Chapter I

You, From a Distance

Spring of 1974

"B rother, you must find calmness in yourself," Bethania said, watching as it appeared the steam of her brother's smoldering flame rose from the tops of his shoulders.

There was such an incomparable volume of malice filling the sitting room in which they stood, and she feared it would only continue to grow and seep and spread until her brother was no longer the man she'd come to know through their millennia together. However, Bethania could most assuredly understand where this deep fret was coming from, and even more so why it was a weight that would remain atop him, if not for a while, fearfully forever. She knew he'd come to love others here and there through the centuries, but it seemed this one man that'd carefully collected Demiesius' heart more recently was by far the most significant.

As of now, it'd been a year exactly since the death of the vampire slayer Hamilton H. Hamilton, the rather tender and superlative counterpart to Demiesius Titus, and with each night since the sudden, senseless loss, the vampire elder whose heart had drifted through legions of years had yet to, and seemed would never quite return to his once mellow and sensible self.

Keeping her eyes on her brother's back, Bethania held her tongue in hopes her words would find him.

Demiesius' shadowy thousand-yard stare reached into the dark blanket of the night surrounding his castle, the treetops looking more like an endless sea with no hopeful skyline in sight. Through this ever slow and torturous year, he'd looked for the blues that'd mimicked the skies on a clear day, had given orders night after night, week after week, but every report of effort touched his ear with: "Nothing, Master Titus," — "Apologies, Master, we found nothing," — "We're sorry, Master Titus. Again."

How could a continuous effort be so unsuccessful? If not justice, if not revenge, all Demiesius wanted was the ability to lay his husband to rest properly, bring him to the place he belonged, even if that meant there was no hope for things to carry on as they had before he'd gone.

Why did I let you go?

How could I let this happen to you?

What true purpose do I have now that you are gone?

Those were only a few of the prompts that turned to passages of regret and thoughts of failure in Demiesius' mind. The instant he'd first laid eyes on Hamilton those years ago, a renewed sense of meaning had graced the elder's world, and now such a large fragment of it was nowhere in sight, but every bit present in his mind and body.

Will this hurt ever fade?

"Brother," Bethania said then, seeming to feel as though her words might hold a bit of weight now. "The Public will never be what it was when our aspirations were merged, and since they've remained quiet from the night you showed your wrath, the want to vanquish the rest of the world is — I'm sorry — but unnecessary. They are nothing anymore, and slaughtering the remainder of their Houses will only show to devastate our relationship with world powers. We can't risk our people. I know how you feel—."

It seemed the idea of understanding struck a nerve of offense Demiesius couldn't grasp, and he turned to Bethania. They were not brother and sister in a sense like most, but the relation of being raised into the night by the touch of blood from the mother of all vampires made them family enough. As he looked hotly into her hazel eyes that were like golden pools of sepia compared to his angry, sable spheres, Demiesius glared as though she'd said the most insolent thing imaginable.

"You dare claim to understand the way I feel?" Demiesius said, voice teeming in ire, and black mists of caution drifted from the corners of his eyes. "You will never know the hurt I've carried since that night."

"No, Brother, I never will," Bethania countered, unafraid of the clear look of disdain burning her way. Through their unfathomable number of years together, never had Demiesius viewed her in a light so shaded, and even now as he burned, she was certain no true hatred touched his heart toward her. "But that doesn't mean I should allow you to succumb to your woeful torment. It will only fuel these brash decisions. I know your hurt is immeasurable, I know you're angry beyond my comprehension, but you must continue to think rationally. You loved him far greater than anyone can hope to be loved by another, but oceans of blood and death will not return Hamilton to your arms."

"Stop," Demiesius tried to halt her words.

"And your son."

"Stop!" he ordered again, but Bethania would not back down.

"No, Demiesius," she said, the sound of his name leaving her lips in a color of care unique to her. "Listen to me," she started over. "So long ago, you and I were as stranger to each other as snow to a blistering desert, but I've come to know you whether or not you believe I can truly fathom your ache. Hamilton is gone and I will forever be sorry for such a great loss; truly, Brother, I will. Eros, Nabadias, Minerva, we all have seen what his absence has caused, but taking it upon yourself to gain further vengeance in this manner will not heal your wounds, nor will it return him to these walls."

