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The Night	By : mewsomniac Category: Kingdom Hearts > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1695 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: NO profit is being made off this work. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and Disney belong to their rightful owners, and I do not claim ANY ownership over their properties. FULL DISCLAIMER BELOW.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
The Night
Chapter XI: The Arcane and The Arts
July 17th, 2025
           Most members had very rarely used the library within their first year or so of becoming a spark, but Roxas had spent nearly every waking moment buried among the books, going days without seeing a single soul. Axel and Demyx had to come bring him food, then make sure he actually ate said food because XIII would often skip meals in favor of gorging on information.
           Upon first entering the atrium, Axel finds the usual sight: a steady stream of books floating through the air back to their resting places. Every now and again a book is violently tossed skyward, the magick just barely able to catch the object every single time. Zexion’s librarian-style levitation enchantment is really being put through the ringer by Roxas, and Axel makes sure not to linger too long under any books in case the spell gives out under the strain. He yawns a long yawn: tired from a long day of work, and also growing steadily hungry from the aroma of the plated food in his grasp.
           As usual, Roxas is sitting in a circle of books as if he were the Saturn of written text: one ring of tomes open around him with the outer ring stacked high with untouched books. In his lap balanced on one thigh is a notebook, surely filled to the brim with etchings by now, while the other has one of the library’s holo-tablets used for combing their online database. There have been times where, if Demyx and Axel had a free moment, they would come and watch the young man do his work in silence. They’ve observed that Roxas’ process of studying goes something like this: glance, scribble, glance, scribble, page flip, glance, scribble, chuck. Occasionally he would tap around on the tablet, especially if his pile of books ran too short and he needed to find more. After that, he would spring from his small tower of knowledge to jaunt back upstairs to the bookshelves, and yet another stream of books would come floating down to land gently upon the collection table a couple feet away from Roxas’ circle.
           Zexion’s magick was something else. His complicated enchantment (with some assistance from Xigbar) made it where the first time a book was thrown into the air, it would levitate down to a collection table in the middle of the library’s atrium. The second time it was thrown, it would find it’s way back home on the shelf. Speaking of Zexion, when XI discovered XIII’s sudden interest, he often spent his own free time in the library helping Roxas; even bringing texts from his own bookstore if he felt they would interest the younger man. Roxas talked with Zexion plenty, but when his roommates would try to have a conversation with him, he would remain mostly unresponsive unless they had food.
           Nobody really knew what he was looking for. It is like he’s transfixed by a never-ending spiral of information, caught in a limbo of endless seeking that not a soul could save him from.
           As much as Axel adores his little adopted brother, it’s been quite aggravating to try and interact with him lately. Normally when Axel greets him in this state, Roxas would maybe nod a little at the most, but if he had food Roxas would make a small sound to acknowledge him.
           That's why it freaks Axel out so much when Roxas looks at him and suddenly comes bounding up to him from over the pile of books.
           “Axel!” He shouts, and the redhead realizes just how long it's been since he's actually heard Roxas’ voice, “I need to show you something!”
           “Uh—” Axel responds, holding the plate of curry up as a timid offering. “I brought food—”
           “It can wait!” Roxas doesn't even give his roommate a chance to put the plate down as he drags him back to the elevator. Once the silver doors are shut, the blond starts rambling on about something so fast that Axel barely has time to register any of it. He's still mostly surprised Roxas is even talking at all.
           “And if my hypothesis is correct, I should be able to channel the energy and launch—are you even listening to me?”
           Axel scratches his head with his free hand, sputtering, “S-sorry... it's been a long day, and when you get this excited you can be hard to follow.”
           The elevator stops; Axel realizes they're on the summoning chamber floor, and Roxas doesn't waste any time zipping over to one of the four rooms. Each space is sealed with negation wards Namine and Xemnas perfected to dispel any stray magick, protecting the rest of the building from arcane experiments. Each room is a lab of sorts with bookshelves full of spellbooks, sturdy marble tables, herbs for mixing, and chalk for other alchemic ventures. When they entered the room, Axel was shocked to see it looked very lived in: yet another landscape of books was spread out among the usual summoning chamber things, which were also quite disheveled. It genuinely surprised the redhead to realize Roxas had been spending a lot of time here too.
           XIII began tidying the room, recounting his original ramblings from the elevator a little slower now. The books on telekinesis led Roxas to books on psychokinesis, which led to historical documents of witches with similar powers, which led to tricks on how earlier spellcasters used these techniques, and so on. In doing more research into the matter, he discovered a different variety of telekinesis, in which the user moves oneself as well as other objects.
           “There was a cult called the Vector Witches who used their power kind of like extra arms,” The blond said, flicking through the pages of a book he plucked from the floor, “and another cult that called themselves Warlock Knights who used their power as a force to push, pull, and hold themselves or objects.”
           Axel sighs, “I don't suppose you brought me all the way here to show me something in a book.”
           Roxas picks up some nearby chalk before clearing the rest of the papers and books sitting in the center of the room; revealing a scraggly, smudged circle. He touches up the lines, explaining, “I found this symbol in one of the books in here. It's supposed to amplify gravity and air-based magic.”
           Axel nods dazedly, watching Roxas ready himself for something.
           “What exactly was your hypothesis again?”
           “That if I can figure out those cultists’ techniques, I could basically push and pull myself at the same time—launching myself into the air like a slingshot.”
           Axel nods again, looking down into the slowly cooling plate of food. What an interesting concept. He imagines the distances Roxas could travel that way, and the enemies he could pursue with ease—
           Wait a minute.
           Roxas lobs the chalk onto a table and plants his feet firmly in the circle. “Now, like I said, this is a hypothesis… I haven't tried this yet, so it might get a little crazy and I need your help. Catch me!”
           These rooms have high ceilings and decent space, but there's no way a person could launch themselves inside of it without possibly killing themselves.
          “Roxas, wait—!”
           But before Axel can say anything else, he feels something shifting in the air, the remaining debris on the floor around Roxas begin to inch away from the chalk circle. Roxas crouches, stretching a hand out to the side of the room where Axel is standing, then yanks it into a fist toward his chest—
           Splat.
           The plate clatters to the floor, Roxas can feel the sting of turmeric in his eyes as he wipes the food from his face and neck. He barely manages to peek at Axel, who is staring dumbfounded and frozen in place; his arm up as if he were still holding the plate.
           Roxas sighs, “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
           Axel bursts into hysterics, “Oh sweet Goddess above, that was AMAZING!” But Roxas isn’t laughing with him, and when Axel notices the heartbreak on the spark’s face, he automatically goes into comfort mode. “For real, Roxas, if you keep practicing you'll have this down in no time.” He puts an arm around XIII’s shoulders, leading him out of the room. “Although, you should focus on the smaller things first… baby steps and all that.”
           “I guess you're right.”
           “Let's go get you some clean clothes and more food. You know, before you make another mess, poltergeist-style.”
July 17, 2025
           The greatest spot in all the courtyard, arguably across the entire mansion property, is the second biggest fountain. It’s main body is a great statue of Apollo: his lyre grasped in one hand as another points skyward, with his chiseled face turned in the same direction. Though the statue’s modesty is very historically inaccurate with marble drapings clinging his form, they still have a life-like quality as he looks frozen in mid bound. Water pours from hidden slots in the drapings curling around his legs, making him look as if he were jumping up out of water; perhaps springing away from Poseidon's grasp. It’s as if Apollo has been locked away here, forever reaching for the sun, which is always far out of his grasp.
           Sora lays there, resting flat against the wide rim of the fountain, retro square sunglasses on, and head poised to get the perfect angle. If you look at the statue just right, at the perfect time, you can see Apollo’s hand touching the setting sun as if it were nearly in his grasp or terribly blinding him. Sora never found out if the sculptor His Highness hired created this mini-marvel of art interacting with nature on purpose, but nonetheless it was a wonder.
