Ch. 13

“Reminiscence”

Zanir stands by the lake, staring at the gentle waves lapping the shoreline with a rhythmic sound, echoing the spring showers that used to tap against the only window in my wing of the castle. Zanir’s movements pull me from my wandering thoughts, and I watch him with what little patience I can muster — which, admittedly, isn’t much. Hurry up, mortal vampire. I think as he picks up a long stick and sharp flat rock, a grin spreading across his face when our eyes meet.

Zanir’s long strides leave tracks on the sandy shore as he walks, and then he bends down to examine the water. I can sense a change moving through him — a quiet revolution. Years of watching have attuned me to the smallest of changes, the subtle signals others might miss. Faces telling stories my ears will never hear. 

The furrowing of his brows, the twitching at the corner of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes, the wrinkle of his nose, and the tic of his scarred jawline all intertwine, creating a painting of contemplation.

His brows knit together in a deep V, while his eyes narrow with a vitality that seems to pierce through layers of thought. The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly as if gripping with a hidden frustration or reluctant realization. The subtle crinkle of his nose indicates a fleeting distaste or concentration, and the scarred line of his jaw shifts with a telltale tic, revealing the strain of unspoken conflict. Each tiny movement and expression adds a layer to the complex painting of his inner world, making his deep thoughts a vivid, almost tangible experience.

Then, with a decisive shift, Zanir moves from contemplation to action. He uses the rock to sharpen one end of the long timber he has been preparing, then he wades a few feet into the water after tossing the rock back to the shore. Suddenly, he freezes, becoming a statue carved from patience and resolve, the water moving around his calves like a second skin. Zanir’s eyes, sharp and focused, track the undulating dance of fish beneath him. Clutching the makeshift spear in his hands, he holds his breath, his chest expanded, muscles coiled and ready. Time moves so effortlessly slow, as he maintains this position, waiting for the precise instant when a fish aligns with his spear. It’s a silent battle of wits between the hunter and prey.

I am on the edge of my rock, watching his stillness and focus as the minutes drag on with excruciating slowness. Restlessness vexes me, a persistent itch that I can never quite satisfy. Every muscle in my body trembles with impatient energy.

In a fluid motion, Zanir moves. His spear shoots forward with explosive speed, and for a moment I question if I took his powers from him. The spear cuts through the water with silent, deadly precision, disrupting the serene surface and sending ripples cascading outward.

Zanir throws a quick glance over his shoulder at me, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I caught — a fish.” He declares, his words barely more than a murmur, as if saying it aloud might shatter the illusion of his triumph.

Zanir strolls back towards me, cradling the tiny catch at the tip of his makeshift spear. He struts with a proud air, displaying his meager catch as though it were a grand prize. His cerulean eyes, framed by a conspicuous orange flame, examine the fish with a pompous energy as though he has discovered a rare treasure. The absurdity of his self-satisfied expression only serves my heightened shock at his success — small as it may be. His ludicrously inflated sense of accomplishment is almost annoying.

A massive white silhouette flickers behind Zanir. My gaze moves past the rattled Zanir, whose fish is spasming at the end of his spear. I see a large porpoise tail snap across the water’s surface behind him. The sound — a thunderous clap — resembles the storms Solomaonri brings to Adros. Halfy, a monstrous Akhlut, effortlessly propels himself through the water onto the sandy shoreline, his fangs gleaming in a menacing grin.

Before I can even warn Zanir — which, truthfully, I wouldn’t if given the choice — I remind myself that we’re here because someone ignored the warnings and wouldn’t let this bat go. Let’s just forget that said bat meddled in someone else’s secretive meeting and ran away from home, even though it never felt like home, to begin with. But that’s all beside the point.

Fish and water are flying through the air, drenching Zanir. My mouth falls open, and my eyes widen as the fish slap against the ground and Zanir’s soaked form.

HALFY. A laugh bubbles up through our bond. You naughty canine…

I struggle to keep my laughter contained. My lips press into a harsh line, but the laughter simmers beneath, begging to be freed from its own locked cage.

Halfy emerges from the lake, striding towards Zanir, with that same sense of confidence that Zanir had earlier. Zanir stands frozen, eyes wide and mouth forming a bemused, uncertain smile. Halfy hops on his massive paws, his fluffy white wolf’s tail held high. He stops in front of Zanir, sniffing the tiny fish still quivering on Zanir’s spear. With a disdainful huff, Halfy grabs a fish he flung over Zanir earlier, and trots to a nearby tree, tearing it apart with his powerful jaws.

