“We’ve been thinking about this locked room with the wrong approach,” I bluntly began. “The end result is that Rafi died, and so we’ve been trying to find a means of killing her while leaving behind a locked room. But instead, consider this:

“Just as she survived thanks to a one-in-a-million miracle, so too did she die thanks to a one-in-a-million miracle.”

“What…?” The priest instinctively reacted with a dubious glare. I inhaled a deep breath.

“When we came back to the village with Rafi in tow, not one person we’ve met seemed surprised to see her. I understand that a killer would normally try to blend in, but is it really possible to stifle an instinctive reaction to that extent? After all, to the normal person, someone they’ve killed walking around without a care in the world is the kind of scene to make one question their sanity.”

Iscario put a hand to his chin in consternation. I shot him a smile, then continued.

“That sense must have dulled for a vampire hunter like you. You must be used to those for whom death isn’t permanent. But I’m not sure a normal person could disguise their shock that easily. And we never saw anyone express any kind of shock.

“Now, naturally, it could be that we’ve just missed it. But, it made me think―what if the method was one that didn’t provide any assurance? It would mean that not even the killer themselves could be sure whether their plan had been executed or not. In other words, any method where the killer is present for the crime, familiar or not, can be ruled out.”

“...A trap?” Iscario muttered faintly.

“Let’s reiterate all the steps that Rafi took upon entering the shed. She first locked the door. Then, she walked to the back of the room, and lit the torch on the wall. Then, she bent down to open the crate. And that’s as far as she can remember. Do I have all that right?” I turned a questioning look to Rafi. She gave a light nod, not meeting my gaze.

“So then, if we are talking about a trap, what would be the trigger?”

“...! The fire!?” A look of realization hit the priest’s face.

“Yup. That strange cut-off point made us think she’d lost her memories of death due to the shock. But that’s not really the case. Her account was complete. Let me lay out what I’m thinking here.” I made the priest hand me his notebook and a writing implement. He acquiesced without much resistance.

“Above where the torch’s fire would be, a thread was tied to the wall.” I spoke while sketching out a simple diagram. “The thread ran upwards through a gap in the ceiling. That’s because, of course, attached to the ceiling and pointing downwards, was one of the crossbows belonging to the hunters, only loaded with your spike instead of an arrow.” I could see through the corner of my eye that even Sister Rosalia had given in and begun eyeing me curiously.

“The thread was draped over the crossbow, and a small weight was attached to the end of it. Now, when the torch was lit, the fire would start burning the thread above it. And so, seconds later, when the thread finally burned through, it would release the weight above onto a small wooden plank or something, seesawing it―right into the trigger. It just so happened that, at that moment, Rafi leaned down to open the crate, and so she was successfully shot right through the back.”

“But wouldn’t she have noticed the thread?” he asked.

“It was probably thin enough to not be visible in the dark. And after the torch was lit, the trap would probably have gone off before she’d be able to figure out what it was for―or so the culprit’s logic goes, I assume.

“After that, once we made our deal and left the scene, the culprit simply came back to retrieve the contraption, and that was that.”

“But wait, the ward I placed…!” Iscario piped up, pointing out an apparent inconsistency.

“Oh yes, that handy thing. Well, you said it would tell you if anyone walked into the room, but…what about someone climbing onto the roof? Would it be able to detect that?”

“.........”

“Well then, there you have it,” I bluntly said, having no energy to pull any theatrics like bowing to my audience.

Iscario and Rosalia both stared wide-mouthed at me, while Rafi’s blue gaze was accompanied by her usual expressionlessness. It felt like she was still waiting for something from me.

“T-that’s―But this trick is―”

“Completely absurd? I agree,” I readily assented to the bewildered priest. “The fact that it went off as expected is something of a miracle on par with what happened afterwards. I doubt there’s any need to list off all the different potential points of failure.”

“But then why would someone possibly employ a method like this? I understand the idea of wanting an alibi, but if anything had gone wrong, the culprit’s whole scheme would have been instantly exposed. It couldn’t possibly be worth the risk!”

“Risk, huh?” I chuckled at his misguided idea. “I’ll get to all that. To do that though, I first ought to explain―just what this village really is.”

Saying so, I looked into Rafi’s eyes, communicating my intentions. And in turn, after a moment’s hesitation, she nodded back.

“...All right. This village is clearly strange. We’ve all noticed it, though it’s hard to put one’s finger on exactly how. It’s ominous enough that it made Father Iscario think it was a den of vampires for a good while.”

A confused Rafi tilted her head at me in response, to which I smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you a funny story once we’re done here.” The priest shrugged in resignation.

“Anyhow, I’m sure it’s something we’d have all noticed soon enough, but our minds having been consumed with trying to find a singular culprit, we misunderstood the true nature of this place.”

“Well, what is it that has so thoroughly escaped us, Vio Valakia?”

“If you had just found your child covered in blood, what do you think your first reaction would be?”

“Huh?”

I sighed. “Look. This village is isolated from the outside world, with almost no trade at all. It’s entirely self-sufficient―but is that really enough to provide for everyone? Can people truly live comfortable lives like this?

“When we arrived here, Miss Sapria offered us a feast. And yet, the meal we had was all but ordinary―by our standards, at least. But what if it really had been a feast from her perspective?

“Everyone we’ve met is emaciated. And the shadow of death is palpable around these parts. We’ve seen almost no one older than fifty here―is that not deeply unnatural?

“To put it plainly, this place is rotting. The people are barely hanging on. I can tell you that confidently, because I’ve experienced it myself.”

“Huh?” Iscario and Rosalia eyed me with confusion.

“The memories I see when I drink blood are complete. I connect to all of their senses. And so I felt it on my own skin―she was starving, a hunger far greater than I’ve ever felt in my life.

“But that alone isn’t what’s strange. What’s strange―is how imperceptible their situation is.”

I looked at each of the people in front of me one after another, settling on the priest. “Tell me, father―I ask you because I’m sure that you’re far better acquainted with real desperation and suffering than me―were these really the faces of people barely hanging onto life?”

Iscario chewed on my question, letting it bounce along the walls of the spacious chapel―before delivering a definitive answer. “No… I couldn’t see it in their eyes at all.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to exist in constant suffering. And yet the continued existence of this settlement could only mean generations of living on the brink of starvation. People naturally ought to have left this place, let it die―but that didn’t happen. In this one village where outer norms could not interfere, a different phenomenon took place. If these people couldn’t remove their suffering, they just had to make the word suffering lose all meaning. And the cure for their desperation―was faith.”

“Faith…?” Iscario gaped at me.

