Galamon blinked open his eyes and turned his head. Sunlight fell upon him, and instinct spurred him to move quickly. His hands reached for where he kept his flasks of blood, but then cognition returned to him as unconsciousness released its hold. He remembered what had happened to put him on the ground here.

“Good morning,” Argrave, to Galamon’s left, greeted. He had a stack of papers pinned atop a simple wooden slab and had clearly been writing diligently not moments before. “How do you feel? Enjoying the sense of the sun, the beating of your heart?”

At Argrave’s words, Galamon put his hand to his chest. Indeed… the beat came and came again. Galamon’s breathing quickened—another autonomic function that was vital once more. Recalling last night’s events, Galamon touched at his stomach, but the wound was gone.

“How does it feel to be alive again?” Argrave pressed.

As Galamon processed things, he noticed more around him—Anneliese near Argrave, or Ganbaatar and Svetlana to his right. The Magister Vasilisa was far off, sitting on a rock and watching all of them. And… Galamon looked straight at the sun, then lowered his eyes so as not to blind himself. He had always felt some aversion to the light. Even if drinking blood suppressed the potent reaction vampires endured, it felt like cold steel against his skin.

Yet now… in this cold, northern land, the sun was only warm. What did Galamon feel, now?

“I’m…” Galamon paused. “I want… to eat,” he said it only as he recognized what this was.

Argrave laughed, perhaps not expecting that response. “Well, I think we can certainly arrange that! I think we can all enjoy a gargantuan breakfast before we head back to Quadreign. Everyone’s fine with that, right?” As people answered in the affirmative, Argrave rose to his feet. “Then, let’s. Tell me… what do you want as your first meal after your long fast? Probably not a rare steak,” he quipped as he offered his hand to help Galamon up.

Galamon stared at Argrave’s hand, still somewhat in shock.

“Did you think you weren’t going to wake up?” Argrave asked. “You must’ve forgotten what I told you. No rest for the wicked, Galamon.”

#####

Galamon took a long while to choose what his first meal would be, and in the end Argrave chose for him: rye bread, eggs, and some soup. Food was scarce this far north, so Argrave could not treat him to anything better without heading deep into the city. That said… the snow elf had an appetite. He probably ate three pounds of eggs alone.

Even despite the massive and sudden change in Galamon’s life, the former vampire remained incredibly stoic. He wasn’t shy about expressing his gratitude, certainly—his earnest appreciation was somewhat overwhelming, even—but in eating food once again, breathing as a necessity rather than a habit, and generally being alive… well, not even a tear was shed. He did things slowly and deliberately as though it was unfamiliar, but he did them without raising a fuss whatsoever.

Ganbaatar, who had been skeptical of the change, gradually accepted that the vampirism had truly been cast out. He still insisted on following to be sure that remained the case, even if only briefly. Still, the vampire hunter could not deny the facts: whether it was the desire for blood, the general rejection of sunlight, or the beast within that urged to hunt and consume… these traits were gone in Galamon. Other aspects of the curse remained, all generally in line with Argrave’s expectations.

Through some testing and observation, Argrave confirmed two things. One: Galamon retained his prowess, be it his senses or his strength. Two: Galamon retained his regeneration. Argrave had expected another mechanistic principle to take its place—perhaps Galamon would need to eat food to regenerate, or perhaps his body would self-cannibalize other parts of the body to heal itself.

None were true. Galamon regenerated his body seemingly without a cost.

It was a mind-boggling discovery that truly confounded Argrave. But then, he reasoned, maybe it wasn’t that there was no source… only that Argrave couldn’t perceive the source. Perhaps whatever brought on the vampirism was being drawn on without necessarily paying the tithe of blood vampires paid. If so… Argrave was amply pleased to be scamming whatever force had brought vampirism to the world. The thought he might be conning something that had created vampires conversely worried him greatly, granted.

After their meal, they prepared to travel. Once Argrave was satisfied that Galamon was whole and hearty, he was content to leave him be and delve into a task that demanded his attention—namely, writing down his inspiration for his own A-rank ascension. They would depart on foot shortly, leaving Magisters Hegazar and Vera to handle things with the Drawnwaters and the aftermath of Ivan’s death.

Vasilisa had obviously complex feelings about the whole situation. Though Argrave had not confirmed it with a question, he thought she felt as though he’d misled her about the reason for speaking to her niece and Ganbaatar. She was right… but then, things worked out as she wanted them to. Galamon was no longer afflicted with vampirism. Argrave hoped on making sure that everything was mended between them on the journey back to Quadreign. After all, he hoped for her advice on his theory of A-rank ascension.

Still, Argrave felt one more thing needed tending to.

#####

The room their party of three had stayed at in the inn was empty, now. Galamon had removed his armor for the ritual, yet now it was back on. He was ready to set on the road again like nothing had really happened. Instead of hauling blood, he hauled normal things—rations for the road, water to drink. He sat on one of the beds and stared at his hands, his gauntlets unworn just beside him.