           This place is special for him because of this magical little secret, but also because of that day so many months ago. In haste, he rushed out one evening to catch the marvel at its peak… but when he laid in the sun he could feel it slowly burning the flesh on his face, and once more on the hand that darted up to block it.
           Still, he was incredibly grateful to have this sight back: looking at the golden streaks as they poured between Apollo’s stony fingers. It felt like hours before His Majesty came to the courtyard, late as usual. Sora was long used to it by now, and Mickey knew he didn’t have to spout any excuses. Now that Riku is off sulking, the King is an especially busy man running the entirety of the Covenant with only Sora and Kairi’s help. Though it can’t be any harder than when Sora was gone, since Riku was out looking for him and the King only had Kairi’s help then.
          “What did you need to speak to me about?” His Majesty asks.
           Sora swings his legs over and sits up on the fountain’s edge, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Your Majesty—”
          “Sora, please.” Mickey says softly.
           “Er… Sire.” He corrects himself, “I feel like I have to tell you this.” He slips the shades up to sit atop his head, revealing his forehead by pinning his bangs beneath them. “One of the reasons I left the Covenant was because the sun was starting to burn me.”
           The King wet rigid, the color draining from his already pale face.
          “But you’re—how is this possible? Why didn't you tell me?”
           It was the great phenomena of vampire kind: those who burn in the light of the sun. Where most would simply become weakened by it—growing lethargic and powerless in the daytime—a small few would have their life force completely drained. Even fewer still were the ones whose skin would burn or, worse, ignite and fry to a crisp.
           There was no need for him to lie, so he gave the King the cold truth. “Between that and the Lamb of Dracul thing, I felt like I was completely losing control. I knew if I told you, or even Kairi and Riku, you wouldn’t let me leave. The weird thing about it is, the day I came back here was the day the sun stopped burning me.”
           Mickeys eyes went wide.
          “It stopped? Completely?”
          “Completely stopped.”
          “So right now…?”
          “Absolutely nothing. I don’t even feel weak.”
           Mickey lunged forward suddenly; grasping Sora’s face quickly, but gingerly. He began to examine him, twisting his head back and forth, inspecting his eyes, and pushing his lips back to study his teeth. When the shorter man released his hold, he began to jog toward the mansion, beckoning Sora along and muttering something about “history in the making.”
           However, after hours and hours of testing, research, and ripping tomes from bookcase shelves, the results were inconclusive. Sora’s blood didn't seem any different from the records they'd previously taken, but those results don’t say much since they don’t have any blood during his burning stage for comparison. No evidence of this phenomena being curable existed in historical data, though there was some recent evidence of it being treatable. On top of all that, none of it seemed to have any answers for Sora’s sudden affinity for magick, which seemed to have lain dormant inside of him up until recently.
           By the end of all of it, Mickey was exhausted, but determined. He decided to forgo science for the original science: magick. Spell after spell, charm upon charm, and potion upon potion didn't tell either of them a single damn thing. Sora would choke down concoctions, then try to keep from vomiting as Mickey ran more tests. Late into the day Sora would doze off, then be awoken by the light of an aura enveloping him or the mild shock of an electric current twinging through his muscles. They weren't finished until Sora blinked his eyes open from a nap to see Mickey had fallen asleep on top of a thick spell book. He urged the King to bed and they both agreed this mystery would have to go unsolved for now.
           Some things simply don’t have an explanation.
July 24th, 2025
           Are you feeling anything?”
          “No. Nothing yet.
          “Really concentrate on looking deep within yourself.”
          “I am. There’s just… nothing.” Roxas heaves out a massive sigh, opening his eyes to look at the cross-legged Namine in front of him. He rubs his knees a little, his own legs starting to become numb from holding the same position across his bed from her. This session, like the many others they tried, simply had no headway. “I swear to you, if I looked any deeper I’d sever my third-eye’s metaphysical optic nerve... or however that works.”
           Namine hums, staring her roommate down with puzzled intensity. “Many have had visions in the Pool of Awakening that created the spark inside of them. Try thinking about that instead.”
           In all honesty, Roxas couldn’t really remember what he saw after he blacked out. The only apparent pieces he has are when everything went dark and, for a split second (But was it a split second? Or was it an eternity?), he lost a sense of… self. Every time he tried to explain it in his head, his thoughts became a jumbled mess—if he opened his mouth to talk about it, the words would die on his tongue before ever reaching the air.
          “I don’t think I can, but...”
           She continues, “Close your eyes.”
           Obeying the command, Roxas adds, “Can’t you just find the memory for me?”
          “What’s the point in that? You have to seek the vision for yourself, and me digging around your mind is just going to make us both feel awkward.”
           She does have a point there.
          “Now breathe deep… in… and out.”
           He sucks in the air gently, letting the stillness of the room and scent of the incense that Namine brought relax him.
           Namine’s voice drifts to him, “Think back to the pool.”
           He’s laying in the cool water, and involuntarily, he holds his breath.
          “Remember not being able to breathe, and fighting for air.”
           The symbol staring down at him on the ceiling, his colleagues in the blurry water around him. There’s the distant sting in his chest, and the blackness clouding his vision like a vignette over his reality. Cold water. Warm rain.
          “What do you see?”
          “Darkness.”
          “No…” Namine whispers, “Look harder.”
           He does his best to remember the feeling of being suspended in air, the world peeling away from him like a million sticky threads, the teeniest pinprick of white…
          “I see… light.”
          “Light?”
          “Just a little bit… a little dot of it.”
          “Concentrate on that. Try to grasp it will all your might; make it yours.”
           In his head, he tries to go toward it, but it’s like running in a dream—he gets nowhere. Frustrated, he sighs once again and opens his eyes. “I don’t think this is working, Namine.”
           She smiles, “That’s alright Roxas, we’ll get there eventually.”
As Namine gets her minimal ritual things packed up, Roxas can’t help but feel annoyed. Learning to summon his element to his hand has had slow—nearly nonexistent—progress. What’s more is that his experimentations with his other powers have stagnated as well. Just what exactly is “blocking his energy” as Namine might say? Although he understands this is an arduous process that will take plenty of time and effort, he can’t help but feel annoyed by it all.
           More than anything, Roxas is annoyed him room smells like patchouli again...
August 9th, 2025
           The wind whips around Sora’s face, the air cold as ice around him. The sky is an ocean of mist, the chill of the atmosphere gripping his skin as he tumbles down, down, down to earth. His eyes sting, and the breath is sucked from him as he goes to scream—
           He gasps, startling himself awake. Though he’s grateful to no longer be falling, when his consciousness begins to more aptly clear the sleep away, he notices his current predicament. Most of the upper-half of his body is hanging out of the ceiling of the room below his. It seemed he’d taken the blanket with him, too, as it is dangling around him. Using the arm still in his room, he feels around his unseen surroundings… hard floor, the rug his bed sits atop of… he must have fallen out of bed and subconsciously tried to travel through the floor.
           Carefully, he begins to use the wood floor to sort-of push/pull himself out of the floor and back into his room, trying desperately not to fall all the way through.
           When his body and blanket are all safely back in his room, he throws on a pair of boxers and sprints all the way across the mansion to Mikeaus’ bedroom, doing his best to concentrate on not letting his feet slip into the floor. The morning sun peeks in between the curtains, filling the familiar journey with skinny walls of light. When he makes it to the door, he goes to pound his fists into it… but instead ends up tumbling through it and straight into the King’s room. Fortunately, though, he lands on the floor instead of falling through tha as well.
           The King wakes with a start, and he might’ve sprung out of bed to attack had he not recognized Sora’s groans.
