Chapter Text
FOURTH CENTURY: SYLUS
Sylus’ parents used to tell him the story of how they’d found him as an infant in a basket at their doorstep. They had prayed and prayed to the goddess Ieyar for a child, after having struggled to conceive for years.
Sylus, only five years old, sat with his mother at a table under the shade of a large tree near her herb garden. The sun was going to set soon, and the last of its golden rays filtered through the trees, one beam highlighting the hidden tones in her gentle eyes. They each held a cup of honeyed milk as they waited for his father to return. Today he was out fishing, but every so often he hunted in the forest.
“You were asleep,” said Mother, “swaddled so snugly, all we could really see of you was that head of soft white hair. It was just a bit lighter than it is now. And those chubby little cheeks.” She pinched his cheek and wiggled it a bit, eliciting a giggle from him.
He caught the scent of basil on her fingers.
“That was during the rainy season, and it was cold,” she continued, “so we brought you inside right away.”
“Did my eyes scare you?” Sylus asked.
Mother leaned back in her chair, hand on her chin, and looked wistfully at the horizon. One could see the ocean from where they sat, and the forest in the opposite direction. They lived in a small fishing village, off the coast of a slightly larger island. Their home was situated on a small cliff, overlooking the beach, alongside a few other houses.
She pondered for a moment, then smiled. “We were certainly surprised. They were big as saucers and red as rubies. But we weren’t afraid, because we knew we’d been blessed by the Goddess.”
Stories about people with such features had been passed down for generations. Everyone in the village knew one another. Among them were a handful of people with odd hair and eye colours. None that they knew of had brought harm to others. In folklore, some were even revered.
When Sylus would grow up, he wouldn’t be able to help but wonder what kind of being would “bless” his parents with a creature such as himself.
“You were just too cute,” Mother said, looking down at him now. “Still are. We wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
His parents would never admit to the slight unease they had felt at the sight of his eyes. He would only learn this from his uncle, the honest man, years later. If he turned out to be something they needed to worry about, Uncle had told him, well… they’d cross that bridge when they got there.
They didn’t have a clue what they would be in for.
His parents gave Sylus his name, and ensured he had the best life they were able to provide, teaching him as much as they could. The three of them lived quietly along that coast, where he grew up as any other child would.
The island was bathed in humid air and hot sunlight nearly year-round, and they’d quickly discovered that Sylus’ skin and eyes were quite sensitive to the sun. The village folk were quite fond of him. Protective, even. As a child, the neighbours would chastise him for going out without a hat and long sleeves, and then run inside to grab something for him. No one noticed anything unusual for a long time.
***
First came the bloodlust. By the time he was seventeen, Father trusted Sylus to go hunting or fishing without his help once in a while. He preferred to go alone on those days, but occasionally went with some of his friends. Between Sylus and his father, while one hunted and cleaned the meat, and the other ran their trading post at the market, while Mother tended the crops back home. Sylus was slowly taking over the hunts so that Father could do the less physically demanding job — his parents had been in their late thirties when they’d found him, and he wanted to ease their burden as they aged.
Over the past several weeks, he’d been growing steadily more aware of the scent of the beasts’ blood as he hunted, to the point where it was becoming distracting.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Father said one morning, giving him a hearty smack on the back before sending him on his way.
Sylus had been a good, even-tempered kid, giving his parents little to worry about over the years. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.
Quite the contrary, however — more and more each night, he’d been dreaming of exactly that. His appetite was dwindling, and he was forcing himself to choke down food at home to maintain his weight. As much as he tried to hide it, he knew his parents had noticed early on. They would watch him eat a few bites, then pause for a long while, plate nearly forgotten. Mother would then quietly remind him to keep eating.
He heard his parents whispering from their room one night.
“Dorian. Maybe we should take him to see the healer,” said Mother.
“But it doesn’t make sense,” said Father. “I know he’s hungry. His stomach growls all the time when we’re out hunting. I always tell him to at least wait till it’s cooked first.” He chuckled once. “Then once dinner’s ready, he barely touches it. Odd he even has the energy to hunt anymore.”
Had Sylus been able to hear his parents’ quiet conversations before? He wasn’t sure.