Although her words were comprehensible, Demiesius turned from her and started away. "I do not wish to listen to this," he said, and headed down the wide corridor away from the sitting room.

The sound of Bethania's heels clicked in Demiesius' wake, and while he wanted to order her away as to be alone for the time being, he knew she would take nothing from his command.

In an attempt to further ignore her presence, Demiesius entered an office area at the end of the corridor. Its open doorway was arched, and a desk sat at the far side, an expansive window bathed in the moon's shine filling the room with a silvery glow .

There was more than enough light in the room to take in all that filled it. The old mahogany furnishings, unlit candles that'd never been burnt, round-topped lamps coated in a thin layer of dust, and an armchair once occupied by a lingering inquisitiveness. The blanket Hamilton once used when he would sit in on various occasions was still draped over the back of it, the scent once left behind now gone but not forgotten.

A dash of sweet pea against a seaside breeze: the sun—if it had a fragrance to it.

Demiesius stopped before the desk, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers, and his eyes scanned the mess atop it. Loose papers and an open journal were strewn about, not a single one of them left with a blank surface, but only one of them hadn't been purposefully crumpled, was lined in graceful cursive, and addressed to someone who would never read it.

Not wanting his sister to glimpse it, Demiesius turned the journal over and moved his eyes to the chair behind the desk. Everywhere he looked, an echo followed, yet another aspect he would carry from the cruelty that was this curse of loss.

As the year without Hamilton had gone by so very painfully, Demiesius' urges to search for him were beginning to be replaced by a need for further retribution. House Gregor, the training facility in which Hamilton once lived, it'd crumbled under his order, and he was beginning to contemplate devastating every other Public House around the world.

They were all the same weren't they; slayers once recruited due to their eagerness to take the lives of immortals? They would have surely aligned themselves with those young fools, Julius Dalton, and Kingston Fisher. Could it be said the entirety of the Public would rejoice to know Hamilton was gone, moreover; would they celebrate his death if they knew their top slayer saw an immortal in a loving manner? Surely, that was considered treasonous in their eyes.

When he'd heard the whispers that'd surfaced of how the Public assumed Hamilton had died, Demiesius thought to correct those rumors, to reveal that his husband was not so hateful, and most certainly not killed by the hands of an immortal. Still, he'd refrained.

The rumors spoke of Hamilton's previous distance from the Public relating to tasks that took him around the world, when in reality he'd been here—at home during his entire pregnancy and after he'd given birth to their son. Hearsay spread far and wide about Hamilton's life being cut short after a confrontation with another immortal, and while a part of Demiesius wanted to correct the falsehood, knowing Hamilton's name was touched by respect felt better than if anyone would think poorly of his late husband.

At one point or another, the elders, minus Demiesius, had sat down with a faction known as The Directors of Humanity. They were a network of mortals put in place long ago to navigate any tensions brought on by the Public, could shutdown particular Public Houses, detain rotten slayers, and ultimately assist in bringing down the whole of the Public if it were a sought-after order put in place by all in agreement.

Elder Bethania, Eros, Nabadias, and Minerva had arranged gatherings with each of the ten Humanity factions to discuss the matter, more so for the fact that what was currently on debate in Demiesius' mind might breach the surface of his anger. There was an unsurprising fear of his retaliation, but no means to move forward with disbanding the entirety of the Slayer Public by the Humanities.

The death of Hamilton was regarded as intolerable and a true misfortune, but not something drastic enough to essentially strip the world from its armor.

It'd been agreed upon that the Public wouldn't operate as it had beneath the watchful eyes of the elders but would continue to hold whatever weight it could if ever their open presence was required in the future, regardless of anyone's opinion on the matter.

"Is it too much to want to be alone?" Demiesius said, keeping his eyes on the journal he'd turned over.

"Forgive me, Brother," Bethania sighed, "But I'm not quite done attempting to wrangle your judgment. It's been a year, and by no means am I telling you to move on, as that is likely the cruelest thing I could say to you right now. What I want is for you to leave this place for more than your excursions of search. The others and I have always valued your presence at our gatherings, and your absence has begun to worry most."

