The Night

Chapter IV: Horatio

The Night

Chapter IV: Horatio

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August 23, 1860

"Wait!" He shouted; his pace labored by the sand sinking beneath his footfalls. "Do not leave me behind!"

"Perhaps you should try to catch up before asking me to wait!" The other boy shouted back, "Learn to run better, will you, Sora?"

Sora laughed, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side. He watched his brother hastily tear his shoes off before running upon the wet sand of the shoreline. The sound of the waves became more prevalent as he got closer, and the humid ocean wind whisked at his face. Just before he caught up to his brother, he stripped himself of footwear as well. His feet smacked across the sodden earth and an icy chill from the cold ground rippled through his small body.

"Perhaps," He gasped with labored breath, "We should trade places so I may have the same experience you do!"

His brother could not help but smile, "Now that you're the age of 10, surely mother and father will let you join me on my journeys to the beach. Then you'll have plenty of experience for yourself. That is, if you stop hiding away your missal."

"I hate those boring old things. I'd much rather read my history books."

"Oh? The chaplain always speaks of God casting us into hell should be ignore the words of our missals."

Sora responded with a loud scoff, "I am not afraid of God. Or hell."

His brother laughed, shaking his head at the smaller boy. "Nor am I. God or no, we should be grateful that our name is noble enough to afford an education and books that aren't religious—"

"Look!" Sora interjected, suddenly running closer to the water, "A ship! It must be a trading vessel."

Floating along in the distance, a ship bobbed and weaved over the sea—its masts tall and its sails stark white against the light of the summer sun. Sora observed it with wonder, uncaring of the freezing water now lapping at his ankles. The ship seemed like a beacon in the dark waters of the ocean; a heavenly object shining to him, even as it encroached a wall of fog laying upon the horizon. He watched in silent awe as the vessel made it's way across the Black Sea.

"You gaze at that ship with such earnest I fear you might jump into the water and start swimming to catch it."

Joyously, Sora turned to his brother, "Had I the chance, I'd board a ship to-night! All I have ever wanted was to be a historian, sailing across the world, witnessing history." Sora sat down on the sand. "I could cross the sea, kiss the hands of maidens, bury myself in the libraries of the world. Father tells me history is made every day... so I will record everything that happens, and even see it with my own eyes." The boy let himself fall back, his shoulders landing against the wet ground. "I want to leave this place and see the world."

Sora reached his hand out to the blue sky, fingers obscuring the sun...

---

June 10, 2025

...and when he brings it back down, he sees the moon hanging in the night sky.

Lazily, Sora examines his hand; slowly wiggling his tan fingers in the moonbeams, as if to re-energize his lost spirit. Lately the atmosphere feels thicker. There's a sense of foreboding settling off in the distance like thick smog.

He could be getting fucked up at a club somewhere, wandering the streets, loitering on the tram systems, maybe picking up some money from an odd job somewhere... but the beach seems ideal. It always does.

The soft churning of the ocean waves drifts through his head like a lullaby. The sand of Dusk City's beach is cool on his back, and so is the misty breeze on his face. He isn't sure what it is about this place, but Sora always finds himself coming here when there's nowhere else to go. Is it the smell of salt in the air? The soft sand sticking to his skin? Maybe it's his islander blood calling him there? Perhaps... it could be because it reminds him of the time before his "unlife", so to speak. Most of his memory of then is somewhat fuzzy and full of holes, but he does remember most of his time spent at the beach.

Almost 200 years of life and, no matter where he goes or what part of the world he steps foot in, he always ends up like driftwood on the shore. It's almost as if some kind of ghost is haunting him, or there's an invisible string pulling him; before he knows it, Sora's walking upon the sand and looking upon the waves.

He lays the back of his hand against his forehead and peers into the abyss suspended above. In the still blackness, faint hints of stars glitter weakly against the city's light pollution. There was a time where he would sit upon the damp wood of a ship and chart the stars—"keys to the world" is what his crewmates called them. Far back then, they shone like lighthouses to those on a ship drifting in the middle of the sea. But that was a very long time ago. Now, there's a sort of feeling of being lost without them guiding the way.

Shutting his eyes, Sora once more tires to picture running across the beach as a child. Everything is practically crystal clear... all but one thing.

The face of his brother.

It's smudged and unrecognizable, like a pastel smear across a photograph. With all the memories that are important to him still intact, it seems so bizarre that one of the few people he ever truly cared about is missing; it's almost as if somebody purposefully plucked him out from Sora's brain. Stranger yet, it took almost 150 years for Sora to even remember having a brother. As more time passes, the more his memory returns—slowly filling up his head like sand in an hourglass. While these memories were precious, their loss wasn't worth mulling over, really. All those people in his distant thoughts are dead, as harsh as it sounds.

Naturally, the true curse of immortality is watching those you care for wither away and die.

This is the price I pay for becoming a keeper of history, Sora thinks, his dedicated apathy allowing no emotion to stir in his chest. It's easier to discover new worlds than witness people face their mortality constantly.

