Night is Forgotten, as was his wish. Struck from the memories of the Black Dagger Brotherhood and even the Chosen's records, he lives with the only member of the vampire race who knows him: his son, Mehnace. With Mehnace's transition into adulthood...
Night sat in his familiar chair on the deck of his cabin, waiting for the sun to rise. He sipped the coffee that he'd fixed himself and tried not to think about Ace... or Rhet... or Tarra. But, that was the problem, wasn't it? Every time he settled for long, they crept into his mind and weighed on his heart. It'd been a tough six weeks, but things were getting better. Maybe.
They're better off, was the litany of the day, of every day. He concentrated on the sounds of nature around him, occupying his mind by identifying each one. It was a frustratingly short list. He thought about his list of things to do; he needed to chop more wood, a never-ending chore, and run into town to do some grocery shopping. He should check the gear for the next group coming in one more time before grabbing last-minute items. And, there were the taxes to be done, too. Plenty to occupy him.
He felt the familiar knowing of sunrise's exact moment and sighed. The automatic shutters descending for the day startled him; he thought he'd turned them off. He would have to add working on those controls to the list of things to do. He downed the last dose of caffeine and pushed out of the chair.
He went inside, slipped out of his coat, and hung it by the door before grabbing another log to put on the fire.
"Night."
He whirled toward the voice, heart pounding, not just from surprise but from Tarra's presence. He stared at her and took a step toward her before realizing what he'd done.
"You're not coming back, are you?" she asked.
His gut twisted at the deep sadness in her voice. "No."
"You truly wish to be Forgotten."
"Yes."
She sighed and waved a hand at the box at her feet. "So be it. These are your books. You may do whatever you wish with them."
She turned from him and created a portal to the Sanctuary.
"Tarra..."
She paused but didn't turn.
"I'm sorry."
She made no sign of having heard him. She simply took a step forward and vanished.
He found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, as he studied the box. So, this is what my life amounts to.
A loud pop from the fire broke his locomotive paralysis, and he strode forward, picked up the box, and carried it to his office, shoving it in the back of the room's closet. He looked at the calendar on his phone and set an alarm for two months... enough time to be Forgotten.
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The days grew longer, sunrise earlier and sunset later each day, as the weeks and months passed from late winter into spring and then on into early summer. At midnight on the day of the alarm, he stood in front of the closet where he'd buried his books. A profound sense of calm washed over him when the alarm chimed, and he nodded. It's time.