“It has some real power, wouldn’t you agree? It’s for the sake of your faith that you risk your life every day, isn’t it? Even though all of your natural instincts should tell you to stay far away from that danger, you nonetheless push on, risking it all to defeat the monsters you consider blasphemous time and time again. Well, in that same vein, these people had to take their natural instinct of pain and self-preservation and reverse it through dogma.

“And that’s how it was born―an outlier among outliers, the most remote sect of Heliocentrism, practiced by no more than a single village: a sect which dictates that individual human life has no value. Where all pain is merely a gift of nature, meant to be accepted. Where all that matters is the continued existence of the village as a unit. And for the sake of that continued existence, the villagers will gladly suffer whatever is necessary. Pious, isn’t it?”

“B-but!” he stammered, “That’s a complete perversion of what our doctrine is!”

“You may call it a perversion, but I call it adaptation―they simply adapted their beliefs to suit their needs. That’s all that is required for religions to change form. It might be a hard fact for you to swallow, but you’re the one who mentioned that vampire cult, the Ecliptic Church, before―if I recall correctly, the foundations of their beliefs are adapted from Heliocentrism as well.”

“...”

“You and Sister Rosalia are representatives of the church―even though your faith and theirs have almost nothing in common at this point, you are still nominally bearers of holy truth. Thus, their treatment of you, and by extension me, was entirely different. However, you would be wrong to take it as a commonplace show of empathy―what we got was, in their eyes, special treatment. And their concern for you in no way extends to treatment of those they consider their equals.”

“...Let’s say I accept this preposterous notion of yours. What of it then?”

I grinned weakly. “It’s necessary to properly tell the next part of the story―that is, the case of Rafi’s seemingly inconsistent memories.”

“Ah!” Iscario leaned in, seemingly having just remembered that matter.

“I want to preface this with the fact that I’ve told you no lies. I really did see a memory of Rafi’s where a woman with an identical face to that of Olga Eulogia was murdered. That much is true.” Though I did tell him that fact at that moment precisely in order to throw him off the track. I never thought it’d lead to such an extreme misunderstanding. “However, think about it―isn’t it odd? This is a memory of many years ago, when Rafi was much younger, I could tell that much. But the woman didn’t look like a younger Olga would―she looked identical to what Olga looks like right now.”

“T-that’s…” The simple conclusion left him floored. I couldn’t blame him―it really was a simple punchline.

“The one who died must have been Olga’s older sister or something…” I said.

“Helga.” Suddenly, Rafi butted in with a voice clear like a bell. “My dear big sis, Helga Eulogia. She died when I was ten years old.”

“Hmph,” I smiled. And thus the name connects.

Rosalia gaped upon noticing the connection. “Wh-why didn’t you mention any of this till now?”

“Because―you didn’t ask.” Rafi looked down, her simple rebuttal shutting away everyone’s complaints.

“Helga… she died with a smile on her face, you know? Rafi saw it with her own eyes. What do you think that means?”

Iscario just looked back at me blankly. I stared him in the eyes. Slowly, in the corners of his corneas, I could see a sense of realization seep in, one that he desperately tried to deny. I continued staring at him. Finally, when he could no longer keep it bottled up, he said, “Y-you can’t mean…?”

“I bet you’ve got the idea now.” I turned away from him, holding onto the altar for support. “This village has no failsafe. Right now they seem to have found a balance, however precarious. But they can’t have enough money in reserve to feed the entire population with outside trade. And if they have nothing to sell, they won’t get any money. In other words, if one year sees a particularly terrible harvest or the animal population in the forest decreases to dangerous levels, the villagers will starve to death. What other option did they have, in a situation like that?”

The priest put his palm to his forehead and looked down. I could see his hand faintly trembling. Rosalia, on the other hand, still didn’t understand. Uneasily, she asked me, “What? What are you talking about? What did they do?”

“Helga,” I began, not looking the nun in the eye, “offered to feed the villagers. With―”

“―With her own flesh.” Sensing my hesitation, Rafi finished my sentence for me.

Rosalia stared at her, eyes wide, before looking down, grabbing the pew for support. She looked deeply sickened. I couldn’t blame her. It was equally difficult for me to look up, too, when at that funeral, I could see among the villagers the faces of the men responsible for chopping her into pieces. Simply living on, as if it was natural, as if they’d done nothing more than slaughter a pig to prepare for the roast.

“It may have been a natural act for them, to support the community that they were born in. Still though, I don’t believe the villagers would be ungrateful enough to refuse a final request. Just as one would give themselves over for the whole, so too would the whole work to reward the one. So, before her death, Helga asked for something, didn’t she?”

“...” Rafi stayed quiet, as if not hearing the question I’d posed.

“She asked for something that they’d normally never waste precious resources on, right? She asked―for a dress, for you. One that would look just like the pretty dresses worn outside the village, in the outside world. Isn’t that right?”

“―Yes.”

“She… She gave her life for a dress?” Rosalia asked in disbelief. “How… the hell…”

“In her eyes, it must have seemed like a fair trade. Getting a dress of that quality was probably not something she could have gotten her hands on, not for as long as she lived.”

The room went quiet for a moment, the pair being unwilling to face my echoing assertion.

“Her memory…” As if in escape, the priest muttered, tugging on a forgotten thread. “When you asked her about the memories you saw, she said that she didn’t remember…”

“Ah, that,” I said, smiling bitterly at the misunderstanding. “At the time I compared the hunger I’d felt to torture. I called the killing she saw a horrific crime. I think both descriptions apply, myself. But that didn’t mean anything to her. After all―”

“It was just normal,” Rafi confessed. “...Neither of those things seemed like anything special.”

Neither of them could bring themselves to look at her.

“...What’s next?” Eventually removing his palm from his temple, the priest eyed me head-on once more.

I nodded. “The next part of the puzzle comes with the arrival of the traveling priest―Number X, was it? Ixio N. Kreuzigung.

“Father Ixio had realized the true nature of this village. He had his true mission as a vampire hunter, but he couldn’t afford to abandon this place, not when its fundamental corruption pertained to his own faith. So he set about trying to mend things. He couldn’t be too upfront, though, or he risked shattering the villagers’ minds entirely. He tried teaching the villagers to value their own survival, though subtler means. He’s the one who sent Olga’s father to see a doctor.

“He likely intended on contacting another branch of the church to take over for him at some point. Before that could happen, though―”

“―He gave his life to save Miss Rafflesia’s.” Iscario finished the sentence for me.

“Indeed. That was the spark for what would later become the crime we’re here to discuss.