"You all have done fine without me," Demiesius turned and brought his eyes to his sister. Dark-skinned and fitted rather beautifully in a burgundy pantsuit, her coiled hair was secured in a sizable tail, and the fairness in her light eyes was all Demiesius needed to see that her concern for him was honest. "There is nothing my being there would contribute."

"Even if I say my heart would be quelled by your presence?"

The thought of leaving the castle grounds for anything other than to make an effort to secure whatever was left of Hamilton, caused a pinch of selfishness to reach Demiesius' heart. Stripping himself from the thought of Hamilton, even if only for a moment, was akin to betrayal in his eyes. How could he put focus somewhere else if not on something that deserved it?

"Is it so bad to wish for you to escape this darkness?" Bethania added. "Nabadias says to allow your distance, Eros says he understands your silence, and Minerva…" An amusement showed on her lips, and she shook her head. "Minerva says she will continue to shun the idea of love given her lack of desire for it, but Demiesius, none of us see your ache for Hamilton's loss as anything lesser than what it is: a loss, something you have every right to be angry for, but looking to answer his death with more bloodshed will not help your family. Forgive me, but what do you think your son would feel if he came to see the world views his father as a monster?"

As if summoned by the mere mention of him, Demiesius was able to see the approach of a small, wobbly boy just over the top of Bethania's shoulder. Standing at the far end of the corridor were the only true remnants of Hamilton left in the world. With two-toned, blond, and black hair curling every which way, and a rather cheeky smile plastered across his face, thirteen-month-old Jeremiah Titus came scampering as well as he could down the walkway.

Along with him, the little boy lugged a teddy bear nearly the same height as him, a gift made specially for him given the matching heterochromia eyes and yellow patch sewn into the right ear while the left was black.

Before Demiesius could think to collect the stumbling boy, the familiar voice of his own vampire creation (blood child), Dominick von Kraige, appeared from the distant stairwell, looking around frantically before spotting Jeremiah and hurrying after him.

"You little shit!" Dominick hastened and scooped Jeremiah into his arms before he could make it down the hall. "Close my eyes for two seconds and you disappear, eh?"

Laughing happily as ever, Jeremiah's cheeks were pink, and his two-toned, blue, and black colored eyes glistened in delight, writhing in Dominick's hold as the blood child playfully jostled him.

Seeming to finally take notice of Bethania and Demiesius in the office doorway, Dominick laughed nervously, as he'd just admitted to falling asleep on the job. "Apologies, Father," he said, taking a step back as if to retreat. "I'll be more watchful."

"Wait, Dominick," Bethania said, and when she neared, the smile on her face grew as she looked over the boy that was this quite marvelous dhampir. By no means was she a stranger to what a dhampir was, but she'd never been so near to one on many occasions when they were so young. Last time she'd seen Jeremiah, he'd only just mastered the crawl. "Look at you," she said cheerfully. "Faster than the eye can see, huh? I bet you bring this place a good bit of light, don't you?"

Notably shy before Bethania, Jeremiah's smile remained as he turned his face into the crook of Dominick's neck. It then seemed as though he'd recalled what he'd worked trekking to this part of the castle for and looked to Demiesius.

The young dhampir leaned out of Dominick's arms, one hand grabbing toward his father as he held onto his bear, and while a sliver of hesitation always graced the elder when his son would enter his arms, Demiesius tried as he might to swallow down the coming hurt and received the little boy in kind.

"You both may go," Demiesius said.

"Brother—."

"I will refrain from any previous notions," Demiesius assured, circling away from her and Dominick. "I'd like to hear nothing else on the matter, as nothing of the sort will come to fruition."

Taking his word for what it was, Bethania simply nodded and vanished, Dominick following her departure after leaving an assurance regarding Jeremiah's recent feeding.

With Jeremiah in his light hold, Demiesius started toward the office again, the castle silent aside from the mumblings of Jeremiah. He couldn't say much at the moment, and mostly referred to Dominick as the letter D, but he'd come to repeat the sound of "pa, pa, pa" whenever Demiesius was either on his mind or in his line of sight.