          “I can’t control it.” Sora says, muffled by the carpet, “I’m falling through everything. What if I fall to the center of the earth? Has that ever happened before?”
          “Don’t worry, there’s always a limit,” His Highness yawns, “Typically phase-shifting vampires can only move through an object as long as it’s shorter than their arm span.” Sora is relieved at first, then mortified at the prospect of “typically”, like it is indeed possible to go beyond that.
           The King hops out of bed and over to a nearby shelf. “I might have a charm or ward for keeping you from phasing through anything, but normally they’re used for protecting objects.”
           Sighing, Sora carefully pushes himself off the floor and sits cross-legged. In the hallway, he hears the padding of bare feet as they propel toward the door. After some beeping from the pinpad and several locks cracking apart, Sora flings himself out of the way just as the door comes flying open.
           “Majesty!” Kairi shouts, “Is everything okay? I heard a commotion...” She spots a panicked Sora sprawled on the floor, part of his body drifting into the carpet as he curses, while the King nonchalantly scans his bookshelf.
           Even though Kairi is draped in a silky négligé, for once in his unlife Sora doesn’t really care. If anything, he’s a little peeved that she’s even come to bother them when the King clearly has things under control. Hopefully. Maybe?
           “Please hurry, Sire.” Sora says, trying his best not to sound pitiful. He turns his head to Kairi, reaching out to her. “Give me a hand?”
           She does just that, pulling him back out of the carpet and into the room. As she does, Sora notices that her face is fixed in a desperate state of concern, even though he can tell she doesn’t find this situation particularly stressful. She’s seen Sora phase shift on accident many times now; in fact, she’s found it quite hilarious. This particular kind of concern, one that’s etched into his memory, is reserved for Riku.
           Skipping the formalities, he asks, “Worried about Riku?”
           Kairi sighs, “I’m wearing it on my face, aren’t I?”
           “You always do. I bet you couldn't sleep, either.”
           She shakes her head, “Never on a full moon.”
           Sora nods solemnly. Dusk City has a loose rule about werewolves: it’s ill-advised to be in the city for full moons. They ask all bloodthirsty lycanthropic beasts to kindly lock themselves up or venture out into the countryside where there are rolling mountains and thick forests to roam. People have even made decent bank opening up taxi or shuttle services to these areas, which are typically no more than a two-hours drive from the city. Others cashed in on custom-built 50% silver cellblocks that customers can install in their own homes (for the discreet lycanthropes). However, Dusk City was realistic with their expectations and instead created Safe Zones, little clusters of the city monitored by the Organization and police forces. Normally, Riku chose to go out into the wilderness to unleash the beast. When Sora ran away, Riku spent every full moon combing the city in his lycanthropic form despite the little success it produced. Ever since Sora returned, Riku still vanished into the city the day of a full moon for reasons uncertain.
            Though it was easy for her to surmise what was happening, Kairi still lingered in the doorway. His Majesty had produced a spell book with a calligraphy cover announcing it was for some kind of anti-phase passing, and was going back and forth between eyeballing Sora and flicking through the pages.
           Made uncomfortable by the silence and page turning, Sora blurted out, “I can talk to Riku if you want. I dunno if it’ll help, but…”
           As if on cue, Kairi lights right up, “Would you, really? I mean, I hate to ask—”
           “No, no need to ask. It’s my fault anyway.”
           What he didn’t tell her was that he’d already tried this… several times, in fact. Any time he knew Riku was on the premises, he was following him like a duckling, desperately trying to mend the fractures in their friendship. Riku simply ghosted him every single time, and was even spending far more time in the city to most likely stay away from the vampire. Sora found it to be a sad irony that their situations were reversed in such a way.
           After Mickey found a decent enough spell, he cast it on Sora and they all went back to bed. Sora waited patiently until sunrise, which was around when Riku had been returning from his recent werewolf jaunts. When he ultimately came up through the gate and into the main entrance, Sora attempted once again to speak with him. He followed Riku all to way to the werewolf’s bedroom, the door of which was unsurprisingly slammed in his face.
September 7th, 2025
           It’s the same pinprick of light, holding steady in the distance. This time, though, he feels himself pushing through the black as if it were tepid air. It swims around him, and he starts to notice the shape it takes: a restless, never-ending spiral.
           No… it’s not one point of light. It’s a star.
           The space around him starts twisting open, and he can see a million stars peeking through the blackness. The pinprick of white glows hot and bright, like a raging sun on the verge of supernova. The light seeps into him, filling his cells down to the nucleus, becoming one with the stars.
           He opens his eyes to see a glowing orb of pure light glowing like a white flame in his hands. He focuses intensely on that warm light, and in his head he pictures the molecules shifting in the air, twisting into billions of tiny mirrors. The light disappears, and so does his hand, then all the way up his arm… and in mere seconds, his whole body has vanished into thin air.
          Namine and Xemnas watch in awe, the both of them standing in Roxas’ bedroom as they witness his newfound power.
           Roxas exhales quickly, relaxing himself and allowing the magick to dissipate around him. “It’s gotten easier and easier to control. As long as I’m touching something, I can make it disappear too.” To demonstrate, he touches his bed and after a few seconds of careful concentration, it slowly begins to vanish.
           “Roxas, you haven just passed our element test,” Namine says, referring to conjuring a ball of whatever element an organization member possess in their hand, “You’ve also progressed it into something completely different.”
           “Dear Goddess,” Xemnas whispers, “My surmise was correct. You can not only wield light, XIII… you can bend it.”
           “With this, your casting abilities, and the rapid development of your kinesis powers…”
           “I can start field training, right?” Roxas says, grinning excitedly.
           Xemnas and Namine look at each other, completely dumbfounded.
           Roxas has broken a new record.
October 6th, 2025
           Sora’s knuckles rap against the glossy cherrywood of His Majesty’s mighty office door. Mighty… yet also not. The massive door that nearly touches the top of the vaulted ceiling is impressive, but it’s merely the King’s favorite decorative gag. The real door is just a regular-sized one that sits embedded in the larger one, like most of the other doors in the house. Sora, to this day, has never gotten a straight answer from Mickey as to why the King enjoys such an unnecessary thing. However, every guest thus far has found it impeccably quaint, so who is he to judge?
           The true door slowly swings open, His Majesty beckoning him inside. The office interior has always been the same: walls lined to the ceiling with books, a large marble desk covered in scattered papers on one side, a single lamp illuminating the room from next to the desk, and massive French windows situated perfectly so that the moonlight pours in from between the silky red curtains. There’s a red velvet chaise lounge and matching armchair duo on the opposite side of the room from the desk. The most striking thing about the setup is how starkly black and red everything is, like something out of Edgar Allan Poe’s gothic feng shui wet dream. The only white comes from the marble desk and the paperwork sitting atop it.
           Plopping down in one of the velvet armchairs, Mickey pats the chaise lounge for Sora to come sit.
           Sora does so, asking, “So why did you call me up here?”
           As Sora situates himself to be more comfortable, Mickey leans back into the armchair, the thing looking comically large for his small frame. He plants his elbows on the armrests, lacing his fingers as he smiles like a Lovecraftian therapist.
          “I wanted to try something with you today. Often, witches have been synonymous with familiars, though it’s rare any spellcasters still have them. However, the scholomancers keep a particular kind of them around. Like my rats.”
           Sora’s face twists up as he remembers all the times they’d been summoned to Mickey’s aid in front of him. “How could I possibly forget your rats?”
         Ignoring the redundancy of the comment, The King continues, “The creatures that flock to us and are willing to lend us their strength are often the ones we feel a close attachment to in our souls.”
           Sora replies, rather bluntly, “So, a spirit animal.”
