PALEBLOOD

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. - Oscar Wilde

Rest, Gehrman found out long, long ago, did not come easily in the Hunter's Dream. In essence, it would be like falling asleep in a dream within a dream and as such it made sense that such a redundant act would prove futile. Not even the Doll found rest, always tapping her finger in impatience when rendered lifeless and left to rot and crack in the graveyard.

Sleep, if he managed it, would open his mind to the voice of the wretched moon and its whispers and Gehrman always woke up more tired than when he fell asleep, his only recompense a throbbing headache and a crick in his neck.

How many years passed since he had slept soundly? How many decades, how many centuries? No, if centuries had passed, surely these accursed beings would have already sucked the world dry and moved on.

Even so, if he woke from this dream, how old would he be? Would he turn into dust the second the glorious sun touched his skin? Would he even get to the feel the heat of day warm his old bones before they turned to ash?

The old hunter sighed, rolling his wheelchair over to the door to look at the menacing moon. "Don't you ever get tired of me, dearest?" he snickered. "You can't keep me here forever."

Of course, the moon had nothing to say.

Chuckling, he drifted away from the threshold. "All things must die. Even me. Maybe even you, someday."

The moon shivered in the dusky red sky, but Gehrman paid it no heed as a bell of welcoming chimed outside the workshop.

"Ah, a new hunter…" Gehrman glanced back at the moon, but what he saw chilled him to the core.

He saw nothing. An orange and navy sky devoid of any cloud, star… or moon.

It happened so suddenly that evening. As I stood out on one of the Grand Cathedral's higher balconies and watched Old Yharnam burn in the distance, the moon vanished from the sky. At first, I thought a cloud had merely veiled our glorious Yharnam moon, but minutes passed and the light did not return. Growls louder than usual rose from the city streets and I came to realize the true direness of the situation.

I ran for the lift, staggering under the sudden weight of my holy blade, brushing past blood saints and blood ministers who had all gathered to murmur quietly at the beloved moon's absence, speaking with covered mouths and hushed tones as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

The main hall did not contain the usual congregation. Executioners gathered, faces grim and weapons cleaned and sharpened in preparation for the coming raid on Cainhurst's Vilebloods. I blended in with these seasoned warriors, my own attire and trick weapon matching theirs, minus the helm.

"Father," I called out, approaching Master Logarius.

"Lael. You've noticed it, too, boy?" My father addressed, turning his attention away from his advisers.

"It's not just the moon, sir," a blood saint interjected, hands visibly shaking. "There is a weakness among us and a change in the air. Something changed. Something big. Something's coming."

"Oedon has abandoned us!"

"Our blood is weakened!"

"Great one, why have you forsaken us!?"

The crowd of clergy-folk stirred, the mutters rising to a dull roar until even the Executioners shifted in discomfort.

"Silence!" Amelia - my younger sister - commanded, creating a loud crack by slamming a borrowed cane on the banister. "I understand your unease, but the blood would never forsaken us. In that, you must have faith." The young blood saint's voice, while clear, shook slightly. She nodded, as if reassuring herself. "We need to send an emissary up to the Choir. Perhaps they will have some insight on the current crisis."

I looked at my comrades, the polished blades and helms heralding the war ahead. My own holy blade weighed heavily on my back, much heavily than ever before without the strength powered by the blood. The words of the blood saints rang true; weakness plagued us. Alternatives were few for my trick weapon: the Kirkhammer had been too heavy for me even before the moon vanished and a threaded cane required an amount of skill that I did not possess. I could wield a hunter's saw or axe, but such weapons were for use against beasts, not Vilebloods.

As much as I yearned to join the rest of the Executioner Order against the Vilebloods, without my full capabilities, I would only get in the way.

I took a step forward. "I will -"

Logarius stopped me, ponderous hand on my shoulder. He shook his head and muttered, "No, Lael."

I stepped back, somewhat confused but accepting of his denial.

As another volunteered and was sent off for the Upper Cathedral Ward, the crowd dispersed, leaving mostly Executioners. The tension, while not completely gone, had thinned with a collective exhale. Of course, while the panic had left, the lingering feeling of dread continued to hang over the church.

After things calmed down a little, my father pulled me aside, keeping his hand on my shoulder. "Son, Lael, I know you trained hard so you could join us. You've improved a lot these past few years. It's a shame this crisis hit us when it did, because I very much looked forward to seeing you on the battlefield. I'm proud of you, Lael, I need you to know that."

