Iglika: I returned to that little border village, and I rebuilt that woodcutter's camp.
Iglika: I even lived in that old gatehouse—this time, though, it wouldn't be a makeshift hospital.
Iglika: We had new medics, far better than me at healing.
Iglika: And I ... my duty was to hold the border, to keep out the enemy.
Iglika: My heels were caked with soil, from east to west.
The evening sun slants through the doorway. Iglika's guard, leaning on the frame, dozes off.
Inside, Iglika is embroidering a cloth already crowded with patterns.
Then, a noise shatters the quiet.
Iglika: What now?
The guard jolts awake, straightens his back, and steps aside.
Shadows stretch long in the sunset as a group marches up, hauling a bound young man to her door.
Angry Soldier: Captain!
The little gatehouse can't hold them all. Two soldiers drag the prisoner inside.
The rest crowd the doorway, peering in.
Iglika: What's the issue? Did he stick his thumb in your breakfast?
Iglika sets down her needles, eyeing the prisoner.
He's caked in mud, blood drips from his brow and lips, already beaten half to death. Her face hardens.
Iglika: You overdid it.
Angry Soldier: He's a vampire!
At the word "vampire," the crowd presses closer, eyes widening.
Iglika: Is he?
Angry Soldier: We caught him drinking cow's blood in the barn!
She shifts her eyes down to the kneeling youth.
Iglika: Raise your head.
Bound Youth: I am.
Iglika: Hm?
The blunt admission leads her to crouch down, trying to meet his eyes.
Iglika: You ...
The young man hides his face, so Iglika turns to his uniform, searching for that special embroidered mark.
It's the mark Iglika stitched for every guerrilla, a symbol of their home and their purpose.
Iglika: A grassland ... up north?
She racks her memory.
Iglika: There ...
She flips through the campaign log, page after page, until she finds a note of their brief encounter.
Iglika: You're the one we found. Joined us as soon as you woke up, right?
Bound Youth: Yes, ma'am.
Iglika sets the log back on the table.
Iglika: What's your name?
Bound Youth: Pyrrhos.
Iglika: Do you know what we do with vampires?
He nods.
Iglika: Yet, you confess.
The man says nothing more.
The doorway is jammed with gawkers. The story twists as it spreads, drawing more onlookers.
Iglika: Back to your duties. I'll handle this.
She rises, scolding the fighters pressing their heads inside.
Iglika: Out! Go! Or I'll stitch you all together.
Angry Soldier: But, Captain, he ...
Whether out of concern or hunger to see the vampire's end, the soldier lingers.
After a pause, he too is driven off.
Alone at last, Iglika unties the ropes.
Iglika: Let's talk.
Pyrrhos: ...
He lifts his head. Dried cow's blood still staining his teeth.
Iglika: Sit.
He eyes the stool she points to, but though he rises to his feet, he doesn't move.
Iglika: Why bother joining us?
Pyrrhos: ... I didn't have any special reason.
Pyrrhos: Even without the war, I don't have any home to return to, none that would take me. Moving with the guerrillas, hiding a while longer is the best I can do.
He rubs the scab at his lip, fingers reeking of dirt and straw.
Iglika: Have you killed anyone?
Pyrrhos shakes his head.
Iglika: How do you handle your need for blood?
Pyrrhos: Cows, sheep—it's enough to get by.
Pyrrhos: Sometimes ... I'll drink from dying enemies ... the kind beyond saving with or without blood.
Pyrrhos: But the dying have a rotten taste; hardly better than cattle.
Iglika: And what do you plan to do now?
At the question, Pyrrhos freezes.
Pyrrhos: Me? Do I have a choice?
Iglika: If I don't kill you, what will you do?
Pyrrhos: Run. I would keep running until I find some new hole to hide in.
Iglika: No thought of living peacefully alongside us?
Pyrrhos: Hah ...
He can't help but laugh.
Pyrrhos: Just because I've fallen so low, don't think that my kind are soft.
Pyrrhos: We are predators, and you are our prey. How could there ever be peace between us?
Iglika: So, you're saying it's impossible?
She holds an expression at once firm and sincere. Pyrrhos looks at her and remembers the sting of the sun that day.
Pyrrhos: If I said I had killed people, would you still think this way?
Iglika frowns.
Iglika: If you've broken the law, then the law should judge you.
Iglika: But I won't condemn you just for what you are.
Pyrrhos: There aren't many that think like you.
He folds one arm over the other as if the ropes were still there.
But the vampire's body bears no marks from the ropes nor even the wounds he bore when he first entered.
Pyrrhos: You're naive. Would you expect your people to sleep soundly next to a live bomb?
Iglika: Are you a bomb?
Pyrrhos steps back.
Pyrrhos: I am not.
Pyrrhos: But ...
Iglika: But what? You joined us, didn't you? I don't abandon my people.
Pyrrhos hangs his head.
Pyrrhos: Do you enjoy playing the saint? Or do you fancy having a vampire for a pet?
Iglika rubs circles in her palm with her fingertip. There's no trace of fabric there now, but she still remembers it.
Iglika: I don't like to see soldiers turn on each other.
She remembers the execution yard and digs her nails into her palm.
Iglika: Pointing their guns at those who bled alongside them, it's stupid ... wasteful.
Iglika: What's the difference here?
Against his own judgement, Pyrrhos can't help but drop his sneer.
Pyrrhos: So you don't intend to kill me?
Iglika: Human, arcanist, Awakened, vampire ... why can't we all stand together?
Pyrrhos: You're living in a cloud cuckoo land.
Iglika: Maybe, but if I don't believe in it, what right do I have to lead you?
Pyrrhos studies the girl, three decades younger than him. He sees childishness—but a beautiful kind of childishness.
Pyrrhos: So how do you intend to solve our problem here?
Iglika: Until you commit an actual crime, I won't punish you.
Iglika: You'll be reassigned as my aide. Call it trust, or call it surveillance. But don't mistake it for privilege—your life will be harsher than before.
Iglika: I'll give you a fair chance. But you must convince the others. That won't be easy.
Iglika: Are you willing?
With a shrug, Pyrrhos slips his fingers into his mouth.
Pyrrhos: Ugh ...
Blood trickles from his lips. He yanks out his fangs and hands them to her.
Pyrrhos: This whole event seems too strange not to give it a try.
Pyrrhos: They'll grow back soon enough, but consider this a symbol.
She takes the bloodied fangs and holds them up.
Iglika: See? We bleed the same color. One day, we'll stand together.
The words remind Pyrrhos of a distant song, though its meaning couldn't be more different.
He stares at the stained fangs in her hands, feeling now like they have become a mark of shame rather than innocence.
He nods, unsure whether in hearing or in agreement.
Iglika: There were some disagreements in the company about my handling of Pyrrhos.
Iglika: But I had earned their trust, and in time, so did he.
Iglika: Over the years, their suspicion turned to deep and lasting friendship.
Iglika: Even when he was reassigned, no one revealed his secret.
Iglika: It seemed I was only one step from our dream.
Iglika: At least, that's what I believed.