Today, he would enact a plan that had been brewing for some time. He completed the solitary hunt as quickly as he could, wanting to ensure he’d get home at the time he normally did so that his parents wouldn’t worry.
The animal had barely hit the ground before he sprinted over and dipped a finger into its warm blood, mouth already watering, and licked it. Then the dam broke. He scooped up handful after handful, drinking like a parched man who’d finally found fresh water, unable to stop himself, and gasping between gulps. Finally he was filling his stomach with something that satisfied him. Before long, he gave up on using his hands and latched himself to the animal’s wound, drawing deep, with little regard for the fur.
When he was full — or rather, when he found the resolve to stop before he made himself sick — he sat back on his heels, panting. He noticed the lack of the forest’s usual sounds around him. Dead quiet. The animals had fled from a predator. It was at that moment that his eyes widened at his prey, and he scrambled away as the reality of what he’d done dawned on him. The blood covering his shirt caught his eye. What a mess he’d made. How would he hide this? Hunts usually got his clothes bloody, but this was a bit… conspicuous, to say the least. Had he known he would lose control like that, he would have prepared better.
Removing his shirt, he used it to wipe the blood from his face, hands and body. He was certain some of it remained, but there wouldn’t be enough time to go off course and find a stream to wash himself in. Hopefully he could play it off if his parents noticed. He buried the incriminating shirt, cleaned the carcass, and prepared to head home. The sun was still fairly high in the sky — it was going to be an uncomfortable trek back.
As he walked, Sylus noticed that he felt warm and sated for the first time in weeks, if not months. Energized. He wasn’t sure just how he’d been getting by, before. Even as blood sloshed around in his belly, he was already looking forward to his next opportunity to feed again, and figuring out how to streamline the process.
As the weeks went on, he learned to take his shirt off beforehand, and to bring a washcloth and a skein of water. He managed, somehow, to resist feeding while out on hunts with others. He still choked down meals at home. Forest hunt days were rare as it was, however, and Sylus going alone was even rarer — he couldn’t just stop going with his friends out of the blue, or he worried he’d raise suspicion. He barely consumed enough food to maintain his weight at home, and his parents’ concern only grew. Several visits to the village healer had proven fruitless, and he felt guilty for deceiving everyone. But what was he supposed to do?
Eventually, against Sylus’ protests, Father declared he wasn't going to allow him to go hunting alone anymore.
“Father please, I’ve been doing just fine!” What would he do if he couldn’t feed anymore?
“If something happened to you and I wasn’t there to help, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Or face your mother.” Father spoke with an intensity that made it clear there was no room for argument.
***
That was when Sylus started sneaking out at night. He wished he’d thought of it sooner. The night covered him, and for some reason he could see just fine in the dark. The lack of sun allowed him to go without a shirt entirely and avoid soiling his clothing. He was finally beginning to feel like a person again. He went out with increasing frequency, and as the process became muscle memory, he eventually grew careless. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to hide this forever.
Sylus gave up on bringing water to clean up while he was out. Since his parents were never up when he got home, he decided to save his time and energy, and simply forego that step. He had always kept a basin of water in his room to freshen up in the mornings, so he’d simply been using that upon his return. He always made sure to only drink from small prey and to hide it, lest someone stumble across a large, bloodless animal in the forest.
One night, he was sneaking back into his home, headed straight for his room as he normally did, having checked that all the windows were dark and no voices could be heard. He was still covered in blood, now dried, from his trip. He carefully turned and shut the door behind him.
”How long, Sylus?”
Icy panic pierced through him when Father’s deep voice rang out in the dark living room.
Sylus froze midstep, ceasing to even breathe. Although he could see in the dark, he hadn’t bothered to look up when he’d entered, expecting his parents to be in bed.
Father leaned over to light an oil lamp on the table to his right. Mother sat to his left, leaning toward him. They winced as their eyes trailed the crusted blood on Sylus’ skin. There was truly no escape now. He’d been caught.
“How long, son?” Father’s voice wavered, closer to a whisper now.
Sylus saw the shine of tears in Mother’s eyes. It wasn’t long before his own caused the room to blur. Shame flooded him. His mouth opened and closed. The silence was deafening. Internally he kicked himself for getting caught like this.
