It was in the year of our Lord's incarnation, eight hundred fifty-four. It had been fifty-four years since Charlemagne had been emperor and eleven years since the dissolution of the Carolingian empire.

.....the wisest of eyes, eyes that saw beyond what mortals saw......

I was, at the age of nineteen, studying to become a priest at the Monastery of St. John the Baptist of Studius. It was a center of culture and learning; many of the manuscripts and icons produced there were in demand throughout the Christian world.

Above all, it was my home and the only one I have ever known.

We possessed many holy relics in those days and it wasn't unusual for us to search for and acquire more. A few of us would be sent out to investigate the legitimacy of the relic and if it passed, we were responsible in bringing it back to the monastery intact.

Two days before I was to embark on a mission with a senior priest, a somber vision appeared before me. The visions I've had neglected to surprise me at that age and I hadn't said a word of it to anyone. This vision was different, however, as it revealed to me the death of the monk that I was to accompany on the mission....as well as my own. Heeding this warning, I tried to persuade the Order to choose two others more worthy of the task. This vision of death was meant only for us and I felt that no others would be put in danger if given this mission.

I failed to convince anyone that we were not meant for this just as the elder monk unsuccessfully tried to convince me that the glory of God would shine upon me on this momentous occasion.

We left early that day after being blessed in our mission to find a relic of Zacharias, the Baptist's father. We traveled for many miles to reach our destination. When we arrived at the crumbling abandoned monastery, the sun had long since set and the moon was beginning to rise in the sky. Not to be deterred, the elder monk decided that we would begin our task on that night. With torches in hand, we went into the monastery to search for the relic.

As we entered, a strange feeling of foreboding had seized ahold of me--but I had abandoned any hope of convincing the other monk that we should leave the place. We began to search and as time passed, I did not know whether my death would come swiftly or if it would come at all. It was only after the elder monk turned away from the altar, did my dream begin to enact itself before my very eyes. It was pale and terrible; ripping the monk's throat out with dagger like fangs. Blood spilled like a fountain and splashed onto the stones. Before that night, I had never known that there could be that much blood in a human body. The sound of his spinal cord snapping under pressure filled my ears, yet I was too terrified to move.

The monk was dead before he hit the floor, but it mattered little to the vampire. He was ravenous and the old one was only the beginning of its reign of terror.

Because when he finished, he looked up and his eyes found mine.

....they were the eyes of death...