I burst into laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. It’s raw, loud, and surprises even myself, filling the secluded space with something I can’t quite control. The sound echoes into the dark, like the creatures around. My cheeks ache and my eyes tear from the force of it.

Across from me, Zanir’s usual smirk fades, replaced by something sharper. His cerulean eyes narrow, and for a heartbeat, they seem to search my face, searching. A new intensity sparks behind his eyes, something bright yet unreadable. I look away quickly, the feeling clawing at my stomach, half-nervous, half-entranced.

Then my eyes land on Halfy, who is tearing into a larger fish. Hunger tugs at me. I shift, the strange feelings in my stomach fading back to that primal need, bringing me fully back to the now.

“We are bonded, yes, but Halfy is his own creature with his own opinions. I’d say you’re not exactly on his favorites list. Though I can’t say I’m opposed to his actions.” I wipe at a few tears that escaped with my laughter.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Zanir shaking off the water dripping from his face. His cerulean eyes burn with intensity, and a grin stretches across his sharp-angled face.

“You remembered fishing. What about making a fire?” I tilt my head slightly, not meeting his burning eyes, simply laying out the next challenge.

Zanir walks around after giving himself a good solid shake, water dripping from his dark hickory hair into his brows. “I can’t remember the last time I even needed to make a fire.” 

He sets his spear and fish by the pile of ones Halfy flung through the air like the majestic, powerful beast is. Zanir begins scanning the area, searching for the best spot to manage a fire. I’ve seen scouts practice this before. I don’t remember the last time I made a fire or fished. My mind wanders, Do vampires even get cold? What’s their core temperature like — warm or cold?

“I rarely felt cold.” He says, then stops, and looks at me, waiting. 

Can he read my thoughts? I swallow loudly. No, only I can hear the million and one thoughts that go through my brain. Not to mention all the other noises that come in go within this skull of mine. So, no verbal comment, mortal vampire man. 

Zanir resumes surveying the area after a long stare in my direction. He turns his body away from me, pacing back and forth, searching. “However, that is not an option as a normal man within the Endless Forest, at night, during autumn.” 

That makes one of us. Not that I’m a man, though sometimes it seems like the easier option. At least, that is what I think about once a month or when I could sneak off the taverns within the castle walls.

I blink and notice Zanir crouching down. His long legs bend as his fingertips graze the grim blades of grass — like pale silvery daggers under the moonlight. I can tell his mind is swirling — he is not as good at hiding things as he thinks. After so many centuries, I bet his thoughts aren’t just fleeting lost ideas.

His brows furrow, and something flashes in his cerulean eyes, now glowing with a luminous light, different from the earlier orange flames.

He gathers some small sticks, rocks, and dry leaves — impressive given the waterlogged surroundings. He wipes the rocks on his dark tattered pants, then arranges everything within a circle that he makes with the rocks he has gathered. Leaves first, then sticks on top. He studies the pile. It must be so strange, vaguely remembering something from a life lived long ago.

Unless he is a baby vampire? Which that can’t be a thing? Oh, goddess Nyx, a literal baby vampire sounds horrifying. Tiny bodies, bloodthirsty baby fangs, and little baby limbs crawling to ravage one’s flesh.

A stick snaps, jolting me back to existence. I glance toward Zanir, who initially wears a smug grin. However, the smile fades, replaced by a visible change to frustration and annoyance.

“This body is certainly not much help,” Zanir mutters, his voice laced with irritation. After a brief, brooding silence, he adds, “It seems I might need some guidance.” He begrudgingly glances in my direction as water slides down his cheek, tracing the scar on his jaw.

“Guidance? I mean, I am just a bat.” I raise one of my wings to my face. “How am I supposed to help you?”

“So that ball of fire was nothing earlier? All a trick of the eye?” Zanir’s blue eyes are contending with the orange within their irises.

I tap my mouth a few times. Well, well... look at this. Oh my, the fate cards have been switched. The knuckle of my wing tapped along my mouth again. Devious. I sit like this longer than needed and Zanir sighs.

“Oh, little bat, be gracious to poor mortal.” He bows, but his eyes never leave me. His voice is raspier than I have heard so far. The orange flames in his eyes flicker like they might burst.

I shake my head with a grimace. Despite the satisfaction of making a cocky vampire ask for help, Zanir’s intense gaze makes me feel unsettlingly exposed once more. His eyes peel me away, layer by layer, revealing more than I’m comfortable sharing.