I stared at him, brow furrowed. What had brought this about?

Logarius continued. "And it is because I am so confident in your abilities that I need you to stay here and look after your mother and sister."

I sucked in a quick breath and held it. Stay. Sit idly by while people risked their lives for our safety. For the Church. For the Blood. Such seemed… dishonorable. The actions of a lesser man to cower with the women and children. Amelia could likely defend herself. She was nearly as well trained as I was, but mother, sweet crippled mother, still sat day in and day out in the Hunter's Workshop, crafting weapons for the citizens that wanted to protect their families from the beasts, wheeling herself around in a wheelchair that she would swear belonged to Gehrman, the First Hunter. Father said that mother's stories about the man were all true. They both knew him when they were children - wards of the church, orphans - and they liked to hear his tales of the hunt and to gape in awe at his arsenal of strange weapons.

So very long ago.

I exhaled, looking from Logarius's expectant gaze. "I understand, father. I'll guard them with my life."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Good boy. Be good while I'm gone," he said as if heading off to fight the Vilebloods without the strength of the moon wasn't a death sentence.

As if commanded by some invisible force, the Executioners left swiftly and in perfect order, flowing out as if the door was the drain and the warriors were the water. If the atmosphere hadn't settled before, now it was downright tranquil. An amount of normalcy returned, everything lapsing back into routine.

Tired of carrying the now over-heavy weapon on my back, I turned to a passing custodian. The awkward one in the red robes. "Here, you," I said, unlatching the buckle and handing him the blade. "Return this to the armory. And don't drop it!"

He scrambled to lift the sword properly. As expected, I imagined. The thing was longer than he was tall. "Y-Yes, Mister Executioner, sir, r-right away… ha ha ha…"

The custodian disappeared around a corner, but after a moment I heard a heavy thud and a pained hissing.

"I said not to drop it!"

"Aaaaah! Sorry! So very sorry!"

I sighed and intercepted Amelia on her way down from the dias. "Sister. Have you seen mother?"

Amelia had her hand to her forehead. A headache, I presumed. Likely a migraine due to her deteriorating eyes - the result of too many nights reading by candlelight. "You were off training, but mother collapsed this morning and we had her moved to her chambers…" she paused, looking around for in case anyone had lingered. "Lael, it's…" she swallowed hard. "Lael, if anyone says anything, if anyone asks, she's going blind and the bandages are to protect her eyes from further damage."

My breath hitched, heart skipping a beat. "The beast plague-?"

She nodded.

I groaned, feeling my shoulders fall. "It's gotten too far up… For a vicar to have-"

Amelia cut me off, holding a finger to her lips.

"... Does father know?"

The despairing look in my sibling's eyes told me that yes, father had gone into battle knowing that his wife was turning into a monster.

Hearts heavy, my sister and I ascended to the vicar's quarters. The candles flickered in the modest room, casting shadows through the windowless room of stone. Statues loomed over the withering figure on the bed, hands held up in prayer. Oh, great ones, let her ascend.

A church hunter knelt at mother's bedside, face cast down in respect as he spoke. "- dedication to our sacred cause is unmatched. We will miss you greatly in the Hunter's Workshop, Vicar Iuliana."

I let out a sound not unlike a snort. "You make it sound like she's dying, hunter. Knowing Mother, she'll drag herself into that wheelchair and make her way to the workshop come hell or high water, right, ma?"

Vicar Iuliana let out a weak chuckle. "My sweet children do know me the best," the ailing vicar laughed as she reached out her arms. "Come here, Lael. Did you bring your little sister with you, too?"

At this point the church hunter rose and stepped off to the side, giving me a polite bow as he left.

Amelia went forward into mother's arms while I stayed behind. "Yes, mother, I'm here, too." She put a hand to Iuliana's forehead. "How are you feeling? Do you need more medicine?"

The candlelight cast eerie shadows on Iuliana's elderly face, making the clean, neat bandages over her eyes impossible to ignore. "No, no, dear, I'm fine. Just because a lady loses her eyesight doesn't mean she's suddenly useless." There was a tone in her voice that said she really knew what was happening to her, but didn't want to say it. Saying it out loud would make it real. "Why are you standing so far away, Lael? Give your mother a hug."

A knock came at the door and a blood saint ducked into the room. "Lady Amelia, the Congregation of Saints is asking for your presence."