“The villagers view clergymen as beings of far superior worth than themselves. The death of one on their land, and furthermore to save one of their own, must have felt like they’d been responsible for committing the worst crime there is. As a result, they’ve considered themselves cursed, unworthy of feeling the grace of their object of worship―they’ve prevented themselves from setting foot into the Sun outside of the times when it’s purely necessary.

“To add to that, the village priest recently passed away. As you yourself said, in this kind of rural setting, it’s not the mayor that holds power―it’s the priest. And his absence has created a power vacuum which amplified the uncertainty the villagers felt. That uncertainty was ripe to be taken advantage of by someone. Someone who wanted to implant a certain idea in the minds of the villagers.

“This tiny society is a collectivist one. They wouldn’t ordinarily have pinned the blame for what happened purely onto Rafi, they would have shared that blame among everyone. And to a certain extent, that’s what they did. But eventually, a certain someone propagated the following thought: ‘Rafflesia was supposed to bear that sacrifice. That was her fate. And yet, the priest, in his infinite kindness, prevented that sacrifice. But she doesn’t deserve that salvation, not any more than any of us do. So―let us put her fate to the test, and see if she truly deserves to live.’”

“...So that’s what you’re claiming is the truth behind this crime?” Iscario solemnly asked.

“It’s an unreasonable thought. One that could only have occurred in this place, in this accursed village. If I’ve said anything you feel misrepresents this place, feel free to correct me now, Rafi.”

“―”

“―No, you’re entirely correct. That’s the truth of our home, Mr. Vampire.” Suddenly, a new voice, alien to this conversation―yet her presence in this church was anything but alien.

It was the face of the culprit, plastered upon it the same fake smile I’d parted ways with earlier that day―It was Olga Eulogia.

Rafi didn’t―couldn’t turn to face her. She just kept her blue eyes to the ground, not saying a word. For her sake, I looked at the young woman head on.

“Would it be unfair to refer to you as the culprit behind everything? Every villager was involved in a sense, after all.”

“Who knows? Looking at her like this, I feel like I haven’t accomplished much to speak of at all.”

“Y-you’re the one!?” Rosalia lashed out at her. “How could you? Wasn’t she like a little sister to you!?”

“To my sister Helga, she was. To me, though, she was just―well, the girl my sister died for, I guess,” she replied, a self-deprecating grin on her face. “Not that I can afford to complain about it. It was Rafflesia’s own father who set up that surprise for her, after all. It looked pretty shoddy, but I guess it did the trick.”

“―” The nun couldn’t muster another word when faced with that. She had come prepared to bear the brunt of any vampire’s malice, but the woman in front of her was no vampire.

“You’re not like everyone else here, are you?” Without hesitation, I addressed her. “You don’t have any faith at all.”

She gave me a bitter smile. “I always played along, though I could never see much point in it. I guess I figured I’d get something out of it.” She looked off to the side, studying the ornate walls of the church. “And eventually, I did.”

“...You loved Father Ixio, didn’t you?”

“Everyone else was too busy worshipping him to view him as an actual human being. I guess that’s why he bothered talking to me. As for me―” Olga looked lost in thought. She must have been remembering his face. “He was just as much of an idiot as the rest of them. He jumped in to help others even at the cost of his own skin. But… he didn’t wear an idiotic smile while doing so. He always looked conflicted, afraid. Yet he did it anyway. I suppose that’s the sole reason I fell for him.”

“And so, when he died to protect Rafi―you couldn’t forgive it. Couldn’t forgive her. And that’s why you decided to pierce her with the only memento left of that man―the Sealing Sacrament.”

“I was the first to check his body, you see, after they removed the debris from on top of him. When I found this on his person, I just…”

“You took it, huh?” Another piece had fit into place. “I had wondered why the mayor would lie to us about not recognizing it. I guess he’d been honest after all.”

“...If,” she began, hesitantly. “If Rafflesia had been able to wear a stupid smile like the rest of those simpletons, I might have been able to let it go. But she never did. Ever since Helga passed away, and even before then, she’s had that same expressionless face. I wonder why―I ought to prefer this to her laughing ignorantly, and yet…”

“I’ll tell you why,” I said, glaring at her. “It’s because you understood that she could feel regret the same way you do. Not for Ixio the priest, but for Ixio the person. Just like she did for Helga. And it’s because of that, that you wanted to take revenge against her―because, unlike any others in this village, you thought she’d be able to suffer wholeheartedly. She’d be able to truly lament her death. And that’s the kind of pain you needed to satiate yourself.”

“Ah…” She looked at me, wide-eyed. Then, slowly, she looked down at her hands―and a smirk crept up her face. Grinning from ear to ear, she uttered, “I guess you’re right.”

“―” The nun couldn’t muster another word when faced with that. She had come prepared to bear the brunt of any vampire’s malice, but the woman in front of her was no vampire.

“You’re not like everyone else here, are you?” Without hesitation, I addressed her. “You don’t have any faith at all.”

She gave me a bitter smile. “I always played along, though I could never see much point in it. I guess I figured I’d get something out of it.” She looked off to the side, studying the ornate walls of the church. “And eventually, I did.”

“...You loved Father Ixio, didn’t you?”

“Everyone else was too busy worshipping him to view him as an actual human being. I guess that’s why he bothered talking to me. As for me―” Olga looked lost in thought. She must have been remembering his face. “He was just as much of an idiot as the rest of them. He jumped in to help others even at the cost of his own skin. But… he didn’t wear an idiotic smile while doing so. He always looked conflicted, afraid. Yet he did it anyway. I suppose that’s the sole reason I fell for him.”

“And so, when he died to protect Rafi―you couldn’t forgive it. Couldn’t forgive her. And that’s why you decided to pierce her with the only memento left of that man―the Sealing Sacrament.”

“I was the first to check his body, you see, after they removed the debris from on top of him. When I found this on his person, I just…”

“You took it, huh?” Another piece had fit into place. “I had wondered why the mayor would lie to us about not recognizing it. I guess he’d been honest after all.”

“...If,” she began, hesitantly. “If Rafflesia had been able to wear a stupid smile like the rest of those simpletons, I might have been able to let it go. But she never did. Ever since Helga passed away, and even before then, she’s had that same expressionless face. I wonder why―I ought to prefer this to her laughing ignorantly, and yet…”

“I’ll tell you why,” I said, glaring at her. “It’s because you understood that she could feel regret the same way you do. Not for Ixio the priest, but for Ixio the person. Just like she did for Helga. And it’s because of that, that you wanted to take revenge against her―because, unlike any others in this village, you thought she’d be able to suffer wholeheartedly. She’d be able to truly lament her death. And that’s the kind of pain you needed to satiate yourself.”