Sylus was quiet for a few beats, trying to find his words. Then, weakly, “I was starving. It was the only…” He trailed off as thought escaped him.
Mother sobbed quietly, bringing up a hand to cover her mouth.
“Okay,” came Father’s voice. It was…surprisingly gentle.
When Sylus found the courage to look up again. Father’s expression had softened, now only showing concern, and a hint of grief. Mother stood, and began to approach him. He took a stilted step back toward the door.
“It’s okay,” she said. She slowly held out her hand. “Come here, my love.” Her tears ran freely now.
Sylus moved toward her, hesitantly. When he was near, he stumbled and fell to his knees. He held the bottom of her long gown in his shaking fist and began to sob. She knelt to hold him as tightly as she could. Sylus closed his eyes. He heard Father’s heavy footsteps approaching, and then he was on the floor with them, holding them both. His shame mingled with a sense of overwhelming relief.
“We love you. No matter what,” Father whispered, kissing the top of his head. The three of them sat there until they’d lost track of time.
When the sun began to rise, Father sat back and took a deep breath.
Sylus finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye again. What he saw there was not the anger he’d expected.
“We were beyond worried,” said Father. “We thought you were sick. Thought we might lose you-” His voice cracked on the last word.
Mother sniffled. Her brows furrowed and tears threatened to spill once more as she said, “You must have been so scared. So alone.”
“... Yeah.” Sylus looked down and fidgeted with his hands. He felt bewildered by their response. Why weren’t they furious with him? Repulsed? Afraid, even?
“I’m just glad we have a way to feed you,” Mother half-laughed, half-sobbed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Sylus sniffled. “I didn’t know how.”
Father chimed in, “I was wondering how you were gaining weight and getting stronger, while barely eating.” A brows quirked up, and he nodded his head slightly, as if taking in the situation. “My demon son.”
“...Demon?” Sylus whispered.
Mother still held him, stroking his hair. “We’ve suspected it for a little while now. You’re still very young, so it’s hard to say exactly what type you are just yet.”
“Why are you okay with this?” The villagers, though welcoming and warm, certainly didn’t speak kindly of such creatures. Thinking back, he realized he’d never heard his parents voice the opinions often touted by others.
Mother answered, “When Ieyar, the Mother Goddess, blesses someone with a child, there’s a small chance that the child is eias. That’s ‘immortal,’ in the Old Language. She only chooses parents who she knows will accept them and raise them well. We knew, when we received you, to keep an open mind. And she knew that we would love you with all our hearts.”
Sylus would eventually learn that there was no truth to one of those little details. Perhaps his parents had placed their own human reasoning upon an unpredictable deity. An immortal could appear before any type of parent, even the most callous, most unloving among them. Sometimes, the loving family with which they were placed met their demise early on. Being at the mercy of one’s parents and circumstances was something that children both immortal and human had in common. Sylus had simply gotten lucky.
“We don’t know much more than that,” added Father. “So we’ll figure out the rest together. How your body works is beyond your control, Sylus. There is no shame in your nature. Just remember that how you treat others is up to you.” He lowered his voice. “That being said, we would like you to refrain from drinking the blood of humans.”
Sylus recoiled slightly, shaking his head quickly. “I would never do such a thing,” he said, sitting up.
Father stood and held out a hand to him. “I didn’t think so. But I had to make sure I said it. The tub is already filled. I’ll boil some water for you. You get yourself cleaned up and then get some sleep, young man.” He helped Mother up afterward, and she smoothed down her gown.
“Immortal…” Sylus repeated, absently. He wasn’t sure how he’d wrap his mind around that.
He wasn’t clueless. His friends had joked around with him, reciting stories about godlike beings with strangely-coloured eyes who walked among humans, blending in. He’d joined in, not too worried about it — after all, in all other ways, he was just like them. One of them even had intense, violet coloured eyes of his own.
But when his appetite had suddenly changed, he could scarcely enjoy these conversations anymore. The jokes were no longer funny. A shadow of anxiety hid in the corner of his mind at all times. Watching him. But he’d refused to let the thought materialize fully: What if they were right?