Amelia nodded. "I'm sorry, mother, I must take my leave."

Iuliana smiled. "It's fine, dear. The whole world can't be put on hold for me. Go on, my daughter."

My sister gave mother a kiss on the forehead and left, leaving mother and I alone in the dim light of her sick room.

"Lael."

Shocked by the sudden seriousness of her voice, I straightened. "Yes, mother?"

"Come here."

I kneeled at the vicar's bedside, clasping her hand between my own.

"Do you know why your father left you behind?" she asked.

I heard the wisdom in her query and answered the best I could. "To fulfill my duty as your son and protect the family, mother."

She nodded. "Yes, that is part of it. But, Lael," Iuliana took a deep breath and pulled out the Vicar's Amulet from beneath her nightclothes. "... Your father is very proud of you and all you've accomplished. That is why he decided that if he dies out there, you will be taking over as head of the Executioner Order, just as I will leave this amulet to Amelia to take over as Vicar. Do you understand what this means, Lael?"

I swallowed. "It's a great honor, but surely father will not-"

Iuliana held up a hand to stop me. "We must always plan for the worst. And, Lael," she brought her hand up to rest on my cheek, the dim candlelight dancing across her bittersweet smile. "My sweet, dearest son... Before the beast blood takes me, before I hurt anyone... I need you to kill me."

I dropped her hand, pushing away from the bed. My back hit the hard stone of a praying statue, cold and clammy. "No..."

"Lael..."

"No, mother, I cannot, I..."

With a weak, shaky hand, she pointed to an old Kirkhammer mounted on the wall, the shining blade unsheathed and exposed. "... Please..." The word came out like a gargle.

What would be the more merciful course of action, to give her as much time as possible, to slay her only when the blood festered and transformed her, or to end it now before she lost herself completely? I understood her desire, to end it before it progressed. We all had seen what the beast plague could do to a person, that horrific loss of self and sanity. On the other hand, she was my mother. She was Amelia's inspiration and a role model to every church hunter.

With a trembling hand, I pulled the blade from the wall mounting and approached my mother's bedside. Carefully, I reached down and pulled the bandages from her eyes, wincing at the yellowed sclera and dilated pupils. She'd gone gaunt, the softness of her face vanished from the blood. Her once platinum blond hair had become like straw, dull and oily.

Did her prayers mean nothing? Did her purity and kindness and charity mean nothing?

She pulled the Vicar's Amulet from around her neck. "Give this to your sister and tell her... That I have never been more proud of her..."

I remembered sitting by the fire with Iuliana and Logarius, the two of them telling their children stories of great hunters and arcane discoveries, but also of faraway kingdoms and princes and princesses, tales of love at first sight and lost children finding homes. Tales of Mother's adventures as a hunter before she had settled down and become a member of the church. Mother's smile and Father's laugh, always near each other when they occurred. The day Mother handed me my first blade, forged by her own hand in the workshop.

The one who had birthed me, shared her blood to create me, spent so much of her life raising me... Wanted to be ended by me.

If Vicar Iuliana was not deemed worthy to ascend, then who possibly could be judged so? What higher level of virtue and dedication was there?

I wielded her Kirkhammer's blade. I... A quick death. Yes, quickly.

I sank my blade into her heart, the metal burying into the mattress beneath her as her holy blood spilled.

"Thank you..." She said weakly, eyes sliding shut. "I'm sorry..."

My eyes burned and for a moment I thought I, too, had caught the beast plague. However, wet tears dripped from my chin onto my white executioner's garb, betraying the truth. I was weeping.

I flicked the blood off the blade and left, my limbs going stiff. We had kept the true nature of Iuliana's sickness a secret as not to cause panic, and as I passed by members of the church and imagined looking them in the eye to tell them that the beloved Vicar Iuliana had fallen to the beast blood and asked to be killed... I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to mourn my mother's reputation, to cry out and tell them all that they would never reach her level of enlightenment.

I walked down to my sister's chambers in a trance.

Amelia spoke without turning. She was fixing her hair for the meeting, most likely. "Ah, brother, what did mother have to say?"

I slipped the amulet around her neck and left the room before she could respond.

Mother was dead.

Father expected to die.

I couldn't protect Amelia. Her eyes were going, too, and I remembered the headaches that Mother used to get before they bandaged her eyes. Just like Amelia.

