Bjørn rolled onto his back and stared unseeingly into the darkness. His brain—a biological computer connected to the wireless signals that shrouded the world—hummed to life despite the early hour. Grunting, he rolled onto his side and reached for his phone. It was turned off — as it should be. He tossed it towards his feet and scrubbed at his face, restless.
Rolling onto his back a second time, the telepath held his breath and waited. He waited for something to happen. Nothing did. The seconds stretched into minutes and then they marked the passing of an hour. His eyelids felt heavy but sleep remained elusive. It was unnatural for him to be awake at this hour. As opposed to other vampires Bjørn had no resilience when it came to daylight hours; not in the slightest. Whether he was cursed or everyone else was blessed remained a mystery to this day, and so did the reason sleep continued to evade him as the afternoon trickled by.
That is, until he felt it.
Unlike the pull he felt towards Vathiá, this one did not twinkle. The connection wasn’t disrupted by any radio waves and wireless signals the way they did his tether to the mindscape. This connection ran as deeply as the other — just as intrinsic, but it was unfamiliar. It took many moments of focusing on the link to find its source. It wasn’t anchored to the mind, but within the bloodstream.
The beating of his heart, each beat usually separated by minutes if not hours at a time, increased in frequency as realisation dawned. It’s not possible, Bjørn thought as the oncoming wave peaked and crashed over him. At risk of drowning in it, he shot up into a seated position and inhaled — deep and sharp. The air tasted no different than usual.
When? No, not when. How? There was no way this was possible. The telepath understood what led to this and he hadn’t walked said path. He hadn’t— He never…
Ah! He was dreaming still. This was all just a vivid dream. He’d sooner accept dream-walking as a newfound skill than the reality before him. This circumstance — it was a nightmare. He sought to escape it. He had to wake up. Whatever hazy path a part of his mind had ventured down, he had to reclaim it immediately. He pushed away from the futon and staggered to his feet, clambering into the bathroom. A cold shower would do it. The icy trickle of water would force all of him back to the present; the physical.
Like shards of glass, the streams of water scattered about his form, overwhelming his senses and shutting down his mind. In that moment, the telepath was free from all that bound him beyond the skin he inhabited.
The winter sun still hovered over the horizon outside. Dusk was but a hair’s breadth away, but he was still a serf to torpor, disorientated and tired. The shower helped in regaining some measure of control over himself, but as soon as he began to go through the motions of dressing and seeking out fresh blood, it returned.
[ Hello? ] Bjørn reached out into the ether, seeking the end of the link. Shrouded but distinctively his—somehow—the entity on the other end revealed himself in the form of… Well, there was someone connected to him. How? He had no idea. Why? He had no idea. What? Someone. An unfamiliar presence he could put neither face nor name to.
Whoever this someone was they shared his blood but not his path... They were therefore someone who could be spoken to mind-to-mind but who would be unable to respond in kind. It meant, as was the case with the few telepathically-challenged relations he kept, that Bjørn couldn’t solely reach out in mind if he wanted to connect. He would have to seek the other out physically.
But first, he did what he knew best — he reached out a second time, speaking into the stranger’s mind. This time it was not trepidatious, but determined, words clear and bold: [ You’re not hearing voices. I am speaking into your mind. I’m not going to hurt you, but I have to find you. Stay wherever you are if you’re safe. ] He withdrew, but before severing the link added: [ Please. I only want to help. ]
With that, Bjørn readied himself to leave as soon as the sky turned completely dark. Amidst the usual mix of ammunition and weapons in his backpack, he threw in two sealed blood bags. At least the November air would keep them chilled.
Shouldering on the bag and snatching his phone off the futon, he turned to another set of skills he’d acquired but seldom used. Just inside the door, Bjørn reached into himself and out into the world, following the crumbs the wraith Vadasz had laid out when he first breached the Seeker bridge. I spy with my little eye, he hummed to himself. It didn’t appear as if the connection he shared with his childe would make finding him easier than any other stranger. The telepath hoped that this meant the other had at least found shelter indoors from the sun, else their learning curve would become incredibly steep as the blood bags proved useless.