They’d certainly get a kick out of this. But he knew better than to share this secret.
Father chuckled, reaching up to his shoulder — already, Sylus towered over both his parents — as his jovial nature returned. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”
After that night came a period of experimentation. For dinner, Mother had made stew for herself and Father. For Sylus, she’d cooked a cut of meat, rare. To his surprise, he’d found it easier to force down than most other food, even though it lacked blood.
His parents seemed to be simply relieved that he would no longer waste away while they helplessly looked on. Mother practiced spicing the blood they would bring back from hunts with her herbs. She’d serve it to Sylus in a soup bowl, refusing to give up on family dinners together. When they had guests, they’d have steak. His parents tried to feed him constantly, as if making up for all the meals he couldn’t have for months.
Though slightly uncomfortable at first, Father would get used to the sight of his son drinking blood, even encouraging him to save some for later. They learned to store a small amount of blood in the cellar for him, which he would drink before hunts so that he could go without growing hungry or distracted, which was crucial when he was with a group.
He discovered that he could still drink wine, and mead, and that he enjoyed them even more when mixed with blood. Although they’d finally figured out his diet, Sylus still needed to keep up appearances for the village people, and thus practiced choking down regular food other than meat. He only did so for guests, for they began to think it strange his family always had the same thing for dinner. Although the taste and texture only worsened for him over time, eventually he was able to eat without even making a face. Whether he managed to keep it down after the fact was another question — food sat unpleasantly heavy in his stomach.
They got into a routine, and lived this way for a few years. With no new changes appearing, they began to think he was a blood demon — a species that humans called vampire.
However, when he was twenty-one, Sylus developed another appetite.
***
He had survived the initial onslaught of pubescent hormones, and enjoyed a period of reprieve. But eventually, his high sex drive returned, and he was insatiable. No amount of pleasuring himself could make it go away.
His parents, who had caught him once or twice, quietly begged behind closed doors for this phase to end. They wondered whether it was a side-effect of his being a demon — it was, after all, unprecedented. Sylus, embarrassed, wished his hearing wasn’t so acute. Though his parents said nothing to him at first, they couldn’t stay quiet for long once he started sneaking out at night again.
One day he heard Mother’s muffled voice through the walls. “You don’t think he’s feeding from…?”
“No!” Father denied, vehement and slightly too loud. He lowered his voice. “He’s such a kind boy. He would never hurt a person.”
They were mortified, yet somewhat relieved to learn he’d merely been sneaking around with various young women in the village. It certainly wasn’t a crime in itself — unfortunately, they’d received this news from one very angry father, who’d caught Sylus with the man’s daughter in a compromising position in his barn the evening prior. At that moment, Sylus’ father was relieved he’d already had an uncomfortable talk with his son earlier on. Still, he begged him not to impregnate someone’s daughter without wedding her first.
“I can assure you, Father, you have nothing to worry about.” Sylus avoided his eyes, ears burning hot. He’d picked up a slower speaking cadence from his Father, and a melodic lilt from his mother, who loved to sing. Sylus, however, was absolutely tone-deaf.
“Son…” Father pressed, eyes trained on his face until he was forced to look up. “Why don’t you find a nice girl and settle down? You already know how to hunt and run the business. We can build you a house. You’ll have everything you need.” He was sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen table, leaning forward, an earnest expression on his face.
“How will I find someone who will accept me?” He’d asked. “I can’t pretend to be human forever. What will happen when she finds out what I am and thinks me a monster? What if she doesn’t care about that, but I can’t give her a child? Or…” His gaze fell onto his clenched fists on the tabletop. “...What if she grows old and dies?"
Father was quiet for a moment, his face betraying that he had similar worries. Still, he had to try. He would hate to push his son into a situation that could ruin his life.
“I know, son… You’re right. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt. But I also don’t want you to close yourself off to connecting with people for fear that you’ll lose them one day. Connections are what keep us truly alive.”
He sighed, pushing down on the table as he stood. As he passed by him, Sylus’ burly father placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed.
“Just be careful.”
Sylus nodded. When Father left he sat in silence, staring at the fireplace over in the adjoining room.