As his eyes linger on me, those unnervingly blue eyes felt too aware, as if searching for some that once was. Just for a moment, my mind blurs the line between past and present — which has increased the longer I am away from the castle.

A ship.

The rhythmic rocking of the ship finally ceased as they docked, but the world still swayed beneath my feet. My fingers gripped the railing, my knuckles pale as I steadied myself against the remnants of the sea’s heaving rhythm. My eyes drift to the shore where I noticed a figure — a teenage looking boy — standing beside a woman with golden hair. Something in his stance was oddly calming, almost grounding, as if, too, waited for the world to steady itself.

But when the ramp was lowered, and my legs still trembled, the boy was suddenly closer. He extended a hand toward her, his face was blurred, the memory is missing pieces. But his eyes, so intense, watching as I struggle to find my footing. They held a sharpness, a depth that drew my focus through my own unsteadiness. Were they gray? Maybe a touch of violet? Blue? I couldn’t quite tell, and yet, his gaze had been striking, as if pinning me to the present.

Now, as Zanir looks at me with the same unsettling depth, the memory surfaced and dissolved in a breath, slipping out of reach. I dismiss it, brushing it aside like dust, my mind is crowded with too many other demands.

A strangled roar echoes from somewhere deep within the forest, piercing the stillness and jolting me fully back to the present. The need for a fire to ward off the dark creatures lurking nearby only tightened the tension coiling in my chest. I snarl at Zanir, rolling my eyes to mask my discomfort and regain some semblance of control.

I look past Zanir at Halfy, who lies next to that same tree as earlier. His golden ginger eyes met mine. I scan the surroundings, faint wisps dance along the water, no fae lights, no distant roars or shrieks. My large ears listen — no unwelcome company, only an annoying mortal vampire man.

“Turn around then.” I snap, my voice cleaving through the air in a sharp, authoritative tone. The command is simple, that brooks no argument. “Don’t test me.” The sarcasm drizzles in between my words. Zanir looks puzzled for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes narrowing as he studies me. The flame in his eyes grows more intense. His lips curl. “Beware, your visage be get forever frozen with furrowed brows. Go on.” Zanir reluctantly turns around, as slow as mortally possible. 

Halfy stands and meets Zanir’s stare. Zanir’s body stiffens, but he remains calm. His breathing is steady and almost mirroring before he hit the water with his spear earlier. I wonder if he is looking for the nearest tree, but he stays still. Halfy, my beast, is fast and fearsome. I doubt I would try to run, either. Zanir must want his powers back, or maybe we are just that scary.

I examine the bundle of objects Zanir has gathered. I slow down my breathing, focusing intently. With a swift flick of my wings, I send a small ball of fire toward the center of the circle. The flames catch quickly, crackling as they consume the dry kindling. A few sticks topple from the force, but they remain safely within the ring of stones. The fire’s yellow light dances across the ground within the circle, casting flickering shadows that stretch and shrink.

Zanir’s back is bathed in warmth, the glow illuminating the contours of his form and revealing his shadow, which moves across the trees. Not like the shadows that moved with him like a living entity. The fire, a result of meticulous training, burns steadily — a testament to productive days spent back at the castle. As the flames flicker, I say, “You can turn back around.” I gesture to Zanir, my wings catching the dancing firelight. The thin membrane ripples slightly with the movement.

Zanir takes a deep breath, drawing in the earthy scent of the forest mixed with the sharp tang of smoke from the fire, and the faintest bitter smell. His chest rises slowly, the firelight casting dancing shadows across his features. The crackling flames release a warm, woody aroma, but Zanir seems oblivious to it. He turns deliberately, ignoring the flames’ rhythmic popping and hissing, and locks his gaze directly on me. The lingering scent of fresh fish from the nearby lake mingles with the smokey air, but all of it fades into the background as his eyes bore into me with a searing intensity.

The firelight dances in his eyes, making them seem almost alive with a fiery gleam — so fierce that it feels like they could have ignited the flames themselves. Shadows play across Zanir’s face, adding a sinister edge to the burning determination I see in his stare.

Unable to withstand Zanir’s intense gaze any longer, I look away, seeking a distraction. My wings stretch out, their muscles protesting from the effort and lack of use over the past few hours. With a straining push, I lift off the ground, my flight unsteady. I snag a fish from Halfy’s hoard, then flutter awkwardly into the nearest tree, my movements lacking their usual grace. My landing is less than smooth, as well, the branches rustling as I settle onto them. Below, Halfy pads over and curls up at the base of the tree, his watchful eyes following my every move, offering a silent reassurance.