Rolling onto his back a second time, the telepath held his breath and waited. He waited for something to happen. Nothing did. The seconds stretched into minutes and then they marked the passing of an hour. His eyelids felt heavy but sleep remained elusive. It was unnatural for him to be awake at this hour. As opposed to other vampires Bjørn had no resilience when it came to daylight hours; not in the slightest. Whether he was cursed or everyone else was blessed remained a mystery to this day, and so did the reason sleep continued to evade him as the afternoon trickled by.
That is, until he felt it.
Unlike the pull he felt towards Vathiá, this one did not twinkle. The connection wasn’t disrupted by any radio waves and wireless signals the way they did his tether to the mindscape. This connection ran as deeply as the other — just as intrinsic, but it was unfamiliar. It took many moments of focusing on the link to find its source. It wasn’t anchored to the mind, but within the bloodstream.
The beating of his heart, each beat usually separated by minutes if not hours at a time, increased in frequency as realisation dawned. It’s not possible, Bjørn thought as the oncoming wave peaked and crashed over him. At risk of drowning in it, he shot up into a seated position and inhaled — deep and sharp. The air tasted no different than usual.
When? No, not when. How? There was no way this was possible. The telepath understood what led to this and he hadn’t walked said path. He hadn’t— He never…
Ah! He was dreaming still. This was all just a vivid dream. He’d sooner accept dream-walking as a newfound skill than the reality before him. This circumstance — it was a nightmare. He sought to escape it. He had to wake up. Whatever hazy path a part of his mind had ventured down, he had to reclaim it immediately. He pushed away from the futon and staggered to his feet, clambering into the bathroom. A cold shower would do it. The icy trickle of water would force all of him back to the present; the physical.
Like shards of glass, the streams of water scattered about his form, overwhelming his senses and shutting down his mind. In that moment, the telepath was free from all that bound him beyond the skin he inhabited.
The winter sun still hovered over the horizon outside. Dusk was but a hair’s breadth away, but he was still a serf to torpor, disorientated and tired. The shower helped in regaining some measure of control over himself, but as soon as he began to go through the motions of dressing and seeking out fresh blood, it returned.
[ Hello? ] Bjørn reached out into the ether, seeking the end of the link. Shrouded but distinctively his—somehow—the entity on the other end revealed himself in the form of… Well, there was someone connected to him. How? He had no idea. Why? He had no idea. What? Someone. An unfamiliar presence he could put neither face nor name to.
Whoever this someone was they shared his blood but not his path... They were therefore someone who could be spoken to mind-to-mind but who would be unable to respond in kind. It meant, as was the case with the few telepathically-challenged relations he kept, that Bjørn couldn’t solely reach out in mind if he wanted to connect. He would have to seek the other out physically.
But first, he did what he knew best — he reached out a second time, speaking into the stranger’s mind. This time it was not trepidatious, but determined, words clear and bold: [ You’re not hearing voices. I am speaking into your mind. I’m not going to hurt you, but I have to find you. Stay wherever you are if you’re safe. ] He withdrew, but before severing the link added: [ Please. I only want to help. ]
With that, Bjørn readied himself to leave as soon as the sky turned completely dark. Amidst the usual mix of ammunition and weapons in his backpack, he threw in two sealed blood bags. At least the November air would keep them chilled.
Shouldering on the bag and snatching his phone off the futon, he turned to another set of skills he’d acquired but seldom used. Just inside the door, Bjørn reached into himself and out into the world, following the crumbs the wraith Vadasz had laid out when he first breached the Seeker bridge. I spy with my little eye, he hummed to himself. It didn’t appear as if the connection he shared with his childe would make finding him easier than any other stranger. The telepath hoped that this meant the other had at least found shelter indoors from the sun, else their learning curve would become incredibly steep as the blood bags proved useless.