I didn't think. I just needed to get out. I pushed past clergy folk, not quite hearing their cordial greetings. My pace picked up and soon I was pushing people out of the way as I made a beeline for the door. The statues that flanked my path mocked me, the bulbous heads of the enlightened dreamers reminding me of a state that no one ever reached. We prayed and prayed and prayed and did everything the Choir told us to do. We partook in holy communion with the gods and what did it give us?

Plague. There was no ascension for the unworthy, only hunger for what they would never obtain and insanity from how aware they were of their ignorance. Envy and anger. Mother hadn't deserved this. Amelia didn't deserve it. No one deserved this wretched curse.

I dropped to my knees on the steps of the Grand Cathedral, head cradled between my hands as a splitting pain rushed in all of a sudden. For a horrible moment I thought I, too, would become a beast, but I straightened.

Wielding only the blade from my mother's Kirkhammer, my feet carried me forwards. My vision started to haze and my mind fogged. I killed beasts, releasing them from their misery, quieting their restless, primitive minds.

And then... someone held my hand.

I didn't remember much further past that. I blacked out, that much I realized. I came to consciousness slowly, my head throbbing with pain. Senses came back like molasses. First, I could feel that I was cold. Then, that I was on stone. The air was musty and still and nearly choked me.

I heard something move beside me and someone brought a canteen to my lips, using tiny, soft hands on my throat to help me swallow. Parched beyond belief, I drank it like it was the first taste of water I'd had in years.

After a moment, that water was replaced by a much sweeter sensation. A feeling like moonlight had entered my veins, like the stars had suddenly come down to earth and for a brief, amazing second, I was the cosmos.

I gulped in a huge breath of the stale air as my eyes snapped open, revealing ancient stone and dim, mystic lights.

"Welcome back."

I looked at the girl who had spoken, a blindfolded waif at the side of my... bed? I looked down at the strange stone altar. Tubes ran from the creases of my arms to hers, a strange machine between us that flowed silver, silver like moonlight.

"W-where am I?" I stuttered out, at a near loss for words.

The girl made no change of expression. "The ancient Pthumerian crypts upon which the city of Yharnam was built."

"H-how...?" I managed, trying to figure out how to work my tongue again. It felt strange and heavy in my mouth. "Why...?"

"I carried you after I came to the conclusion that nowhere else was safe for what needed to be done." She tilted her head. "Do you not remember what happened?"

"I..." I struggled, tugging at little strings of fragmented memories. I could remember... Stars. The sky. A tight embrace and dark void. What could have been an eternity. Everywhere... And nowhere... I... I... EYES...

The sight of the scholar at my side prompted a flash of... something. Recognition. A phantom emotion that I couldn't give a name to. My head throbbed with a splitting headache and I cried out in pain. "Who are you?"

She leaned forward, picking up a cloth-wrapped item from beside me. The girl set it in my hands and carefully, mindful of the tubes, I unwrapped the Kirkhammer blade from its coverings. I ran my fingers over a new carving upon the sword, a Caryll rune. I traced the shape... Formless Oedon.

The girl switched off the device and pulled the catheters from our arms.

She took a short breath and settled back into the chair. An expression similar to a smile worked its way into her face, but it was queer. "It was as if she knew how to perform the gesture but did not understand the intent behind it. "You called me Aydan."

I sat there, not knowing how to answer when she suddenly stood.

"Come. We have wasted enough time here."

I blinked, shifting my aching body off the stone slab. "Uh... How long have we been here?" Maybe I could go back and apologize to Amelia for running.

The answer was immediate. "Your body slumbered for twenty-seven years."

"Excuse me?" I blurted, baffled.

She didn't respond, and I was left to follow her, stumbling as I figured out how to walk again.

Eventually, I gave up on trying to decipher the situation. If anything, the entire ordeal felt like one of those stories about the old days when men would go out and drink alcohol and forget everything they did that night. Of course, that brought of the possibility of bedding some wench and waking up next to her, which, fortunately, did not happen -

Aydan's caped Byrgenwerth garb showed off her buttocks quite well from my view.

But no, no. Even inebriated, I doubted that I'd make love to someone who appeared to have the emotional capabilities of a dead fish.

I sighed, rubbing at my face to try to coax away the creeping blush. "Where are we going?"

She stopped at what appeared to be a lantern surrounded by strange, ugly creatures. "To the dream."

Aydan took my hand and touched the light and reality fell apart in front of me.