As the very much endearing murmurs of "papa" touched Demiesius' ear, he stepped into the office and switched on one of the dusty lanterns. Its warm glow illuminated the room minutely, and he took a seat in the chair behind the desk.

Curious eyes watched him as Jeremiah stood and balanced himself in his father's lap, footing rather uncoordinated, and he dropped his bear to hold firmly to Demiesius' careful hands.

"Papa, Papa," Jeremiah sounded out, awkwardly turning to the desk. He brought himself down slowly and Demiesius allowed him to crawl onto the top of it.

"Do you think it would be for nothing, my son?" Demiesius said then, eyes attentive as Jeremiah simply pushed around the crumpled pieces of paper before him. "Surely, I would not be so mad to think he deserves to be avenged no matter the chosen method. If you were aware that his absence is unnatural, that he was taken from you, that he was taken from us, would you not believe my want for everyone's demise to be rational?"

Not giving an answer to the inquiries, Jeremiah held one of the wadded papers out to Demiesius, his few teeth on display as he smiled brightly.

"Perhaps it is natural but irrational nonetheless," Demiesius said, catching the paper when Jeremiah tossed it.

He then watched as his son's attention scanned the desktop, and at the corner he spotted a picture placed in an intricate frame. On display sat the image of Hamilton cradling Jeremiah four weeks after his birth…

One week before this life without him began.

The little dhampir reached for the frame, and Demiesius gathered the boy from the desk instead so that he wouldn't break it.

When he sat back again, Jeremiah writhed in frustration, whining in anxiousness as he continued to reach and reach until Demiesius finally brought the image closer.

Unaware of Jeremiah's ability to recall who exactly the blond man in the photograph was, Demiesius expected that his son merely liked to look at images of himself, as most around the castle were of them both and solo pictures of Hamilton were too far for him to see.

Able to lounge comfortably in Demiesius' lap, the picture now hugged against his chest, Jeremiah's eyes began to flutter shut, leaving the elder feeling a bit trapped in the desk chair. It wasn't often that Jeremiah would sleep for longer than an hour or two, and if he got up now and moved too much, he would risk waking the boy up.

Deciding to give it some time, Demiesius carefully pried the frame from Jeremiah's hands and turned him, the little dhampir now resting his head against his father's shoulder.

Demiesius then reached for the journal he'd hoped to hide from Bethania's view earlier and turned it over. He wasn't quite sure why he'd written the letter since it was meant for the eyes of one man, a man who would never know these words he'd conjured up. No relief was obtained from it either, but still he'd written until the entire page was filled.

As his eyes passed over the rather desperate and desolate words, Demiesius read:

Hamilton,

It has been a year since you were taken from us, and it is with the heaviest of hearts that I must admit I have faltered through these months. For so long, I prided myself in the resilience I have carried with me through the centuries, but it can be seen so plainly that a fraction of me was severed the night you went. Your absence has caused my mind to wander, and I am at the mercy of your silence that holds dominion over the castle. Our home.

Though it can be noted the corridors are not so silent, there is difficulty in being able to enjoy what sounds occupy them regularly. In the beginning, I wondered if our son could comprehend the fact that you are gone. Surely, he must have noticed your warmth ceased to return as the nights carried on. With that notion, I have grown afraid for our son, as I do not feel I will ever be enough for him. Or good enough.

At times, there is a distance I wish to keep between Jeremiah and I, more so for the idea that it is unfair I am able to enjoy our son without you by my side. Is that not what it is? Unfair?

I have come to see this struggle will remain with me until the sun can no longer sustain this Earth. Just as the world will wane upon the absence of its most prestigious star, so too will I yearn for your warmth until I am no more.

Now and then,

Your Husband

There was so much more he had to say, enough to fill a hundred, five hundred, thousands of journals, as there would always be something he'd wish to share with Hamilton. Perhaps he would carry on once he found the strength, but continuing would only bring about more of this insufferable madness trying to win him over.

