The forest grew quieter with every step Saphryn took northward. The path was ancient. The stones that had once marked its edges barely rose above the grass, while the trees formed a canopy of branches that allowed only scattered rays of sunlight to filter through. The tracks were still there. Six people. Perhaps seven. All moving in the same direction. Saphryn made no attempt to catch up to them. He simply maintained his steady pace. As evening approached, he came upon a small stone shrine beside the road. It was little more than an altar sheltered by a wooden roof supported by four columns. At its center stood a simple statue of an angel with its hands clasped in prayer. The place had long been abandoned. Leaves covered the ground, and creeping vines had begun to climb the stone. Saphryn stopped before the statue. He stood in silence for several moments. Then he placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head slightly. He spoke no prayer aloud. He simply remained there, perfectly still. The wind drifted through the little shrine. After a few moments, he opened his eyes. In one corner rested a stone bowl filled with rainwater. He lifted it gently in both hands. With complete naturalness, he closed his eyes for a brief moment. There was no light. No grand supernatural display. Only a profound silence. When he opened them again, the water looked exactly the same. And yet it had changed. It now carried a quiet serenity that was difficult to put into words. Saphryn carefully set the bowl back upon the altar. It was a custom he had learned as a child. Whenever he came across an abandoned shrine, he purified it before continuing his journey. He never expected anyone to know. It simply felt like the right thing to do. He continued walking until the sun began to sink beyond the horizon. In the distance, he spotted smoke. Not from a fire. From a campfire. He approached with caution. In a small clearing, six mercenaries sat gathered around the flames. Their guild insignias were silver. Spears, bows, and swords rested nearby. One of them noticed him first. Instinctively, his hand moved to his weapon. "Who's there?" Saphryn stepped slowly out from between the trees. "Just a traveler." The mercenaries relaxed a little. One of them smiled. "Heading north as well?" "Yes." The man gestured toward an empty log beside the fire. "Join us, if you'd like." Saphryn accepted with a slight nod. He took a seat. The conversation resumed naturally. They spoke of contracts. Of cities. Of monsters they had fought years before. No one seemed interested in boasting. They were simply sharing stories. After a while, one of the mercenaries glanced at the sword hidden beneath Saphryn's coat. "Mind if I ask about your sword?" "Not at all." "The hilt looks expensive." Saphryn gave it a brief glance. "It has sentimental value." The man nodded. He did not press further. Another mercenary spoke up. "Are you with the guild?" "No." "Then why are you heading north?" Saphryn answered with his usual calm. "I'm looking for something." One of the others chuckled. "Aren't we all?" Several of them smiled. The conversation continued for a few more minutes. Then one of the mercenaries looked at Saphryn again. This time, his expression was different. More serious. "Forgive my curiosity..." Saphryn looked at him. "...has anyone ever told you that you look like a vampire?" The clearing fell silent. Several of the mercenaries discreetly lowered a hand toward the hilts of their weapons. Not out of hostility. Out of caution. Saphryn remained completely at ease. "Yes." The mercenary smiled awkwardly. "I suppose it's just your appearance." Saphryn turned his gaze toward the campfire. "Appearances usually reveal only part of the truth." His answer left several of them deep in thought. It hadn't sounded like a joke. Nor had it sounded like a confession. The conversation shifted to another subject soon afterward. Even so, none of them stopped stealing discreet glances at the strange traveler in the blue coat. And Saphryn knew it. It didn't bother him. He had grown accustomed to inspiring the same question wherever he went. --- The fire crackled softly as darkness settled over the forest. The mercenaries continued talking. Some sharpened their weapons; others checked the gear they would carry the next day. Saphryn remained seated in silence, watching the flames. He didn't seem tired. Nor distracted. He simply enjoyed the quiet spaces between conversations. One of the mercenaries, a broad-shouldered man named Dorian, finally broke the silence. "You don't talk much, do you?" Saphryn looked up. "Only when I have something to say." Dorian burst into laughter. "Fair enough." Another mercenary, a red-haired woman with a bow resting across her knees, smiled. "You're probably the calmest traveler I've ever met." Saphryn answered with a faint smile. "There are worse reputations to have." A quiet laugh spread around the camp. Little by little, the atmosphere relaxed. For nearly an hour they spoke of roads, villages, and contracts. For a brief time, the tension disappeared. Until... Saphryn lifted his head ever so slightly. His eyes turned toward the forest. He said nothing. He simply listened. The red-haired archer watched him. "Did you hear something?" Saphryn remained perfectly still. "Yes." Everyone fell silent. They heard nothing. Then... A scream tore through the stillness of the forest. It came from far away. Then another. And another. The six mercenaries were on their feet in an instant. Dorian drew his sword. "That came from the road." One of the younger mercenaries swallowed hard. "Bandits?" Saphryn slowly shook his head. "No." The young man frowned. "How do you know?" Saphryn kept his eyes fixed on the darkness. "The screaming stopped too quickly." Those words were enough to make the tension return. Dorian gave the order without hesitation. "Move!" All seven of them rushed through the trees. Saphryn ran at the rear. Not because he was slower. But because he was watching everything around them. A few minutes later, they reached the main road. A wagon had overturned. Two horses lay dead. Crates of merchandise had been smashed apart. Bodies were scattered across the ground. Five merchants. Three guards. None of them were alive. An oppressive silence settled over the scene. The mercenaries began searching the area. Saphryn walked slowly among the bodies. There were no signs of a prolonged fight. It had all ended within seconds. He knelt beside one of the guards. There were no deep wounds. Only two small puncture marks on the man's neck. One of the mercenaries noticed them as well. His face turned pale. "No..." Another hurried over. "What is it?" The man pointed at the corpse's neck. "Those marks..." No one finished the sentence. There was no need. They all knew what they meant. Then Saphryn sensed something. Not a sound. A scent. Blood. Fresh blood. He slowly turned his head toward the forest. Someone was there. Hidden among the trees. Watching them. He made no sudden movement. Instead, he spoke with perfect calm. "You don't need to hide anymore." The mercenaries looked at him in confusion. The forest remained still for several seconds. Then... A figure slowly emerged from between the trees. He wore a long black coat. His bearing was elegant. His skin was as pale as moonlight. A faint smile rested upon his face. His crimson eyes swept across the mercenaries. Then they settled on Saphryn. The smile vanished. A flash of surprise crossed his face for the briefest moment. As though he had seen something he had never expected to find in the middle of that forest. And the moment Saphryn looked at him, he understood the same thing. That man... Was a vampire.

The Old Shrine