A faint rain battered the high windows of the Victorian house, whose vast and neglected garden was adorned by thick brush tangled upon its walls. The branches clung to the stone, seeking an entrance. Although the construction was not that ancient, it preserved a style from another time—a museum piece in the middle of the city. Shadows lengthened over the walls even when the sun was high.
Janab remained in the garden for a long while, observing the gates that finally granted her a certain measure of freedom. The metal of the portals was cold to the touch, stained with rust in shapes that resembled symbols. The city awakened slowly, and everyday noises took on a different meaning; the murmur of distant voices, the rumble of engines—everything seemed to vibrate with a new sense beneath her feet. The ground appeared to pulse slightly, as if something were breathing under the asphalt. She covered her eyes with dark lenses; the natural light, diffuse yet insistent, felt aggressive to her. Colors appeared saturated, painful.
Freedom had many ways of being experienced, and Janab now understood it better than ever.
Following Isaiah's vague instructions, she ventured into a forest where light barely penetrated the trees, and the scent of damp earth and grass filled her senses. The air was colder there, stagnant, without circulation. She advanced with caution toward a tiny peninsula over a shallow thread of water; the cobblestone path seemed designed to be crossed in a few steps, yet every creak beneath her feet made her shudder. The water did not flow; it remained black and motionless. Isaiah's words resonated in her mind:
"If you are capable of returning..."
The threat repeated on a loop, synchronized with her steps. She descended through the undergrowth, treading on dark, soft earth, until she stopped before a clearing. Small altars and crosses of varying sizes rose amidst the vegetation, climbing the slopes until they were lost in the distance. They were offerings of faith, promises engraved in wood and stone. Some crosses were tilted, as if something had pushed them from below. It relieved her to find fresh flowers among the withered ones, a sign that someone else visited that place. But the fresh flowers had no stems; they were driven directly into the earth.
A consistent presence made her body tremble. The hair on her arms stood up before she heard anything. She perceived the crunch of dry leaves beneath slow and deliberate steps.
The branches parted on their own as he passed.
It was a masculine figure who moved as if he had always been there, bowing before an altar with pious reverence. His shadow did not match his posture. He wore a robe that covered him from head to toe, and in his rough, skeletal hands, he held a bouquet of flowers.
The humidity of the environment numbed her again. The cold cut through her bones for no apparent reason. She did not know whom she sought; she was only aware that Isaiah had given her insufficient clues. The word "demon" resonated in her mind, constant and clear. Her own thought sounded absurd.
—You have found me, just as he told you, —he said with a deep and resonant voice, making the leaves of the trees tremble.
The sound did not come from his mouth, but from the air around him. The leaves vibrated in synchrony with the words. Janab looked up, nervous. Her legs felt heavy, as if they were sunk in cement.
—Good afternoon... excuse me... I am looking for a person named... Dan Debellis.
Her voice came out small, fragile against the immensity of the forest. The man arched his head slightly, and his voice now emerged from the ground:
—You must tell the vampire this, —the man repeated—. Because you have placed a messenger before me, I shall give you the name of Zheir.
The robe slipped slightly, revealing a sharp nose and wrinkled lips that sketched a smile that could be sympathy or mockery.
—Va... vampire? —Janab stammered, unable to hide her confusion.
Her thoughts closed around that word, rendering her unable to notice the man's turn and how he vanished with the wind, his feet not touching the ground as he moved.
—Wait, please, sir... —she murmured.
—Vampire, go, show yourself in Zheir, for you have dared to show yourself before me, —he replied, his frivolous voice resonating like an echo.
The words multiplied, repeating from different directions of the forest. Suddenly, a cold wind rose, dragging dry leaves that clouded Janab's vision. The air smelled of sulfur and charred flesh. When she opened her eyes, the figure had vanished, leaving her alone among the altars.
The crosses seemed to have moved. Some now pointed toward her.
The cryptic words floated in her mind, incomplete, like warnings from the forest. No matter how much she walked among the crosses and altars, she did not see anyone again. Only the constant whisper of the wind, an echo reminding her that every answer brought with it new questions. The whispers of the forest formed words she could not manage to comprehend, but which chilled her blood.
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