Leaning there in the desk chair, Demiesius kept a tender hand placed at Jeremiah's back as the boy slept, his eyes lifting to the high ceiling of the office as the light sound of his son's heartbeat quelled a speck of the elder's woe.

Demiesius could still recall the mixtures of thrill and minor fret that'd entered him upon discovering Hamilton's pregnancy; the sweetened, floral, and radiant scent that'd clung to Hamilton's makeup. His mere fingertips, toes, and all had seemed dipped into a vat of heavenly perfume, and the melodious tune of Hamilton's and Jeremiah's heartbeats pounding as one, how musical such a simple rhythm was.

Listening to Jeremiah's heart as he slept was akin to trying to appreciate a well-organized score while knowing something within the orchestra was missing. Was it the strings? The woodwinds? Perhaps the piano wasn't finely tuned. Or was it the conductor?

Able to feel himself about to falter under this pressure, Demiesius rose from behind the desk, gathered Jeremiah's teddy bear from the floor and started for the boy's bedroom. The crib was placed between two soaring windows, curtains open as the light of the moon shone inside.

As Demiesius expected, even the delicateness in which he laid his son down brought Jeremiah out of his slumber, and the moment he was placed in his blankets with his bear nearby, Jeremiah fussed as his father turned away.

Looking more like a shadow retreating to the isolating darkness, Demiesius pushed through the hurt in Jeremiah's whine and left the room, shutting the door in his wake as if it would mute the dhampir's cries.

With a hand gripped around the doorknob, the strength in Demiesius' clasp dented the brass and he pushed on, all the while able to hear Jeremiah's beseech for his return.

"Papa! Papa!"

Still, Demiesius distanced himself.

As his son's cry continued, sounding as though Demiesius' return would make every bit of despair disappear, a trickle of crimson washed down the elder's face, streams drenching his cheeks as he ventured out to the rear gardens of the castle. Alone, he sat atop the barrier of a stone flower bed. It was vibrant once, teeming in violets that bloomed exceptionally in the Spring, but the gardens were more bleak than vivacious nowadays.

With the sun nearing by the minute, Demiesius sat beneath the colors of the morning; plush, white clouds were dyed in variations of pinks, purples, and orange, the light blue of the sky peeking through the cracks.

Any minute now, the sun's rays would show themselves, and yet another day would begin, showing that the world certainly could carry on whether such a vital person was absent or not. Such a thing felt more like a show of disrespect than a natural occurrence, and as the course of bloody tears continued to rinse down the elder's face, staining him, staining the paved bricks below, Demiesius shoved his hands into the top of his long hair and wept as his shoulders trembled.

Not a single person he knew had ever seen him this way; crestfallen and broken as anguish erupted from him. Solemn and unmoved, that was the Demiesius Titus everyone who knew his name understood him to be, and showing himself as anything else was something he was ashamed of.

Sulking beneath the approaching radiance of the horizon, Demiesius allowed his hurt to flow until the tears ceased, and he was left with dried streaks of red upon his face and a re-established coldness in his eyes.

Through his over two-thousand years walking the Earth, Demiesius had grown to live without the sun and its heat, and since its rays could not kill him, watching its rise would bring about a portrait that paralleled the beauty that was Hamilton's superb visage. To appreciate the sun, to allow its solace to blanket him, it would suppress a morsel of the elder's grief.

But…

To appreciate the sun…

To appreciate the sun would mean making an attempt to replace what could not be replaced and hoping to cherish another in Hamilton's stead. No matter what quaint overlay might rid Demiesius of a minor portion of this hurt, the world was not—would never be the same without his husband by his side, and in that moment, he vowed to never look upon the sun again.

Years from now, he would have joined Hamilton in his own farewell to daylight, but with their plans brought to ruin, the elder stood from the stone flower bed the second the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, and he returned to the dark corridors of the castle.

Silence carried through the halls now, Jeremiah having cried himself to sleep some minutes ago, and Demiesius wordlessly apologized to his son as he ventured back to his office after cleaning his face.

These years would be difficult for them both; for Jeremiah most of all, as his father could not bear the burden of his most beloved's absence and see to the full wellness of their son with such a heaviness in his heart.

Only time would tell what results would stem from this reserve.