In the freezing Lake Baikal, a single man swam amid the icy water with only the moonlight as a guide. He heard footsteps, and he turned towards his only friend, the vampire Dracon.

“You got a letter,” spoke in his mild tone the Methuselah. “A Roman delivered it.”

“I feel it would be better not to read it,” if Beshter wanted to accuse him of being an egotistical bastard one more time, then, Kyla didn’t want to read it.

“It is from Constantine, son of Rome. He signed it as Byzantine,” at the name of the child to whom Kyla had given his love letter, he swam closer to the shore.

“Hand it over,” his feet found the sand of the bottom of the lake. He hadn’t swum that far in. Three fish lay on the sandy beach. His catch from earlier at night.

“You’ll get the parchment wet. I will read it to you,” and Dracon cleared his throat.

“Kyla Bolgar, leader of the nation of Bulgaria, I don’t know if you remember me, but you gave me something that was meant for Beshter, once,” Kyla nodded when Dracon send him a look.

“What did you give him?” There was curiosity in the ancient vampire’s voice.

“A love letter,” Dracon snorted and kept on reading.

“I met your brothers, they named me,” Kyla snorted at that. As far as he could remember, their father had sent Sadik and Ak to Rome before telling Kyla that if he was going to keep the company of vampires, he would do so out of sight. Kyla had packed up and left the same night. And now, he was here, in the cold with only Dracon as company.

“They also became enraged when I mentioned Beshter and Antonius,” Kyla got on the shore and laid down on the sand, naked as the day he was born. With Dracon’s blood in his stomach, the cold didn’t bother him. Not like how everything had bothered him when Beshter left him with no blood and a deadly addiction.

“Understandable,” whispered Kyla. His former lover rose feelings of contempt in his entire family. For all that most of them were only related through Xiongnu, they were brothers and sisters and loved each other dearly.

“You need to let go of Beshter and any thoughts of revenge. How else will you change and move forward?” Asked him Dracon. And, here they were again. In the same old argument.

“Maybe I don’t want to. Possibly remembering makes me more cautious, smarter,” Kyla had never tried this argument. Perhaps it will work better than the rest.

“Change doesn’t happen when you cling to the past, Kyla. Beshter is lovelies reborn, I agree, but you can find another. In time,” Kyla looked at the fat moon in the sky. It had its lover, the sun, and Kyla had no one.

“Who? You?” Dracon gave a low chuckle.

“You are too young for me, too idealistic. Potentially, if I change you enough, I can overlook the fact that you are only a thousand and some years old,” Kyla had meant it as a joke. He didn’t know what to feel about his friend considering him as a possible lover.

“I want only friendship from you, Dracon,” he changed a look at the Tzimisce Methuselah and saw him smiling fondly down at him. 

“So, you know the value of not wanting everything from a person now. Beshter helped you grow, despite you cursing his name under your breath,” Kyla had never cursed Beshter, not even in his mind. But what use was it to argue with Dracon? He didn’t believe him about this particular thing.

“Please, read on. This is the first letter I have gotten in months,” Dracon mumbled something about him burning all the rest, and Kyla closed his eyes. Beshter had attempted to write. To ask him about the training he had undergone before he met him.

For all that Beshter didn’t approve of Kyla anymore, he recognized him as a warrior. One capable of protecting a dream, if not capable of building it. Kyla was not blind. He knew Beshter and Antonius the Rat, as Kyla liked to call his former rival, wanted to use him as a hammer to Constantine’s anvil. To force their dream down his throat.

“I want to say how sorry I am that you got replaced. I know you had feelings for Beshter, I do not have the same. He is like a benevolent older brother to me. And Antonius is a stern, but fair, mentor. I hope you are well and that we can work together. The Dream is a wonderful undertaking and I wish we could work together on it. Do you want me to read you the signature? It is quite long.”

Kyla shook his head, eyes still closed.

“Should I write to Beshter and tell him how to train the boy? Knowing Antonius, the poor thing is probably beaten every day,” Kyla spoke with more than a little anger in his voice.

Antonius had attempted to force the whip on him too, when Beshter played his game with them. To force him to take more land, to get recognized by Rome and the civilized world.

But Kyla had been content with what he had, certain he could have his dream, not Beshter and Beshter himself. That, once Kyla proved the value of a world without slavery to Beshter, he would chase Antonius away.

In one year, Antonius ruined the dream of a nation. In one year, he clouded his mind, muddled his judgement. And now Kyla had to live with the fact that his full-brothers shared the same nation name as he, and that he had to be careful not to kill them accidentally.

“If you value the boy’s life, do so. But first, eat something. You can’t run on vitae alone. Not when I drink from you every night,” with an exaggerated effort, Kyla stood up and headed towards his horse where his clothes were.

He’ll eat, drink, be drunk from, and then they will go back to the cave where he was figuring out his life. And he was going to write that letter. For the poor child’s sake.