[There were only a few things that I missed after I became a vampire.
To feel the sun, to feel the warm touch of day light on my body, to feel the energy of life flowing into me while I around me I heard nature breathing. To feel the simple joy of existing, of being alive. Like any other parts in the gift of vampirism, the ability to truly see the glory of the night came with a price. A price that sometimes seemed too high.
In undeath, the sun brought me only pain.] 

     Vorador sigh and opened his eyes. As much as he would have liked, he couldn’t stay there for much long. He should be heading home now, and he better not be late. After all, not every day was his eighteen-day of life. 
He was halfway home when he was attacked by a small figure that came out of nowhere and jumped at him, causing him to fall to the ground. The figure hand was lifted to the air and came down again in an amazing speed, driving the small wooden stick in her hand into Vorador heart.
 

[My family, my first family, that of the living. My father, a simple farmer, my mother, a shy blond woman with a smile that could cause an angry wolf to changed into a puppy. 
My older brother and sister, two excellent users of bows who used to compete againts one another in every chance. 
And the last, little Liandru. All the boys were terrify from her, and for a good reason. Everybody who shows her presumed that she was a sweet little girl. They were seriously wrong.
Sometimes, even deadly wrong.]

     “Die, vampire!” the girl shouted in delight, stabbing her older borther with her wood stick that, according to her, was a vampire slaying stake. 
     “Get off me, Liandru!” 
     “You are not supposed to talk, I killed you!” 
     Kids, Vorador thought to himslef, you can’t live with them, and your parents refuse to let you tie them to a tree. His little sister started with this vampires hunting game about a month ago, in which she slew hundreds of deadly vampires, and almost cause old Jhon a heart attack. 
     No one succeed to understand why the little girl enjoys playing this game so much. Vampires were a thing of the past. Their age ended with the death of Janos Aurdon, the dreadful vampire king that was killed by the humans he ruled with an iron grip. Vampires were powerful undeads, but Jayson heart was rip from his chest, or so claim the legends, by a mysterious hero that led the rebellion. True or false, Jayson was dead now, truly dead, and his kingdom died with him. With his death the few vampires that survived fled to the corners of Nosgoth. To most people, after more than five hundred years, vampires were an old myth, a story used to frighten little childen.

     Or in some cases, to turn them into a vampire hunter who’s running amok, Vorador thought as his sister jumped away from him and start running back to the village, eager to find more undead monsters to slay. Vorador tried to explain her ones that the he couldn’t be a vampire since the sun didn’t burn him, he didn’t had any fangs, but Liundru insist to keep slaying him, just to be sure. 
     “Mummy said you should come home now!” she shouted from over her shoulder before disappearing into the forest. Vorador rose from the ground, cleaning the dirt from his clothes, feeling sorry for the next misfortunes victim of his sister. The stories described vampires as terrible monster, but he couldn’t believe anyone can be terrible enough to deserve having Liundru on his back.
     “At least she stops looking for the training sword.” It was just a training sword, but still a sword, not something you want an eight years old child with too much energy to play with. Liandru, angry that she never got a chance to play with it while her brother used the sword almost every day tried to get it with non stoping determination, until she found the joy of vampire hunting and left the weapon to her brother. 

     Vorador resume his walk, his thoughts filling his mind. He trained because of the priest orders, which provided the yound man with ancient books that were written by lond dead warriors. After more than six years of self training he was, well, he didn’t really knew how good, since he was the only one who knew more about fencing than how to hold the sword, not that there was ever any reason to use the sword.
     Not just sword training. The priest made sure that the young man would learn everything in his library, which was far larger than what is expected in such a small place. History, landscape, military strategies, and the intrigues in royal courts. He even had a riddle book, a book with a riddle in every page that the reader needed to solve before he could move to the rest of the story. It had two hundred pages and after three years Vorador haven’t even finished half of it. Not that he suffered, he actully enjoyed to learn those things, but the priest was always in a hurry. 

     No one understood why Vorador, or any one else in that matter, needed to learn things like that in a small village that was so remote from everything else. So remote that even the rumors a few merchants brought, about the danger of a coming war with the kingdom of Zedru – Kur didn’t cause even the smallest fear. Wars never touched the village, which had nothing someone may want and was without any strategic important.