           Mickey sighs in exasperation, “I suppose you could say it’s that. Though it’s rare for a scholomancer to have only one. Your original sire, Dracula, was infamous for having several creatures at his beck and call. You make a blood pact with them, and say the incantation ‘in blood I give upon to thee, I seal our souls from you to me, so mote it be.’ If the creature’s spirit wants to be your familiar, it will accept the pact and it's brethren will follow.”
          “How do we start, then?”
          “I will guide you through some basic meditation. Don’t be upset if we don’t find all the answers today, just focus on clearing your mind and zeroing in on what your soul is saying to you.” Sora nods in response. “Close your eyes, and start breathing as deeply as is comfortable.”
           Sora does as he’s instructed, feeling a little abrasive but open to the experience. He lays on the chaise for quite some time, long enough that he becomes so relaxed that he could take a nap in the stillness of the room.
           Gently, Mickey’s voice drifts to him, “Imagine the place your heart is always drawn to.”
           That’s easy: he pictures the beach. The waves rolling in, the sun beaming down from the sky.
          “Imagine yourself completely immersed in it.”
            He pictures himself diving into the water, the deep blue swallowing him.
          “Wherever you are, think about looking around and seeing something in the distance—something coming toward you.”
           Sora does this, and sees a black figure speeding toward him in the water—but he’s unafraid.
          “What is it?”
           Sora opens his eyes, distaste apparent on his face. “A fucking dolphin.” He groans, “Yeah that’s beautiful and all that, but what good is a fucking dolphin to me?!”
           Mickey stifles a laugh, and Sora stares daggers at him, “I think it suits you just fine. Also, a spirit animal isn’t always the same as a familiar. Let’s try again.”
           They start over, Mickey waiting an unknown amount of time as Sora deep-breathes himself into another semi-comatose state. Then, The King speaks again.
          “Imagine you’re in a wide-open space bursting with life.”
           Sora imagines a vast savannah, brimming with warm grass as far as the eye can see.
          “In your head, call out to this amazing space: tell it you’re here, and you’re looking for it.”
           So he does, his voice catching on the winds of the plains. He listens, and watches. There, the grass parts, a pair of glinting amber eyes peeking through the stalks as they observe him.
           He opens his eyes again. “A lion. Also very cool, but not super helpful.”
           Mickey sighs. “I’m sure it’ll come if we keep trying, but not with that attitude. I suppose we should come back to this another time. You take a short break while I run and grab something from the throne room so we can move on to other things.”
           He gets up and exists, and Sora is grateful Mickey didn’t send rats to do it instead. The brunet sits up on the chaise. A dolphin does seem to fit him pretty well, as they spend their time doing whatever the hell they want as they travel the sea. A lion also seems to fit, lazing about in the sun, quietly observing the world as it passes by, possessing power beyond compare. He stands up and stretches, going over to the window to look at the moon. He wonders how Dracula found his familiars, and what made the animals feels so attached to the mysterious vampire that he got to have so many of them.
           His gaze reaches across the iron gate, where the city can be seen in the distance as a sliver of light in the darkness. The ocean behind it glints with moonlight bouncing off the heavy waves, the gravitational pull making the water endlessly restless. His heart aches heavy in his chest at the sight; the days seem to drag on more and more, and he desperately wants back out. His eyes flick back to the moon, just in time to see a bird gliding across the sky it as if to eclipse it. He smiles as the creature circles the yard, and in the silver lighting he can see it’s a crow.
           Oh, how he envies crows. Such creative, intelligent creatures, free to come and go as they please. One of his few intact memories from childhood is that of rushing out to feed the neighborhood crows every day. His parents, terrified of the hobby (and rightfully so) tried to ban him from it. Like any other child, he disobeyed them and continued to do so. The crows even began to bring him presents: little shiny trinkets in exchange for food. He truly adored the creatures, their caws and tilting heads eternally delighting him.
           He smiles at the memory as the crow flies by again, and in the light of the moon Sora can swear he sees it’s eye glinting at him.
           Something deep down in his soul says, Open the window.
           Never breaking eye contact with the crow, he unlatches the lock and throws the windows open—the curtains billowing gently in the autumn breeze. The crow circles around and comes straight for him. He’s unable to move, watching in awe as the ink-black creature glides to him and soundlessly perches itself on the window sill. Sora can see it’s eyes clearly now, shimmering pools of blackness staring him down with curious intent.
           Sora lets his fangs out and bites his hand, creating two fresh wounds. “In blood I give upon to thee, I seal our souls, from you to me…” He holds his hand out. “So mote it be.”
           The crow cocks it’s head at the offering, before giving Sora’s bloodied wound a little peck. It blinks at him… then makes a graceful leave out the window, crying out into the night.
           Sora groans, “Great.”
           He turns to go sit back down on the couch, wondering if birds can carry vampire-killing viruses, when suddenly he hears the rustling of feathers from behind him. He turns to see the crow has perched itself on Mickey’s desk. It warbles at him, and Sora’s heart does a happy little jump in his chest.
          “H-hey! You’re back.”
           Another rustling sound, and he looks to the window to see another crow is observing him from the sill. Another comes to sit by that one… and another one… and another...
          “Uh…”
           Cautiously, he moves to the window to see a whole murder of crows lingering outside, circling around the mansion as they occasionally caw in communication. He smiles at the one on the desk.
           Mickey is gonna be pissed.
October 6th, 2025
            They always told Xigbar that he’s too harsh on training new recruits. But Xigbar wasn’t harsh, he was just what he called “aggressively realistic”. Since the inception of the Organization, he’s been pushing new members to their absolute limits… because if he doesn’t, who’s honestly going to? The real world isn’t timed simulations and rooms packed with spellbooks. It’s harsh, and wet, and itchy, and uncomfortable—like the tag on your boxers on a hot summer day. Do they even put tags on underwear anymore? Kids have it so easy these days.
           Anyway, the “suicide missions” Xigbar takes the sparks out on is never an actual suicide mission because they’ve always survived, and become better casters because of it. As Xigbar always says, what’s the point of field training if you aren’t feeling the icy cold breath of death on your shoulder?
           Of course, Roxas is feeling that very thing right now as he glides through the air in pursuit of his target. As Xigbar’s tradition always entails, it’s a full moon, and though there are no civilians to bother with, the streets are exponentially more dangerous. Everyone’s powers are amplified to the extreme, and even Roxas is having trouble controlling his kinesis with the overflow of energy coursing through him. Though this would be his 27th field training (the volume as high as it is per his constant pestering), it’s only his first mission under a “moon-rise” as the Org lovingly dubbed it. The brighter the moon, it seemed, the harder it was to focus his energy.
           He’d been warned time and time again about Xigbar’s supposed “suicide missions”, but he figured that since whoever went on them is alive and well there wasn’t much to worry about.
           Oh, what a fool he was. He’s already had a couple close calls with this nightwalker he’s chasing, and his jacket is now ripped in a couple places because of it. He is very fortunate not to have gotten injured badly so far, and the healing spells Marluxia taught him for quick fixes have been working especially well on his minimal wounds.
           He comes to a stop on top of an apartment building, gasping for breath. Jumping across buildings with his kinesis has been especially tough, because his trajectory has been widely off. He has couple quick anti-gravity spells memorized in the unfortunate circumstance that he misses his shot… but he doesn’t even know how those will work under the moon-rise.
           A portal of blackness opens up above him, and Xigbar’s head pokes out from the underside; his ponytail dangling whimsically in the air. “Why are we stopping, blondie?” He drawls, “The target is that-ah-way.”
           Roxas scowls at him. Even in his short time of knowing Xigbar, he knows the man is just trying to rile him up and get him to admit that he’s struggling. He growls, “Just catching my breath, thanks.” He shoots Number II a look that twists the older man’s face up in a happy grin, “What if they changed again? The might already be long gone, how can I spot them?”
