Dorian
I didn't think my last year of high school would be so remarkable. After all, school has never been that important to me. At this point, I shouldn't have underestimated fate—because once again, that son of a bitch surprised me.
The year began with my brother's wedding, which I was already expecting, since he and Selene have been together for as long as I can remember. She's one of the most vivid figures in my memory after our parents died—a subject still complicated for Rodrick. Even after all these years, he still hasn't gotten over the fact that he had to stop his life to raise two younger brothers at just 120 years old, which, for a vampire, is the equivalent of 17 in human years.
That's where Selene comes in.
They started dating young, and before I knew it, they were already acting like responsible parents. She moved into our house, and for a while, we even looked like a real family. A happy one. But if there's one thing I've learned in my 122 years, it's that happiness never lasts long for my family.
Right now, I'm moving houses for the third time this year. It seems vampires aren't exactly welcome in most suburban neighborhoods. We're seen as dangerous and reckless, especially the younger ones. One of our old neighbors thought my younger brother, Micah, was "attacking" his son. Damn fairies. Tiny bodies, annoying wings, and they leave fairy dust everywhere.
"Dorian, help Selene take things inside."
From the doorway, I heard my older brother's voice as he leaned into the trunk, pulling out the last of the moving boxes. His tone was tired and irritated, his eyebrows furrowed as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped onto his T-shirt. He could definitely use a break.
I nodded, even though I knew Rodrick wasn't looking at me. Still, he knew I was smart enough not to disrespect him. I grabbed one of the last boxes from outside and carried it into the house. I didn't bother looking around to see if I liked the decoration, or if the place was spacious enough. I'd stopped making those small mistakes a long time ago, I knew we wouldn't be here for long. We never were.
I followed the sounds of cleaning echoing through the house. If I remembered correctly, it had three rooms, perfect for us. The last thing I needed was to share a room with a restless little vampire like Micah.
When I stepped into the room, Selene was already squatting on the floor, unpacking boxes. She was a beautiful woman, wavy black hair, skin nearly as white as snow. She always carried herself with elegance, and there was usually a soft smile playing on her lips. Right now, she was humming one of Micah's favorite songs.
"Here."
My voice made her glance up. I set the box down and crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe.
"You don't need to unpack Micah's things. He can do it himself."
Maybe my tone sounded a little harsher than I intended, but that was one of my curses. I always came off as aggressive, even when I was just speaking normally.
"Come on, Dorian," she said with a warm smile. "Micah's still a child. Besides, I don't mind helping him."
She turned back to the box, hands moving gently as she sorted through Micah's things.
"Micah isn't as small as everyone treats him," I muttered. "He needs to learn how to handle things on his own."
Selene sighed, not out of irritation, but exhaustion. I was always bringing this up. Always telling them to stop babying him. Always the same conversation.
"Listen, Dorian," she said softly. "I know at Micah's age, you were already doing a lot more. But that doesn't mean he has to follow your path. Your brother... he's changed."
And there it was again, that annoyingly gentle, affectionate smile only Selene could give.
I rolled my eyes and walked out.
Same story, every time. Rodrick didn't want Micah turning out like me, as if that was some sort of tragedy. But back then, no one was worried about who I'd become.
As soon as I left the room, I headed for the front bedroom. The door was still closed, which meant Selene or my brother hadn't claimed it yet. In other words, it was mine.
I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was empty except for a bed and a wardrobe. The window stood open, letting in a soft breeze that made the curtains sway gently. It reminded me of my old room, the one I never bothered to decorate. Maybe I'd do the same here.
I shut the door behind me, a quiet signal that I didn't want anyone coming in right now. I walked over to the bed, sat at the edge, took a deep breath, and leaned back, closing my eyes.
The feeling was all too familiar, that quiet weight of not belonging anywhere. Of never quite fitting in, no matter where I went. Before the thought could sink deeper, a sharp sting pulsed at my temple.
Another headache. I'd been getting them more often lately.
I brought a hand to my head, gently rubbing my temple.
"Sh*t..." I muttered under my breath.
I was exhausted. No point in pretending otherwise. I let my body sink into the mattress, the breeze from the window brushing over me like a lullaby.
Within minutes, I was out.
Something wasn't right.
I didn't remember closing the window, let alone opening the door.
A cold draft brushed against the back of my neck, and the air felt thicker somehow. I rubbed my eyes to fully wake up, trying to shake the heaviness pressing down on me. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up: 00:00. But when I blinked, it changed.