     Zedru – Kur, the corrupted kingdom of the mad king Dameon and Kiru, the witch queen. For more than a hundred years the war hungry tyrant conquered kingdom after kingdom, the vile magic of his wife and her mages keeping him alive as he crushed his foes with cruelty while all the others kingdoms ran to join forces with the only thing they thought could save them, king Balor, ruler of Teru and ally to the Cricle of Nine. Now, with half of the kindoms conquered by Dameon and the other half sworn allegiance to Balor, the two former kingdoms transformed into vast empires. The two ageing kings were trying to reach a peace agreement, a thing that upset the king general, Malek, who claim that it was foolished to trust the ruler of Zedru – Kur. The members of the Circle weren’t in one opinion, some sided with the king and some with Malek, and so Balor continue with his effort to prevent a bloody war. 
 

[I never thought the war would reach us. I returned home that day and the village celebrated my eighteen-day of life. It was probably the happiest day in my life. I suspected nothing, not even when I left the celebration to rest and met the priest. I had no idea that everything I knew and loved was about to be destroy.]

     “Having good time?” the voice came from the shadows. Vorador, resting a little from his party looked as the village priest appeared. 
     “Having the time of my life.” Vorador answered with a smile. “Are you going to join us?” 
     “Celebrations such as this are for the young.” No one was sure how old the priest were, but it at to be more then sixty. He abandoned his right to commit the rituals and left it in the hands of his apprentices. Most of his time he was spent to Vorador education and reading ancient scrolls. 

     “There were times, after reading in the books you gave me, that I felt that this place was boring, small, ” Vorador said and looked at the cold, dark, moonless sky. Only a few star floated in the huge darkness above their heads.
     “We all feel like that sometimes, specially while growing up.” The priest answered, looking at Vorador “and now, what do you feel now? You are old enough to leave.”

     “No. I don’t think so. There are people who would consider this as heaven on earth. I read in your books about how crul the world can be, I learn to appreciate how lucky I truly am. War never touched this placed, the people live in peace. 
     “I wish this could last forever.” Vorador whispered, looking at the moonless sky. The priest looked at the young man, sadness feeling his heart. He always wandered if he should have told Vorador about the prophecy. The tragedy and the pain will fall on him like avalanche, and without any one to help him; will he be strong enough to survive?

     “Nothing last forever.” The priest said in a low voice. Vorador turned to ask the priest what he ment. The priest was already walking back to the temple. Vorador thought about running after him but decides not to. The priest behaved like that from time to time. Maybe his old age, maybe soemthing from his past. Vorador never imagine that it was the future that was responsible for the priest sadness. 

     In the temple the priest sat on his favorite char, staring at the statue of the twin goddess. 
     Vorador has reached the age of eighteen. It was in this age that the signs from the goddess were supposed to appeared, the sign of the prophecy child, to show how much time was left before the great tragedy will strike. 

     “He will be the last,” the priest spoke to himself “the first child of the dark prophecy was born when you were worshiped all across Nosgoth,” He looked at the statues, at the golden sun and the silver moon. “and with every child, you fell more from grace. When we die, your reign in this world will end.” 

     He did a research about the former children of the dark prophecy. They were twelve in number; each born to a life of pain with revenge has their only goal. In the end they all succeed, but the price was terrible. Six have commit suicide, three tried to live a normal live and failed miserably, and three of them became just like the enemy they were fighting against. Everything he could find about them was now in a single book, bound with black leather. It was the only book he haven’t showen Vorador. He was hopping that a new sign will appear, that the twin goddess will tell him that the tragedy won’t come.

     Nothing, not a word. He hoped so much that something would happen, that new signs would appear. It was for vain, the signs that were supposed appeare have appeared, and the hour of doom was getting closer by the minute. 

     The signs were clear. The time of tragedy will be in no less than one year, and no more than four years.
 

[Three years later it was all destroy. My family, my friends, my love ones, all died because of a stupid war, made by stupid people because of stupid reasons. Stupidity, that is the true heart of all evil. 

The enemy side wasn’t the one who eradicate my village, and that made it a thousand times worst. They all die because of a man with a cold mind who would have sacrifice his own son and daughter to win the war, a man who could sacrifice a few remote villages with no second thought, with no guilt, as long as it brought him closer to victory.  The man who became my nemesis, in life and in unlife.

Malek.]