           “As if,” The man laughs, “This is your mission, kid. But if you ask me, I don’t think you should worry too much. It’s not like there’s anyone else out here, anyway.” His head ducks down—or up?—and the portal vanishes.
           Groaning, Roxas creeps up to the edge of the building and scans the streets as best he can. He ponders his next move carefully, and closes his eyes.
           He whispers, “Ostende mihi faciem tuam animarum.” Against the back of his eyelids, he can see the flood of auras, just as he expected. The moon-rise may have amplified this spell, but seeing so many auras doesn’t actually hinder him.
           In fact... He thinks, noticing an orange-yellow blotch of light as it darts around amidst the rest of the colors, This helps me quite a bit.
           His eyes snap open and he vaults off to the next building, continuing his pursuit. Being careful not to fall, he keeps using the aura spell to track the target; tracing a map in his head of the approximate area that the nightwalker may be in. Quickly, he starts catching up—before he knows it, the nightwalker has hit a dead end in some alley. Roxas jumps in, a little shaky on the landing with his kinesis. This particular alley is pitch black thanks to the surrounding buildings, but that won't be a problem for him in a moment.
           “It’s over, shapeshifter.” He calls to the darkness, “Turn yourself in, or I’ll have to detain you by force.”
           There’s a brief silence, followed by what sounds like groaning. Roxas’ brows furrow, and he lifts a hand to light the alley. His energy overexerts itself a bit, flicking on almost like an orb of floodlight.
           His heart seizes.
           A hulking mass of silver fur breathes slowly over it’s prey. The shapeshifter underneath it has maintained their previous form, a hipster-looking man, but their face seems to be alternating between many variations as it writhes in pain. There’s blood seeping from their wound: a fresh group of claw marks.
           The werewolf looks over it’s shoulder, and Roxas catches the gaze of glaring seafoam eyes.
           “Riku.” He says. Despite all of his training, he completely freezes up. By now, he’s encountered a couple unruly werewolves so far, but none have ever been quite as terrifying—or large, for that matter—as Riku. He has wards and spells ready in his head, but he can’t bring himself to say the words.
           Were-Riku slowly turns to him, and Roxas notices an inconsistency in his silver coat: an X-shaped scar on his arm. Without thinking, he reaches to his chest and touches his necklace, which is hidden beneath his cloak.
           “That scar… it’s my fault.” Roxas says, not quite sure if Riku will even register what he’s saying. “Riku, I don’t know if you can hear me, but… I’m sorry. I know Sora has caused you a lot of stress, and I certainly didn’t help, but you’re his best friend. He loves you a lot and—I dunno, man. I’m just sorry you’ve had such a shitty fucking year.”
           “What the fuck are you doing?” The shapeshifter calls from the ground, “Are you trying to make small talk with a goddamn werewolf you goddamn idiot—”
           Were-Riku snaps his body around to roar angily at the injured nightwalker, and Roxas watches as he uses a clawed paw to pick the shifter up by the arm. The shapeshifter yelps in pain and Riku begins making his way toward Roxas.
           Panicked, Roxas shouts, “S-stop! I don’t want to hurt you!” He lifts his other hand, ready to use his kinesis to push both nightwalkers away if necessary. Under the moon-rise, however, he doesn't know much force will come out of it and if it’ll seriously injure them.
           He’s ready, finally, to stand toe-to-toe with Riku. Yet… Riku doesn’t seem like he wants a fight. The look in his eyes, which Roxas has come to know as murderous, are softened. Riku’s entire physique is relaxed, his ears are perky, and his facial expression is stoic. The werewolf stops at about two feet away and drops the shapeshifter at Roxas’ feet, earning a grunt from the other nightwalker. Roxas is still holding his defensive stance, ready to blow the werewolf back back, as Riku carefully leans down to sniff him.
           Then, Riku gives Roxas’ face a long, slimy, nasty lick… before dropping down on all fours and running off into the night.
           Roxas stands, absolutely stunned, staring forward in deep shock.
           A loud cackle erupts in his ear, making him spring away like a spooked cat.
           “Oh-oh my god!” Xigbar squeals, having appeared suddenly beside him, “That was hilarious! I haven’t seen a friendly werewolf in ages! I thought he was gonna bite your friggin’ face off and I was ready to drop him… but no! He gives you a big ol’ puppy kiss like you were just playing fetch! This is amazing!”
           Number II wheezes, and Roxas uses his sleeve to vigorously wipe his face.
           “Can we just move along?”
           Xigbar sighs happily, wiping tears from his eye. “Fine, fine. Say the stuff and I’ll open the portal.”
           Roxas looks down at the shapeshifter, who seems pretty done with this whole experience. “You’re being detained for three counts of murder, one count of attempted murder, several instances of identity theft, breaking-and-entering, data theft, illegal infiltration… you get the picture. We’ll be holding you until the city can process you. Buh-bye.”
“Just you wait, you piece of shit!” The shapeshifter growls, “I’m coming after you—” but before he can say anything else, one of Xigbar’s portals opens beneath him and the nightwalker vanishes from their sight.
           “We can go over the legal logistics of this event later. The night is young! We’ve only just started! Yadda yadda, inspirational messages… what-the-fuck-ever. Get moving!” Xigbar s;ips into another portal, and Roxas makes his way out of the alley.
           He tries his best to brush off the interaction with Riku, but it seemed so odd. Was the lycanthrope using the shapeshifter as some kind of peace offering? Did he accept Roxas’ apology? Does that lick mean they’re friends now? What does it mean for Sora? Moreover… how can Riku control himself so well under a full moon? He’ll have to ask Sora about it later.
           As he ponders these many questions, he neglects to realize his kinesis is mostly under control now, and he moves about the city with ease.
December 11th, 2025
           Sora approaches the throne room a little tired, somewhat annoyed, but mostly intrigued. Mikaeus had woken him with a start, demanding he get dressed and come down to the throne room immediately, as well as telling him to “wear something you don’t mind staining or throwing away!” This somewhat disturbed Sora, but he hurried down out of morbid curiosity; avoiding all contact with other covenant members as he was instructed. When he got to the door, he didn’t bother opening the complicated lock and simply phase-shifted through it. Even though the throne room door is the thickest in the house, it’s also barely a millimeter less than Sora’s arm span, so he can pass through it with ease.
           He expects the inside to be the same as it’s always been… however, this time, there’s a large stone slab poised before a blackened pedestal, what looks to be a surgical procedure tray, and a cushioned stool. The slab seems to have something like a drainage curvature that funnels directly into a slot where a silver bowl is sitting.
           Sora isn’t sure how he feels about this.
           He spots Mickey with a box of first-aid supplies and other assorted items marching happily toward the setup.
           “There you are, Sora! Come over here. Today is a big day!”
           Cautiously, Sora approaches the King as he preps the station.
           “What is all of this? It looks like you’re about to sacrifice a goat to the devil or something.”
          The King chuckles, “Close, but not exactly. You told me once that your travels took you through the Enchanted Dominion which, according to legend, the great witch Maleficent once laid a mighty curse upon.” Mikaeus dusts off the pedestal with a hand, then very unceremoniously wipes it on his pants to be rid of the char. “Legend also said she burned whole armies with her green fire into dust.” He mounts the box on the floor, digs around in it, and hands Sora a spellbook.
           The Lamb of Dracul says, “You know history lessons for seasoned vampires are pretty useless right? So what’s your point?”
           Mickey grins, “We’re going to give you this power.” He motions to the tome, and Sora proceeds to crack it open to the only bookmarked page. The pages are printed with scrawling text and alchemical circles that spiral into arcane mandelas. “Since vampires can't use most forms of magick, many of our kin dedicated their lives to finding workarounds… but they come at a price.”