01:01.
I frowned. My forehead tensed, and I looked toward the door. Silence.
Strange.
I got up and walked to the door without rushing, though every step felt like it echoed too loudly in the empty hallway. The door to Micah's room was closed, like always. But something felt... staged. The hallway, which had been bare earlier, was now fully decorated, pictures on the walls, furniture in place, the faint scent of lavender in the air. It looked like we'd lived here for years, not hours.
My stomach tightened.
I continued down the corridor, each footstep heavier than the last, until I reached the living room.
That's when I saw him.
A tall, thin man was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, his posture relaxed like he owned the place. His black hair was neatly combed, skin pale and smooth, and his eyes... darker than night, almost endless. One shoulder leaned casually against the armrest, his hand draped over the back of the sofa like he'd been waiting a while.
His presence was magnetic, and completely wrong.
Before I could react, he smiled. Not kindly. His lips curled into something sharp, his fangs flashing like a warning.
Vampire.
"We've all been waiting for you," he said. His voice was deep, too deep, and smooth, like a whisper dragged through gravel. It echoed in my head, even though he hadn't spoken loudly.
A shiver slid down my spine.
We? Who the hell was "we"?
I blinked, trying to clear my vision, trying to ground myself. Something about this felt like a dream, but too vivid. Too sharp. I crossed my arms and stared him down.
"Where are Rodrick, Selene, and Micah?"
As always, my voice came out harder than I meant it to. But maybe, this time, that wasn't a bad thing.
The man stood, and even then, he looked taller than before, impossibly tall. The room seemed smaller around him.
"They're waiting for you too."
His calm tone only made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
What the hell is going on?
I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, trying to gather whatever pieces of this twisted puzzle I could. My head was spinning. My thoughts felt foggy, like I was wading through mist.
"And where exactly is 'everyone'?" I asked, voice steady despite the chill crawling under my skin.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, gaze piercing straight through me.
"You have to wake up, Dorian," he said, voice suddenly weighted with something else, urgency? Regret?
"It's time to take your purpose seriously."
Before I could respond, everything shifted.
My throat closed up, I tried to speak but nothing came out. My lips moved, but there was no sound. Panic tightened my chest. I looked at him, certain he had done something, but now his expression had changed. No longer smug or calm.
He looked serious.
And then... he began to fade. Bit by bit. Like smoke pulled away by the wind.
Just before he disappeared entirely, he spoke again.
"Wake up!"
But this time, his voice sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
Was that... Micah's voice?
My eyes flew open, and a stabbing headache greeted me instantly. I groaned, clutching my temple.
Definitely not okay.
Just a dream.
But it felt so real. Too real.
I looked around to be sure, blinking a few times as my vision adjusted to the soft gray light filtering through the curtains. The window was still open, just like when I'd fallen asleep, and the door was ajar because Micah was standing there, leaning over my bed like I'd grown a second head.
"Rodrick says you're gonna be late for school again."
His voice pierced through the haze in my brain. I groaned and closed my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms into them. What a weird, stupid dream. But the headache? That was very real, pulsing behind my temples like a drumbeat from hell.
"Did you hear me?" Micah repeated, his voice rising with impatience. Persistent little demon.
He was the spitting image of our mother, straight black hair, pale skin dotted with faint birthmarks, and those thick, expressive eyebrows that made every emotion he felt look ten times louder. He was too young to remember her, but sometimes just looking at him felt like opening an old photo album I wasn't ready for.
"I heard you," I muttered. "But you don't need me to answer to know that, idiot."
"Hey! You're the idiot."
I rolled my eyes and gave him a light tap on the head. "Such originality."
He scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes like he was about to launch into some long-winded comeback.
"Stop! I'll tell Selene!"
"Go ahead. Tell Selene, Rodrick, even God. Let's see how much I care. Now get out of my room."
"But Rodrick—"
"Out." I bared my fangs, just to mess with him.
He flinched instantly, he still hadn't grown his, and bolted from the room, muttering under his breath. I could hear the quick patter of his retreat down the hallway, probably off to complain about how mean I was being.
I sighed and finally dragged myself out of bed, limbs heavy and sore like I hadn't actually rested at all. The headache was still pounding, like something inside me was trying to claw its way out. I winced as I stood, rubbing the back of my neck, then grabbed a hoodie from the chair by the door.
The floor was cold under my feet as I stepped out, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around me like a thick fog.
Another new day. Another new school.
Good morning to me.