***
Sylus grew into a very tall, very handsome young man. His hair was well past his shoulders now. Mother gave up on convincing him to cut it regularly — it simply grew too fast. He lopped it off whenever it began to annoy him, but most of the time he kept it in a bun at his nape. Girls liked to pull it loose and grab his hair when he bedded them, which he certainly didn’t mind.
His uncle had taught him to fight using only his body. A combination of boxing and wrestling. He used to regularly spar with two of his friends. Luke and Kieran, the neighbour’s identical twin sons. A pair of mischievous, pain-in-the-ass tricksters a few years his junior, they were good-hearted, and generally did little harm. To anyone who didn’t cross them, anyway.
Sylus had found it exceedingly difficult to keep his secret from his uncle and the twins, as they spent so much time together. The three of them knew him too well. The changes he was undergoing, namely the rapidly increasing strength, didn’t escape their notice. Eventually, he ended up telling them.
Uncle was not surprised. He’d been one of the first to know when Sylus’ parents had found him as an infant, and was raised with the same knowledge of the gods that his brother, Sylus’ father, had grown up with.
The twins found the news exciting. They regularly poked fun at him. He might have found it annoying, if he weren’t so relieved to get a response other than fear and rejection. He tried to stop their sparring, as he had to hold back tremendously, but they refused to let that happen. So did Uncle, who insisted that even if he had more than enough strength, he hadn’t perfected his technique, and skills still needed upkeep.
Luke and Kieran frequently ambushed him, hoping the element of surprise could help them defeat him just once. They even resorted to dirty, underhanded — admittedly very creative — tactics. All to no avail, yes, but they were never discouraged.
“What the hell are they feeding you over there?” His uncle had jested one day, with a heavy smack on the back (he and Father seemed to be fond of the action) and a hearty laugh. Sylus had failed to stumble forward like he used to, but still he’d laughed along.
His strength hadn’t been quite so noticeable until he’d started having sex. Sylus’ first foray into a woman’s soft body was eye-opening for him, and the feeling was comparable to his first time drinking blood. He felt an intense rush of energy, and then he felt sated. He once again wondered how he’d ever gone without such a thing.
It started with one of the girls who worked at the market frequently making eyes at him. He’d always thought she was pretty — her and several of the village girls. One evening, when her parents were away doing business, she invited him over.
The two of them awkwardly stumbled through the act together, both too new at it. Sylus was extra careful to restrict his strength. He got the hang of things pretty quickly after that. Before long, pleasuring a woman was as easy as breathing to him, and his lean, lanky body filled out considerably.
He met with the girl a few more times, but suddenly stopped seeing her one day, when he noticed something very concerning. When they were still using mainly fingers and tongues, nothing was out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until they started having penetrative sex that things got…weird.
One night, their activities had left both of them blissed out — she was utterly spent, and he was energized. Smiling, relaxed and basking in the feeling, she had no energy left to go another round, and he was proud of himself. Bringing a woman to orgasm wasn’t nearly as difficult as his friends had made it seem. But every evening he spent with her, every time they came together, she became weaker than the last.
A few days later, when they met once more under the cover of night, she fell asleep immediately afterwards. He picked her up so they could go clean themselves off, and she hadn’t roused from slumber once. When he returned her to bed, he tried to gently shake her awake once more. Called her name. She didn’t stir. Only sighed contentedly in her sleep, muttered something quietly, and went back to softly snoring.
Sylus stayed with her for a few hours, at his wits end, but he had to hunt early the next morning, and the longer he lingered, the more he risked getting caught. So he’d tucked her in, and reluctantly left.
The next time she saw him at the market, she chided him for disappearing on her. Bewildered, he explained what had happened the other night, how he’d tried so hard to wake her up. Her temper quickly abated, suddenly replaced by desire. The odd course of events he’d explained didn’t phase her whatsoever. She ran a finger down his chest, eyes travelling downward.
“Why don’t you make it up to me?”
He caught her hand, holding it in place before she could get too far, and swallowed thickly. His eyes flickering to the street, where a few prying eyes watched them. Although he had resolved not to take things any further with her, his body betrayed him, an irresistible desire coursing through him.