           “You mean blood magick.” Sora replies. He’s mostly unimpressed, but still curious. “I know how it works—”
           Mickey holds up a hand to hush the younger vampire. Then, His Majesty begins unbuttoning his own shirt. He turns his back to the brunet, and lets the white shirt slip down to his elbows. The entirety of his back is scarred with spiraling manelas and alchemical circles. Other designs loop in concentric rings around his arms. To the untrained eye, these may just look like bizarre occult tattoos… but on closer inspection, every scar is painstakingly detailed, with symbols buried within symbols. Sora is completely blown away not just by the complexity of the markings, but the simple fact that it’s possible for vampires to scar.
           “How come you’ve never shown me these before?” Sora asks.
           “That’s because I’ve tried to keep it a secret for as long as I could.” He faces Sora, buttoning his shirt back up. “This particular kind of blood magick was taught exclusively to me in the Scholomance. The magick hidden in these scars, lying dormant in the blood, must be passed from one “carver”, as they call it, to the next.” He fishes an apron out of the box and fastens it to his body. “It’s similar to sires passing traits to their fledglings when they’re turned.”
           Sora grips the book a little tighter as Mickey moves off to rummage through an old-looking chest of sorts. “I’ve never seen a vampire with scars before.”
           “That’s because they mostly don't exist. I’ve been very careful to let the legend of this blood magick die, because the only spells you can inherit are too blackened even for the Scholomance.” He pulls two ornate boxes out from the chest and returns to Sora, dropping the larger one on the pedestal. “I was entrusted to these spells to keep them out of evil hands. With my Mind Control, it’s impossible to take them from me. With your Mind—er, Glamor as you prefer to call it—I believe it’s finally time to pass them on to a good suitor.”
           Sora winces. Being scarred so much for the rest of his own eternity seems tragic… but on the positive side, he’s always wanted to get a tattoo. No attempt he’s made has ever actually worked, and it’s a shame to waste so much money, pain, and time on something that fades in a week (much like a temporary tattoo does for humans).
           Mikaeus opens the case, revealing an antique-looking quill and ink set. “Now,” The King says, rather stately, “We don’t have to proceed if you don’t want to. However, I feel your powers have escalated so rapidly and have advanced so promisingly that it would be worth it.” Before Sora can respond, the King plucks the quill from it’s home and extends the feather out in a cautioning gesture. “I will warn you! This process will be excruciatingly painful, and it could take hours. It’s not at all like a tattoo or scarification, as I will be removing pieces of your flesh as a sacrifice, and also to deeply embed the spell in your blood.”
           Sora gulps, “Why can’t I just be asleep for this?”
           His Majesy taps the spellbook with his quill, the tip landing on the only decipherable text on the page. “Because you’ll be reciting this spell the whole time, classic ritualism style.” Mikaeus must have noticed the hesitation on Sora’s face because he quickly adds, “I’ll only ask you to take the scars I think will benefit you. I plan to let the rest of them fade away with my existence, as the world is far too dangerous for many of these to fall into the wrong hands.”
           This does relieve Sora, although he isn't sure how worthy he is of such a burden. So far, all the magick he’s been trained to use has come easily to him, but this is obviously a ritual from far beyond his own lifetime. Is it really in his best interest to hold such powers? So far, he hasn’t had much of a choice in the matter… but now, it’s entirely up to him. He looks into the King’s dark eyes, sees the trust deep in his soul, and makes his decision.
           “I’ll do it.”
           Relieved, the King claps a friendly hand on Sora’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. Now… where would you like it done? The location on your body doesn’t matter, but it helps if it’s a place that resonates with you, and maybe that can easily be hidden. After all, you’ll have it for the rest of your unlife.”
           Stepping back a bit, Sora takes his shirt off, glancing around his body to inspect the unmarred flesh. He could start with his back and upper arms like Mickey, or maybe even his legs. His upper chest might be too obvious a spot, so perhaps not there. Just then, he thinks about the place he’s attempted to get a tattoo, the one spot he wanted more than anything to get inked…
           He points to his right side, square in the center of his rib cage. “Right here.”
           His Majesty’s jaw drops. “Wha… are you sure? I’ll be cutting down to your bones…”
           “Doesn’t that just make it all the more worthy of a sacrifice?”
           “Well, yes, actually…”
           “Then it’s fine.” He hands to book back to Mickey and lays himself down on the slab, ready to read off the incantation from his memory. “I can take it.”
           Mickey sighs and plops down onto the padded stool. He puts on some medical gloves, then, using some sanitary supplies, begins to clean the area. He then takes the spellbook and grasps the quill at the same time. Cracking open to bookmarked page, he dabs the quill into the ink and begins to very carefully draw the symbol on Sora’s ribs. The nib scratches Sora’s skin in an almost soothing way, and he watches in awe as the King works without needing to really look at his “canvas” at all. He wonders why his Sire is training his eyes on the book, guessing that the elder vampire is trying to limit imperfection in the drawing as much as possible.
           Time passes, and before he knows it, the design is done and Mikaeus is gently putting the writing set back into it’s case. Sora looks down at his ribs and sees the still-drying markings: a geometric mandala with unknown symbols filling it’s spaces, plus what looks to be thorns curling out from the center. The King removes the larger box from it’s resting place, and he opens it up to reveal several antique, yet surgical-looking, silver cutting tools. He plucks them tenderly from their home, wiping each down with alcohol before placing them daintily down on the surgical tray. Once the last piece is done, the ink has set into Sora’s flesh and looks almost identical to a tattoo. Mickey takes one of the instruments into his grasp, the tip poised over part of the ink.
           “As soon as the blade touches your skin, you must say the incantation and you cannot stop until I’ve finished. Are you ready?” Sora nods slowly in response, suddenly very nervous. He swallows, hoping it’ll ease the dryness in his throat. Mickey’s voice is suddenly very low, his eyes perfectly locked on the design. “In sanguine. In carne. In corde. In meam. Portare in. So mote it be.”
           The cool edge of the knife brushes Sora’s skin, and without hesitation he recites: “Draconis spiritus. Caligo somniabunt…” The blade sinks easily into his flesh, so sharp it’s almost painless, and his blood quickly warms the metal. “Calamistri, vites. Lex Talionis trabem. Nigrum mortem. In viridi vitae.” The pain grips him as the knife slips over his rib bone, and he has to push out the last two lines through gritted teeth, “FUMO excelsis. Cordis glaciei.”
           The ritual goes on: blood spilling out of his body, dripping down the slab, and filling the silver bowl below them. There’s a sickening plop as every now and then Mikeaus drops a piece of warm flesh into it, sliced elegantly away from Sora’s body. Although gore has never bothered Sora in the slightest (which really goes without saying since he’s a vampire), there’s something about sitting in a pool of his own blood and having bits of his body carved off that gives him a terrible case of the willies. And the pain… a horrific chill surges through him every time Mickey cuts down to the bone, every time his Sire peels a piece of sinew from his bloodied wounds like stretching a piece of taffy. He wishes he was high, no matter the drug. He wishes he hadn’t been such an ass and had chosen a less painful place for Mickey to butcher.
           He keeps a hand firmly pressed to his eyes, the other gripping a corner of the slab in a splintering vice—his only distraction is the incantation that now seems to drift from his lips as easily as breathing air.
           How many times had Mickey done this?! He counts at least 56 different designs in his head and feels nauseated. Still, he carries on somehow.
           Then, all at once, he finishes the incantation one more time and notices there are no more blades probing his flesh.