Regardless of their great task, he and the other vampires had gotten lazy. With the integration of supernatural creatures into society being surprisingly smooth, all so-called "nightwalkers" found it less and less hard to stay secretive and alive. As more people wanted to become vampires (for whatever awful reason) the need for diligent recorders diminished as the population rose. On top of all that, despite widespread acceptance, few cities allowed creatures of the night in and even fewer cities had a major populous made up of supernaturals—Dusk City being the biggest of them all. At this point, vampires are known more for their awesome parties and great sex than for their work in history.

Despite how awesome it is to live his unending days in a blur, Sora can't help but feel he's wasting himself, and whatever purpose he has, away. Somewhere deep down, he can't help but feel his dedication has been squandered by some bizarre need for a mid-unlife crisis. A large part of him wants to go back to how it once was, even though the rest of him has accepted that he simply cannot. Especially not with recent developments in the covenant...

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart," Sora sighs, "Absent thee from felicity a while, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story."

"My first guess is right again." A voice cuts through the sound of rolling waves, "You're sitting on the beach muttering Shakespeare, as usual."

Knowing the voice all too well, Sora doesn't bother opening his eyes. "Well! Now that you're here, let's play Wheel of Fortune." He lets a smile creep to his face. "You've got 50 thou in the pot. So far, the board says: 'I'm not going'. There's one word left in the phrase. Would you like to solve the puzzle or would you like to buy a vowel?"

There's a laugh, "At least you're cutting to the chase," Sora hears the sifting of the sand as footsteps encroach him. "Also, you say you're not going back as if you have a choice."

"Who says I don't? 'His Majesty'? Give me a break." He laughs a bit himself, "What a frumpy title, anyway. Royalty in one life and for some reason it carries into the next..."

"You know that's not why he is who he is. We wouldn't be having this conversation right now if that was the case."

Sitting up, Sora blinks his eyes open to stare at the tall figure next to him: the only thing clear in the blackness of the night is silver hair catching the light of the moon.

"Riku, you're my best friend in this whole wide world... but you're wasting your time. You've been sniffing me out for weeks, but look—" He gestures to himself in amusement, "—I'm still here! Still AWOL. What makes you think tonight will be any different?"

Riku watches as Sora stands and brushes the sand off his body, briefly glancing over said vampire's attire. Hooded leather jacket, red ribbed tank, tattered jeans, beat-up sneakers, infamous crown necklace... typical Sora. Shaking his head, Riku sighs. What a mess.

"Maybe tonight won't be different." He mutters as Sora picks his knapsack up from the sand and slings it over his shoulders. "But tomorrow night is a full moon." Sora instantly locks eyes with Riku, feeling an expression of realization flash across his own face. The silver-haired man continues, "Then you won't be able to run or hide from me, and I can't guarantee your safety either."

Sora can't help but let a chuckle out, "Doesn't that piss you off, Riku? 'His Grace' is turning you into his almost-literal foxhound."

Suddenly Riku takes an aggressive step forward, but Sora doesn't budge; smirking arrogantly at the lycanthrope. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe this isn't about what he wants?! That maybe I just want you to come back and stop all this bullshit because I'm your friend and I care about you?" There is a long pause of unyielding eye contact, and Sora's facetious smile never fades. Under his breath Riku growls, "Kairi cares too, you know."

That comment must have flicked a switch somewhere, because Sora's grin drops in an instant before the vampire abruptly tears his eyes away and cries out in frustration. "It isn't my fucking fault, okay?! THIS was never my choice! Never did I ask to be a MONSTER! Never once did I ask to be a 'Lamb of Dracul', or whatever the King calls it! Before fifty years ago, I hadn't even the knowledge the fucker was my Sire until my memories returned and they tested my blood to be sure." Noticing the slip in his dialect, Sora runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get a hold of himself. "My job was to record history. Out of this whole mess, that was the only thing I wanted. And now they suddenly want me running the whole shebang?"

"You know it's not that simple, Sora. The King needs—"

"What? A hero, right?" Sora laughs mockingly, "I'm no hero. I memorialize the heroes. Hamlet dies, but Horatio lives on to tell his story; just like the rest of my bloodsucking brothers and sisters and I." Sora gnashes his fangs at Riku, "So if you or anybody else still wants me to come back, you can fucking drag me."

There is silence. Both men are still as statues; gazes transfixed on one another. The air around them is heavy with anticipation and sea mist, and Sora knows who will make the first move.

In a mere blink, he watches Riku jolt forward with his hand out, aiming straight for Sora's throat—

But it's not fast enough.

Before Riku's brain can even register the pain, there are four pure silver prongs of searing heat ripping into his gut and he suddenly feels his body go rigid. Sora watches his friend drop to the sand from the 55,000 volts rocking the werewolf's system. Unsympathetic, he tosses the taser next to the convulsing man and takes off toward the city without a second thought.