He let out a sharp breath of air. “We shouldn’t do this anymore.” He removed her hand from his chest, but his breath was already coming in ragged huffs.
That very night he stumbled through her window, bumping into furniture and forgetting to be careful as the two of them rushed toward each other. They didn’t even have the patience to undress properly — Sylus simply tore open the pieces that were in his way. He’d gotten used to controlling his strength, never hurting her, but slipped up now and again, and her wardrobe suffered for it. As he rutted her, and the lustful haze ate away at his restraint, he picked up one of her wrists, bringing it to his face.
“You smell delicious,” he huffed breathlessly. Before he knew what he was doing, one of his aching canines — had they just grown longer? — grazed her wrist. Just a tiny nick. She moaned a touch too loud, and he felt her tense walls give way to fluttering contractions as he licked and sucked at the miniscule drop of blood that escaped her. The combination of her delectable blood, the way her back arched, and her moans as she squeezed his cock so tightly brought him over the edge. He pulled out, resting it against her stomach as he came. He resisted bringing his face any closer to hers — that pulse point on her neck was far too tempting. Once their orgasms finally relented, she fell asleep.
Sylus straightened himself out, and then cleaned her up and changed her clothing. She hadn’t stirred. As he folded her torn pajamas and hid them underneath her bed, shame began to set in. So little self control.
He shouldn’t have come here at all. And why did he nip her wrist? He’d never desired the blood of a human before. He was curious, sure, but he drank enough animal blood to keep himself full. These new changes unsettled him.
That night he walked home in a trance, worry weighing down his heart, and dread threatening to overcome him. When he didn’t see her at the market for several days, he asked her mother, who was running their stall, how she was doing. He’d contemplated whether it’d be wise, but what reason did anyone have to suspect that he was somehow behind her condition? Even for the superstitious, for those who believed in demons, all anyone had seen the two of them do publicly was flirt.
“She didn’t wake up for two days,” her mother said. Worry was plain on her face.
His chest tightened, and he stopped breathing for a moment.
“It’s okay, dear. She’s up now,” she said, briefly touching his forearm. His fear must have been obvious. “She’s a little weak, but she’ll be okay, I’m sure. She keeps asking about you, by the way. Maybe you could stop by and say hello.”
He tried not to go too stiff as she spoke. Her small, sad smile intensified his guilt.
“Oh. Uh…” He didn’t know what to say. He was relieved to know that she was conscious, at least. But who knew what would happen if he saw her again. He avoided her mother’s eyes. “Please give her my regards. I hope she recovers quickly.”
He internally chastised himself for his clunky evasion of her invitation, but she didn’t comment on it.
After that, Sylus exercised great caution and steered clear of the young woman. She, of course, was confused as to why he’d stopped pursuing her so suddenly. Their attraction had been mutual, after all. But eventually she grew resentful of him, and silently glared at him whenever they crossed paths. She’d probably gone and told her friends how much of a rake he was. He was just relieved she was still alive to do so. But he could tell she still desired him, in spite of everything.
***
Sylus grew to be quite charming, flirting his way into the beds of whatever young woman — or young man, eventually — caught his fancy. On whichever surface was convenient, really. He enjoyed “feeding,” as he came to call it, from men and from women for different reasons. The women tended to be soft. He enjoyed their mewls, and how soft they were under his touch. The men were bigger, firmer. Often strong. And whether they attempted to dominate him or not was a tossup, which he found thrilling.
Eventually, sex was sustaining him as much as animal blood did. The blood kept him full. The sex made him strong. He tried never to bed the same person more than twice, having noticed a pattern that mimicked his experience with the girl from the market. When his partners continued to grow weaker after their second session, he’d made it a strict rule.
Sylus knew that bedding a person repeatedly brought on three consequences so far:
First, they grew weaker each time they orgasmed, especially if he was inside them.
Second, they grew more attached with every session. When he inevitably cut them off, they craved him even as they hated him. He knew if he tried, they’d let him have them again and again until it killed them.
Third, his desire to drink one’s blood grew stronger with every coupling. Sylus didn’t mind having a reputation as a heartbreaker who wouldn’t settle down. But he refused to be seen as a monster.