“You’ll want to keep adding sticks or leaves to fuel the fire, or it’ll die out,” I say, my focus turned to the fish clutched awkwardly between my wings. The slimy scales glisten in the firelight, and I tilt my head, trying to figure out the best approach. I cautiously attempt a small bite, but my bat mouth is ill-suited for this task. I fumble, my tiny teeth more accustomed to bugs and the occasional soft fruit than a slippery stubborn fish.

I’m not skilled enough to figure out which fruits aren’t cursed or tricks to lure me to the mouths of hungrier creatures. Should have chosen a carnivorous bat, or even a vampire bat. Facepalm right here, with my face and a dumb mortal vampire man’s palm. My voice moves through my skull.

Next time, I’m going with a fox, maybe a Kitsune, or even an Onkiuma. Something with real teeth. I chomp at the fish scales with little success. Zanir’s gaze remains unwavering, and I can’t help but feel a growing frustration. His intense stare makes every second feel unbearable. This is going to be a long, unpleasant few days. Death seems inevitable. Whether it will be me or him remains unseen.

“Fascinating.” He mutters, his voice trailing off as if lost in thought. His eyes narrow, fitting solely on me, though he is piecing together a puzzle I can’t see. There is a calculating look in his eyes, the kind that suggests he is noticing something — something important — but he isn’t ready to share it yet. I can almost feel the gears turning in his mind, but whatever he is figuring out remains a mystery to me.

Eventually, the warmth of the fire trickles into his awareness, pulling him from his mind. The heat reached out to him, coaxing his shivering body closer. For a moment, he hesitates, as if torn between the puzzle in his mind and the primal need for warmth. His fingers twitch, the desire to give in to the comfort of the flames gripping at him, yet whatever thoughts are brewing in his mind remains silent.

He is still in his wet, torn, imaginable cold clothes. His stare lingers on me for a while before he looks down at the small fire that is now crackling. Thank Nyx. He reaches his hand as close to the fire as he can get, absorbing the warmth, the power. 

“Fire is unique as a mortal. This... sensation is distinctive against my hands, my skin, the warmth.” He looks down at his clothes, which are still dripping. He talks a lot, I notice.

He slowly takes off his tunic, or well, at least the pieces of what remained after his first encounter with Halfy. He places it next to the fire. All that is left is a once blue buttoned shirt that is slightly brown now and the sleeves are short and jagged. It clings to him with water. He unbuttons a few buttons while walking to where he laid his spear and fish down and comes back to the small fire. He settles onto the ground and scoots closer, trying to absorb every warm spark from the fire in front of him. He pokes his spear with his fish into the blazing circle.

Ultimately, I give up on my fish and drop it down to Halfy, who gladly inhales it in seconds. I groan, and my eyes move back to Zanir. I watch him, his every move. I wonder what he was like before. Even though it had been centuries, according to him. Memories of fishing and making a fire came back to him ages later... What was his life like? I watch him while the fish roasts in the fire. The odor fills the air. The charred crisp of the fire with a hint of earthy, fresh water. Once satisfied with the look of the fish, Zanir takes a small bite. The fire lit up his face entirely. At first, his face is blank and then his eyes flicker with the fire, that light filling them like earlier and they grow with light, different from the orange flames he has sometimes while looking at me. He takes another bite. He continues to do this with about three fish before his gaze moves back in my direction.

“Fish are... not that bad.” Is all he says while wiping his mouth with his free hand.

“What did you do before? Before turning? You knew how to fish and how to make a fire.” I keep my face blank, as much as I can, while I dig for information. He makes it hard to keep my thoughts in check, but I have to play it cool.

He continues to take a few bites out of the plump fish in his hands. Must be nice to have working teeth... but no vampiric bloodthirsty fangs is something.

In between bites, he says. “I was a deckhand for my father most of my life. So, fishing comes naturally even after so long, but we usually use poles or nets. My father was a traveling merchant who sailed to... Osnya, Vuplar, Uscia, Nathor, here on Adros, and even to the high fae lands of Crytho and Naflory. All over really.” Zanir tilts his head with each word as if he is checking off a list, but that doesn’t slow him down. “Sometimes we would have to camp out between certain towns or villages or sleep when the night took over the skies while sailing… so a fire was needed.” He says, but his focus is on the fish. He takes another bite.

