The First Farewell

Willem… was this the right choice?

It's becoming harder and harder to remember your name. Even my own is starting to fade away. It's been so long, I wonder if you're even still alive in the real world. If not, then you were the lucky one among us.

So many hunters. Either free, turned to beasts, or prematurely renouncing their vows. Their faces are all blurring together, and I can't make out any distinct aspects of them. Top hats, hunter's caps, the occasional metal helmet, it doesn't matter. Every single face is the same. Angry. Betrayed. Tired.

They always refuse. It's so rare that they allow me to free them. And so, I am forced to free them. My bones creak, my back protests, my hands writhe with pain, and I can barely move my mouth to speak. And then the moon aids me, and I gain my old self. My old burial blade, my gun, my coat, my cap. I used to thank the moon for returning me to my prime. Now I wish it would just leave me that crippled old man, too weak to stand, easy prey for the hunter that refuses. They don't deserve to stay in this hunter's dream, but I can't stand this anymore. I want to be free. I want to wake up from this cruel Hunter's Dream, return to reality, so that I might finally die. I can't. Willem. I can't.

I remember, a long time ago, when you and I used to sit on the balcony at Byrgenwerth, how we spoke of what would become of us in our old age. You planned to stay in Byrgenwerth. I wanted to be remembered for excavations in the old labyrinth. We laughed at how Laurence would probably still be chasing girls in Yharnam.

Laurence is gone. Turned beastly, and worshiped against his will at that Grand Cathedral. Turning in his grave, if anyone had had the decency to actually give him a grave. You're still at Byrgenwerth for all I know, still on that balcony, regretting letting that excursion commence, eternally regretting how we brought about the beasts.

And me, just a toy for the moon, forced to hold this dream. Trapped in this sickeningly beautiful void. I did it to save other hunters from the moon, to keep them alive. As every day goes by, I think of how I would turn my own gun on myself the next time a hunter refuses, blow out my mind and this cursed hunter's dream. Finally be free.

One day, a hunter will win. They will end me, either with a bullet to the head, or a saw through my chest. I've imagined it so many times, hoped so many times. My moon brings me back to what I was, but some have come close. Sawed through a vital artery, blinded me, cut off an arm, crushed my bones. And I've always won. No hunter can destroy that which made them. No student has defeated the master yet.

Master. As if. I was the one that let my family be maimed by the beasts. I was the one that aided Laurence in bringing back the old blood. I bowed to the moon, and locked the door of my own prison. The moon makes me young again, fast, efficient, accurate, powerful. All to keep itself alive.

That man has been dead for a long time now. Gehrman the hunter died the day he let himself be trapped in this dream. All that's left is an old man. An old man who pretends to mentor the new hunters. An old man who's forgotten who that doll was supposed to look like. An old man who stares at the moon, every night of the hunt, wondering what could have happened had things been different. Had things gone better.

Willem…. I find it most ironic. I took up the hunt, created an ending for the beasts. I used to think that I was the hunter, and they were the prey.

When, all along, I was the very first beast there ever was.