“Ah…” She looked at me, wide-eyed. Then, slowly, she looked down at her hands―and a smirk crept up her face. Grinning from ear to ear, she uttered, “I guess you’re right.”

Whether that smile was real or not, I couldn’t tell. Because I couldn’t bear to look at it.

All the rage I’d been keeping in threatened to boil over. I stepped down from the podium, walking towards Rafi sitting in the pew to the right. All the while, I raised my voice at the woman with my eyes averted. “Well, I hope the thought that your revenge was briefly successful brings you some small comfort.”

“Hah, I wonder,” Olga responded dismissively. “I figured that if the shot missed, I’d just accept that I’d never be able to have a thing in this empty life of mine. On the other hand, if the shot had hit, I’d be able to revel in the fact that there was someone out there far more unfortunate than me. But this…” She chuckled derisively. “This outcome is beyond what I’d have ever imagined. For her to be saved by a vampire of all things… There’s no word for it except a miracle. Clearly, if there is some higher power out there in this meaningless world, it’s got a lot of love for Rafflesia.”

I couldn’t stand her voice anymore. I couldn’t stand any of this anymore. “God, you’re so off-base it hurts. Tell me, why do you think Rafi locked the door behind her after entering that shed? Why do you think this became a locked room murder at all?” Staring down at Rafi, who was seated in front of me, I directed that question to Olga.

“Huh?”

“Tell me, Rafi, what did your mother warn you to do before you set off to that storehouse.”

“She… told me to lock the door.” The girl hesitantly replied.

“And so, why did you lock it right after entering the room?”

“Because―” She didn’t want to say it. I put my hand on her shoulder, smiling reassuringly at her. Looking up at me, she found the resolve within herself and, moments later, continued. “Because I wouldn’t get to do it afterwards.”

“―” It was Olga’s turn to stare, mouth agape. “You―”

“Yes. She’d known about it the entire time. She allowed herself to fall for your trap. That’s the truth.”

“B-but then… why? Why did you…?”

“...Because… that’s what everyone expected from me.”

“.........” Olga was stunned into silence.

The priest, entranced by the outrageous turn of events, finally remembered himself as he directed a question towards Rafi. “If… If you knew the entire time, why didn’t you tell us anything?”

Rafi failed to meet his gaze “B-because… you didn’t ask.”

I sat down next to her. “You don’t need to lie anymore. I understand.”

“...” She looked at me worriedly. I put on my best attempt at a heartening smile.

“May I say it?” I eventually asked her. And a few moments of consternation later, she quietly nodded.

“The reason why she didn’t say anything,” I resumed, getting back up to address the others, “is because she was ashamed. Ashamed of herself, of what she is. That’s… most likely my fault.” I added, rubbing the back of my head. “When I turned her into a vampire, it seems it wasn’t just me receiving memories. I also gave her some of my own memories. And whatever it is she saw from my life, it must have looked radiant in comparison to her own. She didn’t want me―didn’t want us to know what her death really was.”

Rosalia and Iscario looked at me with conflicted expressions, though ultimately said nothing more.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, though,” I said to Rafi behind me. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Compared to me―compared to all of us, you’ve lived your life in a brilliant fashion. None of us are anywhere near as shining a beacon of selflessness as you are.

“No,” I continued, “The one who could really use some shame is that woman.” Saying so, I sent one last disgusted glare to Olga―she just gazed back at me, a serene expression on her face.

She no longer wore any semblance of a smile, fake or otherwise.

For some time, all of us just remained there in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. None of us knew where to go from here―where was there to go, really, after a revelation like this?

As we all kept running away from each other’s presence, one person finally mustered up the strength to break the silence with a deep, echoing inhale. It was Father Iscario.

“This has been a harrowing revelation indeed. I have no words that could possibly alleviate the tragedies this village has suffered. I will see to it that aid is delivered here as soon as possible, and moreover, that a new priest is dispatched to this place―one who will be able to mend the hearts of these people, little by little.”

“You still think that’s the answer to this?” I idly asked him.

“Just as it was faith that broke these people apart, it will be faith that can put them back together. Faith, most importantly of all, in themselves. I think that’s something we can help with.

“However, it will not make up for what has already passed. I offer my deepest apologies to Miss Rafflesia, for whom no one has been able to make it in time. I hope this truth will be able to bring you inner peace.”

“...” Rafi gazed silently at the priest.

“Now, with that all being said, I think we can say we’ve finally put this affair fully behind us.”

“I sure as heck hope so,” I sighed.

“And, with that out of the way―Sister Rosalia, prepare yourself. It’s time to exterminate these vampires.”

“―Huh?”

I muttered dumbly. My legs felt numb. My attention snapped to the priest. He had regained his gentle smile.

“What are you looking at me like that for, Vio Valakia?” He said, whilst taking out a Sealing Sacrament from within his coat. “That was our deal from the very beginning, right? You’ve elucidated this mystery splendidly, and thus brought peace to the deceased Rafflesia Valpurga, taken from this world too soon. All that’s left to take care of now, then, are the two demons carefreely walking upon this sacred ground.”

I knew it would eventually come to this. I knew it. This was what I’d been afraid of, what I wanted to avoid. But―somewhere in my heart, I still wanted to believe that, just maybe, it wouldn’t have to be like this. Just maybe, we could coexist. But…

“I’m such an idiot…”

There was no compromise. There was no coexistence. We were natural enemies. Our existence meant sin. Their existence meant death.

Behind the smiling priest, I could see Rosalia readying her spear. She had steeled herself―in what she was about to do, she would show no hesitation. That much, I could tell.

“Now then, you two,” he addressed us, grinning from ear to ear, as he held the Sacrament in a reverse grip. “I do hope you’ve said your prayers.”

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek. We had no chance. He could split my head open faster than I could turn around and run to the exit. Rafi was paralyzed too―this was our end.

As I prepared myself, knowing that any slight sign of movement would signal my doom―a voice cut through the air.

“Father Rosenkranz.” It was Rosalia’s voice.

“I do hate to state the obvious, Sister Rosalia, but―” the priest said, his smile unchanged, though his arms now raised up, palms open, “isn’t your spear pointing in the wrong direction?”

So he casually pointed out, as Rosalia, steadily and with purpose―held the tip of her spear millimeters away from his back.

“Father Rosenkranz,” she reiterated, unwilling to budge even an inch. “Let those two go.”

“Who are you, Sister Rosalia?”

She responded by roughly poking the man with the spear, making him tiptoe.