The Veidimen turned his head moments before someone entered the room. Anneliese looked around, then settled her eyes upon Galamon.

“Having trouble accepting things?” she questioned, stepping up to where he sat.

Galamon grabbed his gauntlets, saying nothing in response to her question. He slowly slipped the first on, tightening and clasping the straps.

Anneliese stepped around the bed until she stood just in front of him. “You think that, because you retain the benefits of vampirism, people might not think you free of the curse. And by people… I mean the people of Veiden.”

At her words, Galamon stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “…I know there’s no point denying it. Not to you.”

“It was merely a guess of mine. You seemed to doubt all that Argrave was saying,” Anneliese noted. “That consistent skepticism led me to that conclusion.”

His white eyes fixed on her face. “Should my cure come so easy? Should it be so beneficial?”

“Easy?” Anneliese raised her brow, then went to sit on another bed a fair bit away. “Do you think any but Argrave could have made this happen? I certainly cannot imagine so. I think you forget what a tremendous boon his knowledge is.”

Galamon lowered his head and picked up his other gauntlet, putting it over the other hand.

“You will learn what you truly want to know in time, I think,” Anneliese continued. “We have to return to Veiden soon enough… and our tribesmen can confirm your cure.” Anneliese’s amber eyes were unshaking as she continued, “And when the boundary between realms weakens, Veid Herself can judge if you are truly a sinner even still.”

Galamon closed his eyes, looking distraught.

“So, fret not. You will have an objective measure soon enough,” she consoled.

Galamon stewed in silence. Content to leave him with that, Anneliese rose to her feet and walked for the door.

“Wait,” Galamon turned his head.

“Yes?” Anneliese looked back, stopping at the door’s threshold.

Galamon stared at her, narrowed his eyes, then started to laugh out his guttural, haunting chuckle.

Anneliese stepped back within the room and inquired, “What amuses you so?”

“He’s come to trust and rely on you far more than me,” the elven knight-commander reflected. “It’s funny, that’s all. Now that I see it, I’m a little relieved. To think I was admonishing you not to question him all those months ago, when you first joined…”

“I… do not follow,” she tilted her head.

“Argrave told you to come talk to me, didn’t he?” Galamon raised a brow. “Well… hah.”

Anneliese crossed her arms defensively. “He… did, yes. And I agreed with him on this,” she added in defense of Argrave. “I do not think you realize just how much he admires you. He respects you so much that he thinks himself incapable of giving you worthwhile advice.”

Galamon’s mirth died. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Anneliese held her arms out in a shrug. “Argrave respects you more than anyone. He wishes he was more like you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Galamon disagreed with a strong frown.

Anneliese laughed this time. “I thought you knew better than to deny it.”

Galamon opened his mouth, then closed it without a response. With a smile, Anneliese turned and walked out of the room. Galamon looked back at his now-gauntleted hands, staring at the dark gray steel. Then, he rose to his feet, retrieving his weaponry. He hung them where they belonged one after another. Then, with a deep and rich breath, he walked towards the door with steady steps.

#####

“Think of it,” Argrave spoke to Vasilisa as they walked the mountain path, his breathing slightly thin. “I do agree it was wrong, but at the end of the day, it led to reclaiming your house’s flame and curing your sister. I was a bit deceptive, and the more I come to know you the more it makes me guilty,” Argrave admitted, pausing as he stepped up a particularly tall incline. “But… that’s no more. I can disclose anything you want to know, without any holds barred,” he said, holding his arms wide as though to proclaim his innocence.

Vasilisa came to stand beside him, her breathing a little bit heavier than his. “I want to know…” she paused, retrieving a canteen to take a drink. “I want to know what you want from me now.”

“Beyond the whole ‘northern spellcaster army’ thing?” Argrave pursed his lips, slowly regaining his breath. “I just want your thoughts on a theory of A-rank ascension.”

“I thought you were A-rank,” Vasilisa raised a brow as she looked up at his face.

“No. I just have a lot of magic,” Argrave shrugged.

Vasilisa fixed her blonde hair as Anneliese caught up to them. “Alright. Talk.”

“I have an undying soul,” Argrave said at once.

“What?” Vasilisa said scornfully at once. “Nonsense. That’s impossibly rare. How would you even know?”

“Vasquer. The snake, that is,” Argrave clapped his hands together. “Anyway… I saw Galamon’s vampiric beast, and it struck me with inspiration. That, Hegazar’s illusory projection, and this,” Argrave raised his arm up, pointing to his silver bracer. “What if I can use my undying soul as an anchor for magical constructs spawned of blood magic? Barring the multitude of uses I might get from such constructs… what if I can use the dormant magic in my black blood to replicate spells I cast?”

“Vasquer? Dormant magic in your black blood…?” Vasilisa started, utterly confused.

Argrave clenched his hands together tightly, then pointed ahead. “Come, it’s a long road. Let’s walk and talk…”