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Uvhash doesn't understand humans.
He should. He is made of them, after all: of their flesh, of their blood, of their veins and nerves, bones and sinew. He’s a casserole of human meat, a thousand bodies worth of protein, cartilage, keratin, and if there’s anything he should understand, it’s them. And yet...
He stands at the edge of the Isis river, in the middle of Londinium. Distant street lights reflect off the water's surface, and on the other side of the river, a couple walks in silence, obscured by fog.
Uvhash squats, and grabs a stone. He chucks it at the water, and watches the splash. His expression remains still, a rotten frown.
Humans value so much. Too much. Small cakes and pretty sunrises. Lost loves and sacred oaths. Living as long as possible, until their body gives in or their mind gives up—whichever comes first.
He understands none of that. He lives only for what he was born for, the one thing that unites all animals: Hunger. A gnawing hunger in his stomach, in his muscles, in his exposed heart. A hunger that never stops, rarely slows.
"Isn't it a bit cold to be outside without a shirt?"
Uvhash turns from the river. Beside him, an old woman, with leathery skin, grips a cane in one hand and a leash in the other. On the end of the leash is a little white poodle, which rattles in terror. The woman regards him with dry confusion.
He smiles, teeth on display. It usually sends humans running. "Only if you're weak."
The woman hums in acknowledgement, and watches the river. Her eyes are steeled with age, and her worn-out coat flutters in the breeze.
Uvhash licks his lips. He has never minded his hunger before. He has lived centuries as a devourer of humanity, a servant of humanity, a weapon of humanity.
But the longer he lives, the more humans confuse him.
"What do you live for?" Uvhash asks.
"Is that how you talk to strangers?"
"What if it is?"
A contemplative hum. "I suppose I've been asked stranger questions by weirder people."
"Well?"
She glances at her poodle. It cowers behind her leg. "...I suppose I live to save animals."
Each human has dreams. Loved ones, hopes, a universe of insight and experience.
He has killed swathes of them. Destroyed countless hopes, countless dreams, again and again.
He scoffs.
"What?"
He doesn't feel guilty about the humans he's killed. He doesn't even understand why humans sometimes disapprove of it.
But after so many centuries, he can't deny his curiosity. What is it like to be attached to another? To dream of things beyond blood?
"What a pointless purpose," he says.
The scowl on the old lady's face is magnificent. A true expression of sheer disdain, honed through decades of life.
"Well," she asks, "what do you live for?"
Uvhash turns back to the river. A bird swoops, and snatches a fish from the water. He crouches, and bares his fangs: "I live to eat."
The old lady raises a brow, and he almost laughs. Humans have always looked down upon him, and been confused. They call him a beast, insist that he is missing something core to the human animal... even as they use him for their dirty work.
He doesn't mind. But the audacity always surprises him.
"What do you really live for?" she asks.
"I told you: to eat."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing."
"What a bizarre lie."
He furrows his brow. Blinks. Did this woman just—"What?"
"Nobody lives just to eat. You really think I'd believe that?"
He smiles, and after a moment, begins to laugh. How arrogant! How cocksure! "Hah! It's true, whether you believe it or not."
"Really? You’ve never desired anything else? Ever?”
On the other side of the river, a man shares his sandwich with a stray dog.
"Not yet," Uvhash says.
"Ah, I get it."
"Hmm?"
"You're a gutterboy. Never had enough to eat, and now you think that's the only thing life's about."
He turns and meets her eyes. An elder like her doesn't have much blood to drink, but blood is blood.
"Then what is life all about, if you're so wise?" he asks.
She looks out over the waterfront. Her white hair, thistly and loose, flows with the breeze. Her eyes, cold and arrogant, seem so, so old. What have those eyes seen? What has she done?
"Life's about leaving a mark. Something that lasts after you're gone. Something you can be proud of." She turns to him, and meets his eyes. Her voice is equal parts warm and condescending: "You need to find something better to dedicate your life to."
He rises slowly, and cracks his neck with a wild grin. "Oh, I can think of one way to leave a mark."
With a brutal kick, he punts the poodle, and runs off cackling. He disappears into the fog, and behind him, the old woman screams in horror.
In the twinkling moonlight, Uvhash cracks open the Keeper's window, and slips inside. The Keeper, hunched over their desk, writing furiously, doesn't notice.
"Knock knock," Uvhash says.
The Keeper startles, and whips around, bumping a book off their desk. They meet his gaze, and after a moment, their shock fades to exhaustion. "I can't offer you blood tonight," they say. "I have a test tomorrow."
"I'm not here for blood," he says. With fluid ease, like a tiger freshly woken, he crawls onto a nearby desk, and hangs his legs over the side.
"Then...?"
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Why is he here? It's not to satiate his hunger, nor for a fight... He just... "I wanted to see you."
"That's it?"
He shrugs. "Something wrong with that?"
"No, no, I just... didn't expect it."
He purrs, and watches the Keeper's eyes. Unlike that grandma, whose eyes were old but clear, the Keeper's are a paradox. Impossibly young, yet... ancient. Every time he sees them, he gets the sense that the Keeper has, somehow, lived far longer than him.
"Do you care about leaving a legacy?" Uvhash asks.
The Keeper blinks. "A legacy?"
"A mark on the world. Something that persists after you're gone."
The Keeper stares at him, full of thoughts he can't recognize. They stay silent for a moment. In the hallway, a group of students laugh.
"I do."
"What kind?"
"It'll sound silly to you."
"I don't care."
They rub their hands together, gently, anxious. "I guess I'd like... I'd like to live a gentle life. To leave a legacy of helping others, in whatever small ways I can."
"..."
"I know it seems silly."
He shakes his head. "No. I just don't get it at all."
The Keeper gently nods, and he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't understand it. He can't. But why?
He leans back, staring at the ceiling. He has been hungry for so, so long. It used to be the only thing he could think of. But now, in this era, where he has a consistent supply of blood, he can think about so much more.
And yet, he still doesn't understand.
"Why," he says, looking back at the Keeper, "Why bother with that? What does it bring you?"
The Keeper purses their lips and thinks, knuckles pressed against their bottom lip—a posture like an old philosopher. "Uvhash, do you fear death?"
A quiet chuckle. "Of course not."
"Did you ever?"
"No."
The Keeper shrinks, hunching forward. "I'm terrified of it. Nothing scares me more."
Uvhash cocks his head. He was born from death. Lived through death. Lives from death. To him... it has always been a close companion.
But for a human, that can only die once...
"When I think about the fact that I'll die one day..." The Keeper shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I'd like there to be a point. Something to comfort me as I go. I don't want my life to be wasted."
"Are you really that afraid of death?"
"Yes."
"But as a Keeper, you risk your life on every mission."
"Well, I try my best not to..."
"Hmm."
Uvhash doesn't understand that fear, but he can see, in the way one sees the sun on a cloudy night, darkly obscured but undeniably there, why Humans might seek a grander purpose.
He lifts his legs onto the desk, and holds them in arms.
"...Did that answer help?"
"...Yes. Thank you, Keeper."
The two stare at each other for a moment. Then: "Since you're so eager to help, you wouldn't mind donating a little blood, would you?"
A pained whine. "Uvhash..."