           “We’re done with the cutting, Sora.” His Sire says to him sweetly. When Sora peeks, he sees the King’s gloves are wrist-deep in blood and his shirt, despite the apron, has been stained beyond repair. “Go ahead and sit up.” Sora obeys, somewhat woozy from the blood loss. At this point he would also be absolutely starving after losing so much, but the general nastiness of this experience has him good on eating for a little while at least.
            The King stands up by the pedestal and begins repeating the spell as he dumps the bowl onto it. A split second before it hits the charred marble, a green-black flame erupts from it; devouring the sacrifice with a sulfurous gulp. Surprisingly, the room only smells of brimstone and not burning body parts.
           He says to Sora, “One last time, we must both say it. Brace yourself for more pain.”
           In tandem, they repeat the words: “Draconis spiritus. Caligo somniabunt. Calamistri, vites. Lex Talionis trabem. Nigrum mortem. In viridi vitae. FUMO excel.”
           When the last of the mixture drips from the bowl, the flame vanishes in nary a puff of smoke. Suddenly, a searing pain rips through Sora’s side, and the sound of sizzling flesh makes it apparent what’s happening. He watches in agony as a small green flame cauterizes his wounds, leaving a nasty burn throughout the already tender flesh. In an instant, it’s over, and Sora slumps over in exhaustion.
           “The wounds look bad now, but your natural powers of regeneration will turn them into a normal-looking scar. Well, as normal as a scar like that can be.” His Majesty gives him a moment to shake off the shock, and once Sora is able to sit back up, he instructs him. “Hold out a hand, and picture the fire you just saw burning through your veins, connected to your soul.”
           Sora closes his eyes, extending his palm out. He feels a new warmth coursing through him, a warmth of the universe’s greatest parallels: life and death. A tendril of smoke curls out from his hand, swirling into a slow vortex, and when he opens his eyes a ball of green flame quickly gathers in it’s stead. He stares at the power in awe, giddy with joy. Mickey smiles down at him proudly, before quickly giving him a large blood pack and hurrying him to the nearest shower.
           When Sora emerges from the most painful shower of his life, Mikaeus has brought him a change of (rather fancy) clothes and bandages to help while his body heals itself.
           “I have a surprise for you.” The King says as they leave his throne room.
           “What is it?” Sora asks, but the King doesn’t answer.
           He brings Sora all the way across the mansion, to the top of the double staircase looking over the banquet room, where only a few months earlier Sora burst into. There seems to be a fancy party going on, as the covenant is packed into the large space: holding drinks, chatting, and dressed to their best.
           “Bonjour!” The King calls to his subjects, and a hush rushes over the room as they all quickly turn their attention to him. “My dearest covenant, I thank you for rushing to attend this very last-minute mystery party. As you all may know, I simply adore surprises! I suppose you’re wondering, ‘Your Majesty, I like any excuse to dress fancy and get wasted, but what the hell is going on?’” A polite chuckle bubbles from the crowd, before another silence of anticipation spreads. “Well, let me be frank. I’ve called you all here on behalf of Sora.” He extends his arm to gesture to said vampire, and the brunet can’t help but blush at the sudden attention. “Today marks a historic day that I think you’d all appreciate witnessing.”
           “Sire,” The brunet whispers, “What is this?”
           “Sora, please kneel before your King.” Normally Sora would scoff at a command like that, but with the entire covenant staring at him, he drops a knee without resistance. “I, Mikaeus Souris the First of France—Keeper of the Trinity Alliance, Keeper of the First Spira Covenant, and King of the Vampires—hereby declare you, Sora—Lamb of Dracul, and Heir to Mikaeus—the Prince of the Vampires. You may rise.” He winks at the flabbergasted Sora, who is now standing. “This is no traditional coronation by any means, especially because I do not have a crown to give you, so please take my blessing instead. May your reign be long and happy, Prince Sora!”
           Holding his hand up high, he casts a spell and a series of magick fireworks crackle from his fingertips, filling the room with bursts of multicolored light. The crowd cheers, and Sora turns to face them. Though he somewhat expected this, he still thought it would be a long time before he was actually named prince.
           “You crazy old bastard,” He whispers to the King, waving an uneasy hand at the clamoring audience. “You were planning for me to do the ritual this whole time weren’t you? And that’s why you put this last-minute coronation together. You know, I’m still very young and reckless. I could die any day.”
           Mikaeus whispers back, “You have all the power you need, and more, to survive. I trust you to turn this world into something even better than it is. This is only just the beginning.” Then, Mickey’s voice somehow booms across the banquet hall, “Ladies and gentlemen! Please treat your new Prince to whatever sinful delight he may prefer to indulge tonight!”
           Mickey leads Sora down the stairs, and the crowd happily swallows him. Drinks are being pushed his way, little baggies of crystal-somethings are offered, there’s already lines of shiny powder cut on the minimal table space, and people pull pastel-colored pills from their pockets. Somebody reaches an offering hand through the bustle, a small tab of acid pinched between their fingers, and Sora takes it into his mouth with little hesitation. Out of the corner of his eye he spots seafoam eyes, and he breaks away from the flock of partying vampires to approach Riku.
The taller man is holding two glasses of champagne, glowering down at him, and Sora has trouble finding the right words to say. “Riku, I—”
           But the werewolf stops him by handing him one of the glasses. “Congratulations.” He says, and they clink glasses. Sora takes a gulp, careful not to wash away the tab in his mouth by pinning it underneath his tongue. Then, Kairi emerges from the crowd to give Sora squeezing hug and many congratulations of her own.
           The rest of the night is a tailspin of delight, though Riku didn’t say another word to him all throughout it. Still, the werewolf stuck around all night, even helping Kairi carry their freshly-coronated prince to his bedroom when the party's over. It feels like progress, if only a little bit of it, and that is enough for Sora to sleep soundly.
           At least, as soundly as he could once the seemingly endless fractals, body shivers, and thoughts of Roxas subsided.
December 19th, 2025
           In the elevator ascending up to Xemnas’ office, Roxas is steeling himself for a rather difficult conversation. He’d requested the meeting a little hastily, but he didn’t want to let himself back down too quickly. When the elevator finally arrives, he steps out onto the landing that overlooks the library. The actual door to Xemnas’ office is down a long, carpeted hallway. After making the unnecessarily long trek down, Roxas starts to hear voices floating from the cracked office door. They are unintelligible at first, but as he creeps closer, they become clear as a bell.
          “...and I must say, I’m so grateful you graced me with your presence. I shall have one of my members escort you down—”
          “Xemnas, my dear friend. I will see myself out. Besides, you have a visitor.”
           Roxas balks. Sheepishly, he pushes the door open to Xemnas’ office—or chamber as the Superior preferred—and steps inside.
           The chamber, really though, is just an ornate office that seems stuck somewhere between a modern and classical style. The semicircular desk is a large polished marble slab sitting atop a modular base, covered in documents and more than one holo-tablet. Behind it is a large white throne-looking chair. Behind the chair is an entire wall stuffed full of books and massive hard drives, all whirring silently along in their homes. The opposite walls have a couple paintings and holoscreens that are constantly scrolling through diagrams or formulas of unknown subject matter. Like the rest of the headquarters, everything is plain white—all except for the novelty Moogle bobble-head sitting on Xemnas’ desk. Although the Moogle has no expression on its face, it always seems to be staring pensively out to the room, as if it is silently judging all those who enter the chamber. Other members always joke that, although Number I acts like he’s in charge, the Moogle is really the one who makes the decisions: an eternal symbol of affirmation for the so-called “Superior”.
           Standing before Xemnas’ desk is a man only a little taller than Roxas, wearing a nice pinstripe suit. When the man turns to him, he looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks… but his faded haircut, bright red bowtie, and kind smile give him a ghoulish charm.