Undaunted, the priest repeated, “Who are you, Sister Rosalia?”

“...Of the 6th Division of the Thirteenth Chamber of the Phaethon, number IX, Sister of the Heliocentric Church, Rosalia X. Dornenkrone.”

“Very good,” he said, satisfaction evident on his face. “So tell me, have you truly let these two monsters shake your convictions?”

For the briefest of moments, Rosalia shifted her gaze to us, studying the two quivering vampires before her from top to bottom. Then, she looked back to the priest’s back. “No, sir, I have not. My convictions remain unchanged―I have joined this order to eliminate the vicious monsters that plague this earth. The horrific creatures that use their powers to subjugate the weak and feed on their lives, trampling them underfoot. Them, I will pierce through without hesitation. But at this moment, it is not them that I am looking at.”

“―Haha.” The priest chuckled. Suddenly, he put his raised hands together, noisily clapping. The sister poked her spear deeper into him, surely enough to draw blood, yet he seemed undaunted. “Splendid answer. You are a marvelous believer!” He then turned his gaze to Rafi and I. “You two, leave us for a moment, would you? I have something to discuss with the sister, in private.”

Rafi and I quietly shared a look, and, not a moment later―I grabbed her hand and sprinted in the direction of the exit. Olga was still standing there, stock-still and completely bewildered. Not bothering to slow down or call out, we barrelled right through her, sending her down to the ground as we exited the chapel.

With no time or concern remaining to look back and see how she fared, we ran through the desolate church road back to the village.

Now alone in the old church, the priest and the nun faced one another. Sister Rosalia mustered up all the fierce spirit she had in her, gripping her holy spear tightly. Meanwhile, Father Iscario looked as relaxed as a man could be, looking down at his subordinate gently.

“So, tell me,” he began. “When was it that you decided on rebelling?”

“...If you’re asking me when I made my mind up, then that would have to be a few minutes ago. But…” she narrowed her eyes. “It probably wouldn’t have ended any differently, from the moment that girl became a vampire.”

“Oh?” The priest raised an eyebrow. “So it wasn’t fondness for that vampire boy that made you do this?”

“Pah, that bastard’s about as likable as a bag of fertilizer.” she cackled. “He’s got nothing to do with it. He’s gotten his share of life, plenty of it. I got no problem disposing of him if I gotta. But…” Rosalia glanced down, only for the briefest of moments, before returning her eyes to Iscario. “He’s probably what she needs right about now. So I’ll overlook him.”

“I see.” Father Iscario looked pleased. “You’ll become a great servant of the church. I don’t doubt it for a second.”

“What…?” She looked at him dubiously.

“Did you think that your rebellion would make me hate you, would turn you into an enemy of the church? The fact that you made your decision under that misconception is even more splendid. But don’t worry―I now know what a principled woman you are.”

As he spoke, he began slowly stepping forward, getting closer and closer to the nun. In response, she thrust her spear closer to him, yelling “Stay back!”, but the priest just kept on steadily advancing.

“Principles, however,” he spoke, spreading his arms, “are not enough. One day you'll find yourself facing a conflict that will never end as long as both parties remain standing, one in which you won't allow yourself to cut anyone down. How will you deal with that, when you’ve taken away violence from yourself as an option?”

He was now clearly in range of the spear. If she wanted to, Sister Rosalia could easily have pierced him and left him incapacitated. Instead, however, she merely inched backwards herself, beads of sweat rolling down her face.

“To put it plainly, you won’t hurt me. And you know you won’t hurt me. Because you know I am not evil.”

He began to quicken his steps, closing the distance quicker than she could widen it. Panicking and plagued with desperation, Sister Rosalia tried half-heartedly to swing her spear around, but her threats had no effect.

“So,” Iscario said, grabbing the weapon with his right hand and extending his left towards her face, “What will you do, Sister Rosalia?”

As she looked on in horror at the approaching gloved palm, she could do nothing but pray.

As Rafi and I arrived at the village’s main dirt road, we didn’t slow our advance at all.

“North exit, okay!?”

“O-Okay!” She hastily replied.

Deciding that cutting through the forest would be dangerous, I elected to steer us towards the mountain region to the north of the village.

Soon enough my burst of adrenaline-fueled energy died down, and as I slowed down slightly, Rafi got faster. As we ran next to one another, her hand still in mine, not bothering to even look at the surprised villagers watching us from the fields as they worked, the north exit of the village drew nearer and nearer. It was pitch-black outside, the moonlight our sole guide, and though the road was free of any major obstacles, we were unable to clearly make out what lay in the distance much farther than a dozen feet.

As we got closer and closer to the north gate, we gradually noticed something uncanny―shapes in the darkness, their outlines initially a blur yet gradually becoming more and more visible as we neared them. They numbered in the dozens, forming a wall around the exit.

We stopped in our tracks, staring open-mouthed at the reality before us―dozens of black-clad individuals, their eyes hidden by dark hoods, blocking our way forward. They wore priestly garb, the star of Heliocentrism gleaming in the moonlight on all of their chests. We turned backwards, intending to go towards the other exit, when we noticed a new set of dark figures approaching us from the other side.

We were surrounded.

I pulled Rafi closer to me, glaring at the robed opponents in my only meager display of resistance. Soon enough, a familiar figure joined the approaching horde.

“My apologies for the surprise party.” It was Iscario, his appearance unchanged from before, walking up with his ever-present smile. The piercings on his ear shone in the faint light. “They weren’t intended for you. Truth be told, I got a little hasty thanks to my earlier hypothesis and called for reinforcements.”

“...” This was the worst possible situation. If breaking through Iscario and Rosalia was hoping for a miracle, then breaking through this army was a downright pipe dream.

“There’s no vampire village for them to exterminate, so it’s likely that they’ve trekked all the way over here for nothing, but―say hello to Divisions 3, 4 and 5 of the Thirteenth Chamber.”

The priest walked closer and closer to me. I shielded Rafi behind me, well aware that she was no less safe either way. “...What did you do to Rosalia?”

“I only restrained her, nothing more. You’ve no need to worry about her. This wasn’t a particularly unexpected outcome.” Seemingly coming to a realization, the priest then asked me, “Hey, how many vampires do you think she’s exterminated up until now?”

“Uhhh…” Caught off-guard, I stammered, not knowing how to reply. Smiling eagerly at me, the priest continued.

“The answer is zero.” He smiled like a child who’d pulled a prank. “This is her first job. None of the other veterans wanted to take care of a rookie, you see. The job typically falls on me.”

“―Haha,” I laughed truthfully. “Imagine that. So she really was all talk, huh? I do hope her punishment won’t be too harsh.”

