Chapter 8: Vampher’s Mid-Eternity Crisis

It all began with an apple.

Not just any apple—the apple. Glossy red with just the right amount of rebellion. Firm, fragrant, and slightly magical (though not enough to register on Dee's alarms). Vampher Darquez had found it three days ago hanging alone on a tree in the shape of a crescent moon. He named it Lady Crispine, Duchess of Crunch, and had planned a ceremonial slicing to honor her.

But when morning came, the apple was gone.

Not gone as in misplaced.

Gone as in: bitten, half-chewed, and discarded near the campfire beside Hiro Brihrest's cooking pot, which still bubbled suspiciously with leftover mushroom stew.

Vampher stared at the half-eaten remains.

He did not speak.

Instead, he turned slowly, cloak flowing with a level of controlled fury normally reserved for cursed prophecies and ex-lovers.

"I thought it was a snack," Hiro said sheepishly. "I didn't know it was nobility."

Vampher didn't respond.

He simply walked into the woods.

Sat on a rock.

And began to brood.

Birds nearby fell silent. Even the clouds thickened out of respect.

Dee, who had been upbraiding a sunbeam for misbehaving, noticed the shift immediately. He floated down beside Vampher, crossing his legs midair.

"Alright," Dee said, "what's today's ratio? Sixty percent brooding, thirty percent longing, ten percent fruit-based existential crisis?"

Vampher didn't look up.

"Leave me in my misery."

Dee hovered closer, peering into his friend's eyes.

"Oh," he murmured. "It's real this time."

The silence between them stretched like an uncut thread.

Then Vampher pulled a scroll from his coat and handed it to Dee.

It was a list. A long one. Written in precise, stylish handwriting.

Things I've Done With My Immortality

– Founded the First Night Court of Bats (disbanded due to sarcasm)

– Created vampire noble houses (dissolved after worship problem)

– Dated a fire spirit (burned literally and emotionally)

– Wrote 238 love letters (never sent)

– Memorized the constellations (renamed them all ironically)

– Watched Dee brew tea 14,382 times

– Argued with Hiro 3,112 times

– Lost one apple

Dee handed it back.

"You miss being needed."

"I miss doing something that matters," Vampher replied. "Not just tagging along like some immortal footnote to your grand cosmic saga."

There it was.

The root beneath the brooding.

Dee thought for a moment. "Want to start a war?"

Vampher blinked. "No."

"A religion?"

"No."

"Okay, good, I wasn't serious," Dee said. "I just thought I'd offer. You know. Classic distractions."

Vampher stood. "I'll go walk until the horizon blinks back at me."

As he left, Hiro returned from foraging with a bundle of glowing river mushrooms.

"Where's Vamps going?"

"Mid-eternity crisis," Dee said.

Hiro's eyes widened. "Should we hug him?"

"He said no."

"Was that before or after he started crying through sarcasm?"

"...Before."

"I'm gonna hug him anyway," Hiro said, jogging after Vampher.

Somewhere in the woods, the hug happened.

There was hissing.

There was biting.

Then a very long, tired sigh.

And acceptance.

The next morning, Vampher woke with a memory. A dream of a cave he hadn't visited in centuries. A place where he had buried part of himself long ago.

He left without a word.

He didn't expect the others to follow.

But they did.

They always did.

The cave was halfway up a forgotten mountain veiled in fog. Vampher brushed aside the vines, stepped through the low arch of stone, and walked straight to the back wall.

There, sealed behind a shimmering veil of forgotten lullabies, was a stone coffin made not for bodies, but for letters.

All the unsent ones.

The ones he wrote and folded and hid instead of speaking.

Love letters. Apologies. Questions. Sarcasm in poetic meter. Lists of names he remembered but couldn't say aloud anymore. Some of the parchment still smelled like ancient perfume.

He sat down and opened one at random.

"Dear Me," it began, written in red ink, "Why are we like this?"

He laughed, bitter and amused.

Then read another.

Then another.

And soon he was reading them aloud—voice soft, steady. His shadows didn't flinch. They leaned in.

Dee and Hiro sat quietly nearby, saying nothing.

Just… listening.

Until morning broke through the cracks in the mountain.

And Vampher folded the last letter back into its place.

"Thank you," he said finally.

He didn't say for what.

He didn't have to.

When they emerged from the cave, Hiro handed him something.

A fresh apple.

Shiny. Perfect. Redder than memory.

"I found it near a tree that giggled when I looked at it," Hiro said. "Figured it was meant for you."

Vampher took the apple carefully. Examined it like a rare artifact.

Then nodded, solemn.

"Lady Crispine the Second. Long may she crunch."

Later, alone at the edge of camp, Dee summoned one of his earliest creations: Tyril, the mirror of self-seeing.

He held it up while Vampher slept.

The reflection shimmered.

Not just of who Vampher was, but who he had been—child, wanderer, god-for-a-minute, lonely protector, secret poet, sharp-tongued guardian of forgotten things.

Dee looked away before the mirror finished.

Even he couldn't handle all of it.

Far away, in a place that isn't really a place, the Observer smiled.

He liked Vampher.

He liked the way he remembered.

Not just facts, but feelings.

That would be important later.

And so, the Observer left something small in Vampher's coat pocket before slipping away.

A letter.

Blank.

Unwritten.

Waiting.