          “Hello, Superior.” Roxas tries to say maturely, attempting to erase his slight embarrassment.
           He approaches the desk and stares at the gentleman out of the corner of his eye. As he gets closer, he notices the man’s eyes, which seemed black at a distance, are actually a dark crimson. The realization must have made his heart beat faster, or the look on his face must have shown his surprise, as the gentleman raises his brows and his smile grows into a grin.
          “S-sorry to interrupt.” Roxas says, glancing away from the nightwalker as if he’d formally met scores more vampires than he actually has.
           The gentleman sees right through this. “New recruit, eh?”
          “He’s been with us for almost two years now.” Xemnas responds, “Hello, XIII.”
           “He seems like he needs something important from you. I’ll be off, then.” He and Roxas exchange a firm shake, “Au revoir, XIII. Pleasure to meet you.”
           He shuffles smoothly out into the hallway, and before the door shuts completely behind him, Xemnas calls out, “Farewell for now, Your Majesty.”
           Roxas pauses. Your “majesty?” Is that…
           Xemnas shrugs, “He must have been in a hurry, he didn’t properly introduce himself. Roxas, that was the leader of our local vampire covenant, Mikaeus. As you may have guessed, he’s royalty… but we’ll talk about that later. What did you need to speak to me about?”
           So that was him. The Mikaeus he’s heard so much about. He thought he’d be taller, certainly more sinister, and perhaps have a more baritone voice… he was very spritely for a long-reigning vampire king.
           Rolling his shock off his shoulders, he faces Xemnas fully. Summoning the bravery from the depths of his soul, he says, “I have a proposition for you, Superior.” His elder nods for him to continue, going to sit down in his office—or rather, chamber chair. “As you are aware, I don’t have a permanent partner for when I’m officially in the field. Most of the other members are paired up or go solo.”
           Seemingly enticed, Xemnas says, “Go on.”
           “I think—I know I’ve found a suitable candidate for partnership. While I don’t necessarily have a fourteenth member to recruit, my proposal is this:” He sucks in a breath, “I would like a particular nightwalker to join me on my missions.”
           There’s a long silence, and just as Xemnas goes to speak, Roxas cuts him off, “With all due respect, Superior, even if you decline my request I want you to know that he will be joining me in the field regardless. There’s nothing in our contracts that says we cannot recruit nightwalkers to assist us if they are willing to help, but because I respect you as my leader I wanted you to know my decision.”
           Another long silence, and Roxas considers filling it with more ramblings when Xemnas finally speaks. “What’s the name of this nightwalker?”
           Roxas swallows, his throat suddenly very dry. “Sora.”
           The Superior nods slowly, twisting himself ever-so slightly in his chair as he considers. “Roxas, I will say this: you have impeccable timing. I find your proposition quite intriguing, but I’d like some time to consider it further if you don’t mind.”
           “Sir, I’d like to add—wait, what?”
           “I’m interested in your request and I want to consider it. Please don’t worry about it for now. You may return to your field preparations and I’ll give you an answer within a few hours.” He smiles kindly, “Although I suppose it doesn't matter either way does it?”
           “Wow, I…” XIII straightens himself back up. “T-thank you kindly, Superior. Thank you for your time!”
           He bows a little for added gratitude, then scurries out of the room as gracefully as he can; hoping the man won't change his mind suddenly.
           The whole truth is that Roxas had been texting and calling Sora for months now, the two of them comparing experiences they had in their prospective settings. The two of them weren’t sure what would become of them once their trainings were complete, and one day they began to joke about something over the phone.
           “I bet I could come be your fourteenth member,” Sora said with a laugh, “My Sire keeps singing your guys’ praises. It’s like he’s in love or something!”
           Roxas scoffed, “Doesn’t he have a wife?”
           “Yeah, and she better watch out! Your Superior may sweep him off his feet!” They shared a laugh, and Sora continued, “I bet we’d make a pretty damn good team though. With the shit we’ve been learning, we could be unstoppable.”
           Just then, a lightbulb went off in Roxas’ head. “We would, wouldn’t we?”
           What Roxas didn’t know is that Mikeaus had just been there with a similar proposal. He wanted to unite the powers of the covenant with the Organization to create an even safer, more effective taskforce. He even gave the name of his personal successor—the new vampire prince—as a good candidate.
           “Well, little friend,” Xemnas says to the bobble head, “What do you think about this?” He reaches over and gives the Moogle a flick, and it’s head nods vigorously in perceived agreement. Xemnas chuckles, “Very well then.”
           He rises from his desk and reaches a hand over to crank the bobble head counter-clockwise. He approaches the wall to his right and gingerly moves the painting of a cityscape out of the way. A small chest-height slat has opened up, and when he touches his hand to it, it begins to glitter. Another slot opens up at eye-level and a bulb pops out to scan his retina. A door-sized piece of the wall moves backwards, then slides off to the side to reveal a dark room covered in soundproof foam, with velvet drapes hanging off the furthest wall. He enters the space, the doorway automatically slotting shut behind him.
           He walks forward and carefully ties back the drapes: revealing an ornate oval frame filled with inky blackness that is shiny like an oil slick, yet still somehow perfectly reflects the Superior’s visage on it’s surface.
           Channeling the words, Xemnas addresses the object with a booming voice, “Slave in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space.” An unknown wind kicks up in the room, rustling the curtains and fluttering through Number I’s cloak. “Through wind and darkness, I summon thee. Speak, let me see thy face.”
           Suddenly, as though the mirror had become a pane of glass, a face appears behind it amidst a burst of flames. It responds, “What wouldst thou know, Superior?”
          “Magic mirror on the wall,” Xemnas says, curiosity laden in his voice, “Show me Sora.”
Exeunt
A/N: Aha… ahahaahhahahahaa so much for every two weeks! Jeebus my dears, I am so sorry, this chapter was a long time coming. I thought it would be best to post it now since new information on Kingdom Hearts 3 was just released and I’m super excited about it!
So, an explanation: the biggest delay on this chapter was my work and school schedule for the spring. I normally ride the bus to school, but my classes were taking place at a time that the bus was super packed instead of super empty like last semester, so I rarely got to sit. Even if I could sit, I don’t want people seeing me write fanfiction in public… awkward. I was also taking a bigger class load so I had a shit ton of homework AND had to work on top of that. There just wasn't enough time. Now, it’s summer though! Even though I have a lot planned this season, I want to set a daily writing quota for myself. I hope I can get back to posting at least every three weeks.
This chapter was a real doozy, mainly because I really had no idea what I wanted to do with it. I have a basic timeline for my story, but every now and again I have ideas and stuff changes. In fact, I wasn't even going to write this chapter initially. However, I feel like it’s going to be an important stepping stone for the rest of the story, and it would be wrong and awkward to try and shoehorn the information.
I was thinking about giving Sora a tattoo in the same place I have mine, but I don’t think an arm tattoo would work for something you’d want to hide. Haha! Please let me know if everything in this chapter makes somewhat sense, or if some details seem unclear. More stuff is yet to be revealed, I just want to be sure I’m telling the story in a way that people understand.
This is by no means my best chapter, but I hope it brings you some joy.
If you want updates and even exclusive previews of upcoming chapters, check out my tumblr! You can also ask me questions and help me with my writer’s block! Find it at mewsomniac . tumblr . com (keep in mind you must log in to view)
DISCLAIMER: I do not condone the use of drugs, illegal or otherwise! Especially if you’re not 21 or over! However, I can’t stop you from living your life, so I simply suggest you party responsibly. If you or anyone you know would like more (and honest) information PLEASE GO TO MY AUTHOR DESCRIPTION AND LOOK UNDER “ ADDITIONAL RESOURCES” . Be safe and stay hydrated!
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The Night