vampires were capable of.

That was why he would welcome the stillness between them. If there was silence, he would only see her hate, not hear it. He did not have to listen to her grieving voice like that, and so, he could pretend it was not her who was keeping him in chains.

He wanted to feign, lie to himself. Truly, he wished nothing more than to ignore the fact that he had brought this pain; not only upon Nerys, but Lyssa and he himself.

God, how could I fail so badly?

Nerys was disturbed by her vampirism, he could see. He understood, she surely had no choice in the matter. Only great torment or threat could have made her surrender to it; whoever sired her did not allow for a choice.

Now there was no going back, he could do nothing to reverse her fate. The disease had no cure, no workaround. She would never heal, and so, she had to embrace the affliction that ran through her veins… or die.

Bastian had always wished death for all vampires, considering them nothing but beasts. Yet now, he could not bring himself to think of ending Nerys. He could not blame her for wanting to keep on existing, even if it was like this.

Her destiny was sealed… and he was to blame. Maybe she was right in judging him; perhaps he deserved to feel something akin to her hurt. She burned when that hunger whispered deep inside, beckoning her to hunt the ones she once fought for. Her new nature kept her prisoner, for she would never be able to near the one she loved again.

Nerys was still there. And he could not reach for her, nor leave. It was torture, for every time he saw her, he grasped her anguish a little more.

Bastian brushed off his tears angrily, letting out a snarl. He then sat down, a little weakly and tiredly, because he had not recovered fully from her last bite. Nerys seemed to know well for how long she could feed, always being precise, drinking an exact amount of blood that would not kill him.

He slowly let himself rest on the floor, laying his head against an arm. His eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him, while he tried to drown every thought in his mind. He wanted to sleep everything away until she came back. It was a moment he dreaded with all his heart, because he missed her presence, but her hunger tainted it.

Bastian lied there, trying to pass another night, in which he would sleep on the cold ground. Only his now frayed clothes could give him warmth. He closed both of his eyes and tried to fall asleep. Hopefully, no nightmares or memories would assault his mind.

He had come to cherish the silence, appreciate it… So his eyes shot open when a faint rustling echoed. With a jolt, he sat up sharply, because the noise seemed to come from his very own cell. Once, he had woken up to find Nerys standing there, glaring down at him. And due to that, he now cowered slightly, expecting to see her shadow or his chain to be pulled at. In his drowsy state of mind, he thought he would suffer another bite.

As he moved to look around in fright, something else echoed. He blinked in confusion, and he stopped trembling, hearing a raspy sound. One that was far too small, too high pitched to be a growl. Finally, he understood that Nerys had not come back.

Bastian glanced all over, yet he saw no one there with him. His dark cell was empty. Or so he thought. He gasped when he noticed movement on the ground. His eyes hinted curiosity when he spotted a small shadow, which was skulking near the bread he was saving up for later.

He was surprised when he noticed it was a bird, what he guessed a crow. Its black feathers puffed out when it noticed he had woken up, its small size perhaps contributing to its fear for him. It quickly tried to snatch the bread, but it recoiled and let go when he moved closer.

Bastian frowned in worry, leaning his head to look at it carefully, because it did not fly off. His stare only caused it to cower more, letting out a sound that seemed an attempt at a loud caw. That made him keep a small distance, not because he thought the bird was dangerous, but because he realized something. His next whisper was cautious, yet thoughtful.

“I’m not going to harm you…”

It was not a rat, an animal that could spread disease, so he relaxed slightly. Still, he flinched when the crow finally tried to flap its wings and flee. It did not manage to fly, and that made him cringe; he watched it tumble onto the ground, staggering. One of its sides was mangled, scarred, a few flight feathers missing.

Judging by how it tried to keep its distance and how it glared, he guessed those injuries were not self-inflicted. Its small size and worn look made him think that other crows had chased it off, because its daring venture near him was strange. When he followed its scared glances, he finally noticed what had allowed it to creep into his cell.

It had not flown in, definitely not from the window near the ceiling; there was a small hole in one wall, near the ground, which seemed to lead to the fields outside. It was small enough for him to not have noticed it was there, but big enough for the bird to have made its way through. Crows were smart creatures; it surely sensed there was food in here.

He looked down at the crow with a frown, seeing it flap side to side, trying to find an opening past him to get back to the hole. It had manoeuvred around him towards the bread, thinking he was asleep, because he had his eyes closed at that moment.

The crow let out a loud rasp and shrunk on itself, seeing one of his hands lower closer. It stopped fretting and kept still, its injuries making every move fatiguing. It expected him to be violent, yet there was no harsh grip or slam. In fact, there was no touch at all. Its small black eyes opened again, and it saw that his hand was still. Near his fingers, on the ground, now was a small breadcrumb. He had torn the bread and left that small piece between them.