“No worse than a scolding, rest assured. It’s not particularly rare for rookies to have doubts. That’s why they always get sent on missions with a more experienced counterpart.” And with a wink, he added. “Our organization is a merciful one, you know―to our fellow man, that is.”

With a defiant smirk as my sole weapon, I replied derisively, “Oh yeah, real paragons of virtue I’m looking at…”

“Her convictions, though, are truly beautiful.” He said, stopping close to me and looking wistfully into the sky. “I meant that with every fiber of my being. On that front, I will always support her. However―”

Suddenly, his gaze still directed upward, he gripped my collar and yanked me to him. Rafi tried holding onto my leg, but he mercilessly kicked her, sending her down on her rear. He then raised me up to his eye level, my feet dangling pathetically far above the ground.

“Creatures such as you, that violate death, simply cannot be allowed to exist in this world.” His frozen gaze chilled me to my very core.

“Ghh, tell me,” I struggled to speak while in his grasp, unwilling to let my question go unvoiced. “When that monster razed your town to the ground―ghhk―what was it that you felt?”

Unfazed at hearing me speak of his deepest memory, the man bestowed upon me his answer.

“I felt―amazed.” He spoke plainly, honestly, without decorum. “I had never known death until that moment. I thought of myself, of the people around me, as immortal. Yet arbitrarily, in a split second, that naive world was shattered.” He smiled. “I felt nothing but amazement. At that moment, I understood what it truly meant to be alive. That there’s no such thing as eternity.

“And looking upon that black hell, I vowed to myself that I would personally watch that creature meet its end. Because nothing, not even a being that colossal, would be spared from the engine of existence.” He delivered his answer, the personal philosophy that made up the man named Iscario T. Rosenkranz, with a smile as serene as the settled snow.

Ahh, I thought. He’s truly gone. The person that he once was had disappeared for good―it would never return.

“Now then,” he said, looking refreshed, “you will meet your end shortly, but before that, as we’ve shared quite the amicable relationship over the past few days, I will allow you to voice any desires and regrets you might have left. After that, you can go ahead and pass on in peace.”

“Gh, thanks for the―agh―overflowing generosity,” I said, barely able to squeeze out a few words. Seeing my pained expression, the priest loosened his grasp slightly with a curt apology. How about you let me down instead, dang it!

Seeing that there was no shot of that in his peaceful smile, I swallowed my complaints and, turning to the girl worriedly watching us from the ground below, began talking. “Rafi, listen―I’m sorry. I talked big about wanting to find the truth of your death and give you peace and all that―that was just me saying whatever popped into my head. Really, all that was going through my mind back then was how much I wanted not to die. I wanted to live longer, however I could. And I used you for that. I’m sorry.”

“...” She just stared at me, saying nothing, her mouth quivering sadly.

“Even as we went about that investigation, I didn’t try to find the truth at all. I just wanted to prolong it as much as possible, so I could live as much as possible. Even when―even though I had a feeling, that it was only bringing you pain. And to avoid having to face that reality, I didn’t even try to get to know the real you, not until the very end. All I am is a selfish old bastard. So you don’t need to be grateful to me for a damn thing, you hear?”

“...” She looked at me with her expression frozen in place, yet I could see the tears form in the corners of her eyes.

“But you know, Rafi―being selfish like that, I think it’s a good thing! Compared to being a saint, I’d rather be a selfish bastard any time! Because being a saint is really hard, and… and painful, and sucks a whole damn lot! So compared to that, it’s better to be selfish. And if you’ve hurt someone in the process, all you need to do is apologize! That’s it! You don’t need to live your life holding the door open for someone else! If there’s something you want, just grab a hold of it! And when you’ve had enough, ask for more, dream bigger!

“Take it from me. I’ve been a pampered child my whole damn life, leeching off of others as I pleased, and you yourself saw what it was like: it was a blast! My life has been amazing! And even having lived it all out, I’m still not happy! I’m still shamelessly asking for more! And that’s perfectly fine! You know why?

“Because the world is so much bigger than this!

“There’s so much out there to see and to feel that one lifetime isn’t enough! And I can guarantee you, there are so many more wonderful things out there past these village walls! So you don’t need to keep everything bottled up inside anymore, and don’t hesitate! Be as shameless as your heart tells you to! Your world is bigger than a pathetic wooden shed!”

“...Y-you’ll,” she mumbled, the tears rolling down her unmoving cheeks, the stilted, awkward expression she’d forced upon herself having become stuck on her. “―You’ll allow it? You’ll permit me to be selfish?”

“I’ll do you one better!” I said, holding out my hand towards her. “I’ll be right behind you, laughing alongside you at whichever sucker tries to stop you! How about that?”

In response, Rafi looked down, wiping her tears with her white sleeve. Then, she unsteadily got to her feet, looking like she might topple over at any second. Still, undaunted, approached me, and took my trembling hand in hers, squeezing it tightly for just a moment. It was a cold, cold hand, yet in it I felt a warmth I’d almost forgotten. Ah, right―this was how their hands felt, wasn’t it?

Then, almost as suddenly, she pulled away, taking a step back and freezing in place. For a moment, the world was quiet.

Watching the exchange between us with disinterest, the priest, still holding me up in the air, nonchalantly asked, “So then, are you quite done?”

And then as the final syllable left his mouth, he froze.

What?

The danger alerts blared in his mind. Something was here, some incomprehensible something that had the power to shave him down to nothing right where he stood.

But why? From where?

The questions kept popping up into his mind, but no answers would accompany them. It was like his many years of experience in deadly combat against vicious immortal monsters had just become a lie in a split second.

He felt defenseless, seen through right down to his beating heart. From where had this new foe appeared?

And then, as he regained the modicum of composure necessary to force his eyes into moving, he saw it and realized.

Realized the error of his judgment. Realized that he had doubted a miracle not once but twice, and that now the price was to be paid.

He saw the pair of eyes staring at him.

They belonged to the little girl he’d accompanied over the past few days, the little girl he’d mourned and sworn to eliminate.

Her glare shot through him, burning away all the unneeded packaging and allowing only his essence to remain―the essence of a weak, impotent mortal soul.

Her inescapable glare―beautiful, haunting vermillion eyes.

At the opposite end of the village.

Spared from the commotion, the southern exit was barren.

All of the clergy’s forces had focused their attack on the northern exit, where their two enemies laid. And so, all that sat in this forgotten corner of land―was the village’s welcome sign.