I scan our surrounding, a quiet unease settling in. Information freely shared, spilling into an unknown space. He talks too much, and I ask too many questions. Why am I even asking them? Have I learned nothing? Watch. Listen. Only. I mentally scold myself. But after years of being locked in that castle, I suppose I am drawn to anything unusual. Even if the first thing interesting I found was… a vampire, now mortal. What a terrible combo we make.

Wait, did he say deckhand? Odd that my mind is leading me to a boy at a port… That isn’t possible. I was never even allowed to leave the castle grounds, and I think I would know if I was hundreds of years old… But those glimpses — a boy standing near the docks, a woman with golden hair — they’re just fragments. Old dreams, or maybe they are just tricks my hunger is playing on me.

My mind jumps like it likes to do… Has Zanir really been to all those places? Could he know more than the books I pored over for years in the Grand Library?

As his words move through the trees, my thoughts drift. I remember looking at the handmade maps we have within the Grand Library. I have dreamed of those distant lands, imagining adventures beyond the castle walls. Zanir’s experiences could offer me insights into the places I have only read about.

The mixture land of Espa… I think back to the few times I have read about it in the Grand Library, with its huge plateaus and icy mountain peaks. Halfy’s kind roams there, freely, but always in packs like the Varcolacs. Zanir’s eyes narrow slightly, almost as if sensing my curiosity.

“Espa sounds… harsh, but I think I would enjoy it,” I mumble, not quite a question, but more of an observation. “Not the sort of place I imagine you growing up.”

Zanir looks from the fish, where his eyes and mouth drifting back to. The corners of his mouth quirking slightly. “Harsh yes, but beautiful in a rugged way. I get why you think you’d like it. It is fitting.” His blue eyes flash and he adds a half-smile that is met with a scowl of my own. “Too cold, too wild. I don’t think you’d survive a week in those mountains.”

“You know nothing about me. My stubbornness only has kept me alive longer than any of my powers or daggers could.” I counter, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles softly, and I feel something stir inside. The beast within shuffling inside its confinements. “Maybe. But those mountains … they take more than sheer will. They demand respect. One wrong step on an icy ridge, and they’ll take your life, or at least make you wish they did.” He finishes off the last of the fish in his hands and tosses the bones to the side.

I chuckle, which ends in a scoff. “I mean, is it any worse than Osnya?” I glance over at Zanir, watching as he grabs another fish. “The land with the giant white bears. That can eat men whole.”

“Not just some lore,” he says, his voice low, as if remembering something unpleasant. “I saw one once. It was bigger than Halfy here… if that is even possible.”

That earned a low grumble from Halfy between a fish that disappears behind his white fangs.

I can’t help but grin. “I bet I could tame one, or at least pet one.”

Zanir snorts. “Sure, just let it get close enough to take your head off.

I roll my shoulder and my wings catch the autumn breeze that still flows. The breeze causes the fire to flicker and snap, casting light and shadow in a frantic dance. The thin membrane of my wings moves through the air with a soft whoosh as they join in on the dance.

“They both sound better than Vuplar, though. It sounds like a nightmare. Mortals with their strict rules and harsh penalties for anything that doesn’t follow their code. Throwing their viewed waste into the Endless Forest to either die or become another creature that walks this plane.”

Zanir shrugs, looking at the tango of flames and shadows. “Mortal get scared. When something is scared, they try to control what they don’t understand.” He smirks, “There are so powerful players in Vulpar, many of the wizard and witch category.”

I lean back, looking up at stars that fill the goddess Nyx’s night sky like snowflakes on a black backdrop. “Now Uscia, really? A land, stories say to have a dragon and their riders, it has been warded for centuries…” My mind trails, remembering I am talking to someone way older than me, with obliviously, more knowledge, and more dismissal than I think I will ever have.

Dragons being tamed enough to ride and cross great distances in mere beats of their wings. I would if the riders are bonded to their dragons. I wonder if it is similar to my bond with Halfy, or is it different? Imagine a dragon familiar, imagine an untamed beast and accepting only one to ride it.

Zanir raises an eyebrow at me. “Dragons.” He scoffs. “They’re beast. They don’t care about anything but eating, hoarding, and flying. And maybe killing.”

“Can’t blame them, doesn’t sound like a bad deal.” I chuckle softly, letting the breeze take it through the forest.

As my laugh fades, I catch myself, feeling the unfamiliar ease settle in the air. In this quiet shared reprieve, I almost forget the distance I usually keep. Almost.