Bastian sighed, seeing he had managed to make the bird stop panicking. The last thing he wanted was for it to go crazy and lose his good eye. As well, by feeding it, maybe it would not try to snatch the whole bread and make it unedible.

The crow seemed to glare, both at the breadcrumb and his fingers. After a few seconds, Bastian had to move his hand away, because he received a peck. It was a warning, for him to stay away. He gave it space, and that was when it dared to examine the breadcrumb, cautiously.

It soon considered it was safe and began to eat it. Bastian laughed silently and tiredly, noticing how the bird relaxed visibly, hinting how harmless it really was. He soon whispered, looking at his fingers, its jab barely having made him flinch.

“A peck like that won’t daunt me much, little scoundrel.” He chuckled cynically, glaring at the ground. “Her bites, on the other hand…”

Bastian soon moved again, slowly, as to not startle it. The crow had finished the crumb, and now was staring warily, still expecting to be harmed. To its surprise, he reached for the bread once more, to tear another small piece from it. With a small smile, he offered it, but this time between his fingers.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

There was nothing to do in the cell, and he had been bored out of his mind, so the strange animal caught his interest. The bird was scrawny, clearly hungry. It let out a small faint caw, which he swore hinted its perplexity for his lack of hostility.

He did not move an inch, not wanting to scare it again. The only thing he did was wait, because it was inching closer, leaning its head at the small crumb he held. His good eye soon glinted with satisfaction, because after two minutes, it erased all distance with a small hop.

Its feathers brushed his fingers lightly as it pecked at the food, not once at him. Once it was gone, it did not move away, keeping still by his hand. It seemed to glance back at the rest of the bread quizzically, and he was sure it was asking for more. He sighed with a sad smile, because he could not risk starving himself.

“Sorry, that was all I could share.”

It leaned its head and beak again, and surely, it had to be his lightheadedness what made him perceive worry in its stare. That thought soon faded, and a frown grew on his face, because he heard steps outside. The guard was committing to his patrols, which were much more common in the night.

The crow heard it too, and that made its feathers bristle. It began to hop towards the hole, afraid. Once there, it tried to climb inside, but its nervous flaps of wing prevented it from entering fully.

“They scare you as well, huh?”

It tensed, feeling how the human reached gently. He folded its wings carefully and eased its body into the hole, letting go as soon as those talons got a grip. Even though it could leave now, it turned to peek into the cell again, seeing him stand away with a small smile. His next whisper was sorrowful but caring.

“Hm, I envy you.” He shooed with his hand, knowing that the food was the only reason it came in. “Come on, get out of here. You at least can.”

Bastian watched as the crow gave him one last glance, to then begin to skulk through the hole, back towards the fields outside. He was left alone, once more.

He shook his head and sat down, intending to lie down and hopefully sleep. Hope was all he could do, after all.

——————

 

She could not sleep; her mind was haunted by too many thoughts. And so, she stood from her bedroll, strongly. Her hand swung and opened her tent, her steps out of it decided.

Her ochre eyes paid no mind to her troops, which were spending the night near a pyre. All were watching the flames consume the figure tied to it, cheering for their successful raids and hunts. It was a sentiment she usually shared, but tonight she was not in the mood to join them.

Instead of helping them purge their captives like usual, she headed for a distant campfire, seeing a figure sitting there alone. Her mentor never needed to see her to notice her presence, yet this time he did send her a glance as she sat with him. She glared at the fire, thoughtfully. After a while, she finally broke the silence, with a vexed whisper.

“If no letter arrives tomorrow… I’m going back.”

Bastian always wrote to her. By now, he should have arrived home, or at least reached a safe settlement, where he could have met with a scout. He always told her how he was doing, without any military formality, for their operations had no correlation.

They were far away from each other, all the time. He was stupid and stubborn, not only because he dared to fight, but because he did so in distant vampiric domains. It was something that worried her greatly, as she could not ignore her own orders and follow him. She was not the only one who dreaded, yet her former master still tried to sound hopeful.

“Perhaps he had to change course, or maybe his messenger got lost. You should wait for-“

“I waited for Nerys.” Her hands clenched, and her whisper turned into a snarl. “She never came back.”

Sergius could only sigh when she commanded, not allowing him to object.

“We set off for Hollowgrave at morning. This region does not need us anymore.”

He looked over his shoulder, noticing well how flesh turned to ash in the fire she invoked. No beast escaped her hate. Ever since she lost Nerys, her eyes were aflame, adamant. She needed to know that nothing was wrong, and that was why she would go back home. They were always far, but they always met there once their fights were over.

He would be there… she could not be alone.