The pathetic wooden board with its weathered lettering had been placed there by one of the previous village mayors on nothing more than a whim. It represented a mere facsimile of the outside world―for there were no travelers to welcome in the village of St. Purgatorio. It had sat there for however many years, and it would continue to do so, until a storm or some other whim of nature would finally sign its death sentence.

At least, that was what the hunters that passed by it every day had privately thought.

And yet, now, starting from the upper corners of that weathered sign and working its way down, a gentle destruction spread.

The dirty-brown wood darkened as if burnt to a crisp. It darkened until the lettering disappeared from view, until its every corner was covered in obsidian.

And then, from those upper corners, something was blown into the sky.

It wasn’t ash, however, nor soot.

In big, dark clumps, that something separated itself from the sign, leaving it chipped and broken, as if a massive beast had taken a bite out of it.

The disintegration progressed, until there was nothing left standing that could be called a sign, and yet it continued to progress, further and further until nothing stood there at all, until it seemed preposterous to imply there had ever been anything there at all.

What was it that this damaged, unsung sign had burst apart into?

Bats.

Hundreds and hundreds of bats, flying into the dark night sky, their mauve wings blurring together in the night, only one distinguishable feature clearly visible from the ground.

A million vermillion eyes dotting the sky.

Klimnt Horheldorfel stood in front of his house, slack-jawed and blankly staring upward.

In that moment, he was no longer the mayor of St. Purgatorio, no longer a leader or a representative, but merely a lost lamb awaiting his fate.

In truth, that was all he’d ever been.

He had left the village before. He had been exposed to the way of life of outsiders, and to their thought processes. And in truth, a part of him had begun to doubt.

He had always buried that part deep inside of him, though. Because accepting it now would mean nothing short of despair.

Not when he’d lost his family. Not when his blind faith was all that kept him from breaking apart.

He looked upward. He saw a horizontal line of blackness spreading across the center of his two story home’s exterior.

As the rot spread, something pushed the top floor of his building upward. The force of the escaping creatures lifted up the walls at an angle. Soon enough, an enormous slab of brick had become almost entirely detached from the building, and looked ready to topple over―and when it would, it would certainly crash down upon the man below and turn him into a forgotten memory.

He made no effort to move. He stood at the ready, waiting for the debris to crush him.

“Please,” he muttered, “welcome me into your gentle light.”

The brick wall began its descent.

He closed his eyes.

And so, he was unable to see―that while in midair, the corrosion continued, eating away at the wall. As it neared the man, it became almost entirely black, indistinguishable from the night sky above.

And then, the impact.

Klimt Horheldorfel was swallowed up by the blackness.

He felt like being hit with a powerful torrential rain, far stronger than he’d ever experienced. The ‘drops’ smashed into him, grazed him, and fell to the ground below.

And then―from there, they began their ascent once more, scattering upward in every direction.

He could see those ‘drops’ staring into him. Staring with their cold vermillion eyes.

And then, once all the blackness splashed upon the ground and flew away―there he remained, the same man, not even a single wound carved into his flesh.

“Why,” he squealed powerlessly, “won’t you take me there?”

He fell onto his knees, looking down at the ground.

The Valpurga house had been eaten away by inky blackness and transformed, joining the other screeching creatures in their dance below the moonlight.

The Valpurga couple stood in front of what was once their home, holding one another and viewing the mayhem with entranced looks.

They were nothing more than painfully average. They had gone about their lives in the only way their predecessors had taught them, and they likely intended on doing the very same thing until the day they perished.

Neither Sapria nor Rhizanthes thought a single thing about the prospect of each other’s deaths. Whatever fate had in store for them, they were ready to accept with open arms. They had no more ambitions or designs for the world around them. They would exist until the day existence stopped.

When faced with the prospect of his daughter’s demise, Rhizanthes Valpurga thought much the same. If she died, she died―if she lived, she lived. There was nothing more to it.

That was why, whatever these two simple people felt at that very moment, watching the world they knew being ripped apart before their very eyes, was impossible for anyone else to understand. Did the sight provoke any spark in their withered hearts, or would they accept the view as but another turn of fate?

Only time would tell.

For now, they stood rooted to the ground, watching the spectacle, until…

Directly in front of them, with absolutely no warning, a flower sprouted from the ground.

A massive flower, spanning over ten feet in diameter, its pink petals seeming to glow with an impossible, unnatural light.

“Rafflesia…” Her daughter’s name escaped from Sapria’s mouth as a whisper. Though she would never know it, the sound of her child’s name had once been that of a beautiful, magical flower whose giant petals had disappeared from this world after the end of Magic.

Sapria hesitantly stepped upon the giant flower in front of her. Rhizanthes followed suit.

Holding each other, they boarded the flower. As if in response to their weight, it gently enfolded them within its petals, shielding them from the chaos of the word. And then―though they couldn’t see it through the thick petals, they felt it in the wind―they were raised up into the sky, joining the many millions of dancing bats.

A few moments before every villager was enveloped by a protective flower―

“Goddamn―unhand me, you rotten bastards! I’ll kick the shit out of you!” Rosalia, unarmed and held in place by four of the hooded priests, screamed obscenities at her captors while desperately trying to wiggle out of restraint.

“...” The silent priests didn’t budge an inch. They were all veterans who’d felled many powerful vampires in their time, and they certainly wouldn’t yield to a rebellious rookie.

―Their confidence wasn’t shaken until they noticed the abnormality taking place below their feet, by which point it was far too late.

“Huh?” Rosalia belatedly realized that something strange was happening only when her opponents began to sink into the ground.

They all let go of her, trying their best to free themselves, but the earth itself seemed to be sucking them in―looking closely, it had turned pitch-black.

And then, just as Rosalia realized that she alone had been spared from the phenomenon―a giant pink flower sprouted out of the ground beneath her, raising her far above her would-be captors.

Taking a closer look around her, she saw total pandemonium―the entire village had been toppled to the ground, every building melting into a swarm of vampiric bats. However, the villagers seemed to be safe, held aloft by similar flowers.

Then, as she looked in the direction of the vampires’ path of escape―she finally saw ‘her’.

“Hah, I’ll be damned.”

She couldn’t stifle a laugh. From the very beginning, they hadn’t stood a chance.

Rosalia then thought about her sister. She remembered how Azalia used to gaze at her from above.

Over the past few days, whenever she’d looked at that girl, it had reminded her of her younger self. And then, it made her think that, maybe, this was what it had been like for her older sister as she watched her.

It wasn’t a feeling she was ready to experience, and so she’d always looked away, but now―

―she was entirely captivated.

She thought about her sister. About the fact that she was no longer here. And about how beautiful she would be, if she could be here right now.

That thought filled her with sadness and regret. And yet, it also made her smile. It was a simple thought, but she’d avoided it for far too long.

And so, with tears in her eyes, she grinned a toothy grin as she watched the younger vampire rip the world apart in her place.

With a single word, the world was torn asunder.

“Rafflesiaceae.”

Her vermillion glare unshaken, she muttered that word. It was a word that spoke of the family she’d lost, and of the life she’d gained, and the innumerable things that she’d lose and she’d gain from then on.

And then she began to hover above the ground. Her black hair flew upwards as if blown in the wind, and with the moonlight shining upon it, it almost looked like a pair of dark wings carrying her into the sky.

The priest was entranced. Even though he was still holding me up, he’d likely entirely forgotten about my existence. All that existed for him in that moment was the overwhelming threat he faced.

“...! What the!?” What finally shook his unbroken gaze was the alien sensation around his legs. He felt like he was being dragged down into the ground. He tried shaking around to escape, but it was useless.

“Haha!” I laughed earnestly. “I see you can dream big after all! How’s that for a first night as a vampire?

“―This entire village is already yours!”

Hearing my gleeful comment, the priest spun his head to face me. “What!?”

“Quite foolish of you to challenge a demon in her hometown, don’t you think?” I sent him a victorious smile. “When I bit into that girl, I really wanted her to live on. And what’s more, she really wanted to live on. That’s all there is to it.”

“B-but that’s―that’s preposterous! If this is her natural state at birth, then―” The panicked priest never got to finish his sentence, though there was no real need for him to.

The answer was obvious.

If this is her natural state at birth, then―she might just be the strongest vampire that’s ever lived.

“W-woah!” I was suddenly snatched from his grasp, flying into Rafi’s arms. “A word of warning would be nice, you know!?”

“You’re the one who taught me… that if I want something, I should just reach out and grab it.” Her eyes fixed forward, she answered me in her typical monotone voice.

“Ha!” I burst into laughter. “I guess you did!”

The priest was already buried up to his knees, and so was the rest of his entourage. Some of them readied ranged weapons trying to hit us from afar, but they were assailed by a torrent of bats that tore apart the tools in their hands. None of them could accomplish anything anymore.

Rafi let me out of her arms, having a dozen of her bats grab onto me and hold me afloat. She still held my hand though, grasping it firmly and refusing to let go.

In the blink of an eye, we’d gained so much altitude that we could now see the entirety of the village―or what had remained of it anyway, a forest of demonic flowers and bat-eaten buildings. Scanning the ground below her, Rafi quickly located her next target.

Sitting idly in front of the church, the only building that had yet to be devoured―Olga Eulogia. The chaos seemed to have exceeded her understanding. She just watched it all unfold, dazed and impotent.

Rafi nosedived down toward her, dragging me along with her and letting the wind mercilessly smash into me.

Reaching her level, Rafi floated slightly above the ground, gazing directly into her eyes.

“Olga. Do you hate me?”

Bluntly, boring into her with her vermillion gaze, she asked that question.

Olga, left without a single emotion to cover herself in, looked back at the monster she’d birthed with an equally emotionless face. Soon enough, she slowly gave her an answer.

“I… don’t know. I don’t know if I hate you. But I envy you. I want everything that you have. I want to be everything that you are.

“I want Ixio. I want my sister. I want that dress. I want―”

Then Olga’s voice abruptly stopped. Whether it was because she felt too ashamed to continue―or because she’d mentioned everything she could―only she knew.

“I see,” Rafi plainly responded. “But I’m not interested in fighting with you over scraps.”

“S-scraps?” Olga gaped at Rafi’s disinterested answer.

“Right now, what I have―is nothing. That’s why―I’m going to go out and find things. Things worth being envied for.”

“W-wait―”

“Goodbye.” And with that, Rafi flew back into the air, once again dragging my face against the air resistance. She just flew forth, never once looking back at the woman. For a moment, I thought about turning around to see what had become of her, but then I thought better of it.

As we flew above the village, we caught sight of Rosalia sitting on a flower, waving at us fiercely with a smile on her face. We both briefly shared a look, before waving back at her ourselves.

Soon enough, we left her in the dust too, as we flew farther and farther away from that isolated little village, absent from any maps.

“So not all of her smiles are malicious, huh?” I said, looking down at the nun waving towards us. Next to me, Morry cheerfully flew around, trying to up with the army of bats surrounding him. “I wonder if we’ll get to properly thank her someday.”

“We will,” Rafi said, lacking any proof yet entirely certain.

“Yeah… You’re right.” My smile faded away, though, when I next thought about the priest. “You know, Iscario―he wasn’t always like that. His memory of that moment… It’s become totally distorted. I felt what he felt for myself, so I can tell.”

People’s memories can become so twisted and knotted up, they’re almost unrecognizable from the initial moment. Colored by time and self-reference, they change shape. They gain meaning, and lose meaning in turn.

Rafi gazed at me for a moment. “Who knows? Life is… long and weird. Maybe one day he’ll regain the self he lost.”

“You sound confident about that,” I said, smiling at her.

“I am. I’ve experienced it for myself, after all,” she said, nodding in her typical expressionless way.

“Well, it’s about to get a lot longer and a lot weirder. Hope you’re ready for that. I’m not sure how proper a guide an old man like me can be, though,” I said, smugly nodding to myself.

“You really can’t decide whether to play a young man or an old man, huh?” Rafi commented, as monotonously as ever.

I stared at her, wide-eyed.

She looked back at me, tilting her head in confusion. “What?”

“Pff!” I burst out laughing. “Nothing at all!”

And so, we flew out into the horizon, over the sunset, and into the far off distance. Out where we could see the vast world for what it is.

And so, that was the tale of a legendary vampire’s birth: Valpurgisnacht, the most selfish and most fickle vampire there ever was―and of myself, her ordinary, commonplace companion.

Postface to the Chronicle

Thus ends this night’s chronicle.

I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves.

As I promised, I’ve regaled you with nothing but the unvarnished truth. As truthful as a tale can be, for it’s a firsthand account by none other than my dearest friend, Vio Valakia.

That cowardly, ordinary vampire yet lives, bragging all about his adventures the way any commonplace simpleton might. This is his story to tell, and it’s his story I’ve written down.

I do wonder how many of his memories remain authentic, as pure as perception itself. And how many have been colored by his many years of life, twisted beyond measure.

No one could possibly know, though I welcome you to ponder it.

Now then, it is time I laid down my pen for tonight.

As always, I have been your chronicler―G. M. Ziggurat.