Florian ignored the dust in the wind with stubborn dignity, even as it stung his eyes. The tent kept virtually none of the dreaded sand out, not in this storm, and even with the cloth over the lower part of his face he could feel his lungs itching. The locals the Noir Society had paid to do the job had reported that they had found the remains of the passage, but that was days ago. He was getting anxious, and the fact that he wasn’t sleeping well only added to his distress. His dreams had been plagued by shadows and bloody figures, accompanied by mumbling voices of pain and suffering that he couldn’t quite make out.

The computers had stopped working because of the sand that had gotten inside of them, so by now the men were digging blind. He caught sight of one of the Society members, standing just inside of the man-made cave opening. Florian was a historian and an archeologist, which had helped them greatly when they had found him, because they had no idea where to look. His heart had been racing all day long, progressively getting harder to breathe normally and concentrate. Not that he had much to look at out here but dirt, sand, and rocks. Nothing in the area was even remotely interesting. No ruins, no traces of past life, nothing. It was killing him to sit here and wait for them to find a passage only mentioned in a cryptic message. What if there really was nothing? What if this excavation held no clues what-so-ever to his father’s death and the mystery of his family? The cheer of voices startled him, and he jumped to his feet in shock as one dust-covered man came rushing towards him.

“Sir, we found water!”

“Water…?”

“Yes, sir! Water! It’s a passage we think!”

“Underwater?!” Florian asked, frowning. This mountain was many miles from the nearest body of water, let alone river! And a passage? It could lead to nowhere! The Society member that had accompanied him stepped up to them, smiling proudly.

“You have to go, Sir Florian.” He said calmly. His white suit was untouched by even a speck of dirt, and he wore no protection from the wind and sand, a wide-brimmed white hat his only protection from the sun. His swept back light brown hair was pristinely in place even! His lizard-like smile unnerved Florian, who shifted uneasily to rest his weight on his other foot, waving his hand..

“It could be nothing… Maybe even a distraction.”

“Still, you have to see.”

“What if I drown! What then?”

“It has to be you, Sir Florian.” The man persisted. Florian rubbed his upper arm, brushing the dust and sand from it as he thought. Finally he relented with a nod, and the strange man smiled again. He went to gather his things, but a pale hand on his wrist stopped him. When he tried to protest, he was handed a long knife, sheathed in decorated leather and attached to a belt. “This is all you need, Sir Florian.” He mused, and Florian shuddered.

“Stop calling me that.”

“But I cannot.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just take me there.” The young man said. The strange man bowed and led him into the mouth of the cave. Once inside, it was clear that this was no man-made cave after all, but a natural one that had been well hidden from the outside world. From the looks of it, the rocks had been caved in, which would explain the amount of rubble that the men had been bringing out for the past week. What puzzled him was the fact that the entrance of the cave had been the smooth side of the mountain when they had broken through. The stale air and pure knowledge of this area told him that it was over a hundred years old, so how was it possible that this passage even exist? An underground tunnel? Another proper entrance; perhaps on the other side? They reached the area the small man had spoken of, a small open cavern with the pool of water directly in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder at the white-clothed man. “Here.” The man said, handing him a large light that he had to hold in both hands, and a pair of goggles. “You know what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Florian said bitterly, turning it on. He set it down, lowering himself into the water slowly, sucking in his breath at the coldness of it. Like ice! In the middle of the desert, this water was cold as the Arctic! He didn’t even have time for it to be a refreshing break from the heat before his teeth were chattering. He buckled the heavy belt around his slender waist and put the goggles in place. Picking up the light once again, he glanced over his shoulder to give one last glare to the smirking Society member before gathering his breath and plunging into the icy depths.

The pool was deeper than he thought, and he pushed off of the edge to head towards the dark tunnel he saw to his right. It was wide enough to accommodate at least three people, so he had no problem getting through. What worried him was the length of it. With no breathing equipment, his heart was racing even as the cold water fought to slow his body down. It went on forever, the light he held barely lighting the area directly in front of him. The blackness in front of his eyes threatened to overcome him, tempting him into a near panic a few times before he forced himself to remain calm. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and his chest was beginning to burn. Just as he was about to give up and turn back, his head hit a low part of the ceiling, forcing the air from his lungs. He did panic then, pushing off from the offending rock and fighting the urge to breathe in as he swam with all of his last reserve. Water filled his nose and throat as a convulsion of panic took him, but he saw the tunnel widen greatly at the same time.

Florian broke the surface of the water sputtering and coughing. He had dropped the light, and he swam to the shallower water as quickly as he could, laying half over the edge as he fought to get air back into his chilled lungs. His body was shaking badly, more from fear than from cold. He opened his eyes at last to take stock of his situation. The light at the bottom of the pool managed to light the small cavern quite nicely somehow, but everything lay cloaked in shadows as he crawled out of the water. The light flickered, and for a moment he feared it would go out all together, but it flared back to life with a sigh of relief from Florian. Now, to find this ‘Secret Weapon’. He sat up, then slowly stood. His breath was a cloud of white, though the humid air was warming his skin already. He pulled off the goggles, dropping them to the stone ground with a clatter.

“Where are you?” he whispered to himself, heading to the edge of the cavern. He had to feel along the wall and walk slowly, because the shadows were sometimes not shadows, but jarring rocks along the way. He didn’t have to walk long before his foot tapped something that was not as hard as a rock, but solid. Looking down, he felt his face drain of all blood.

The body was dressed in dark clothing, curled up in a ball like a child, though it was full-grown. He felt his stomach rise in his throat at the sight of its skin, shrunken and greenish gray, though its hair was lustrous, long and black. Rushing to the other side of the cavern, he kneeled to empty his stomach onto the bare stone floor. Slowly he crawled back to the water, washing his face. His heart was racing again, pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears and feel it in his throat. Gathering the courage, he stood again and walked to back to the body. Pulling the dagger from its sheath, he placed it on the palm of his hand.

“Sacred dagger of Binding, wake that which sleeps unending.” He whispered, and closed his eyes in a grimace as he ran the razor-sharp blade across his tender palm. He dropped the dagger, grabbing his wrist with a shaking hand as he tried to keep it steady, kneeling to hold it over the body’s mouth so that his blood dripped steadily onto its green lips. He closed his eyes, looking away as he waited a few moments. When he could bear it no longer, he pulled the sopping wet handkerchief from his back pocket, covering the wound and rushing to the water again. His hand was bleeding more than he thought it would, and he’d even left a trail on the floor. Florian pressed the wound tightly, holding it under the chilly water to try and stop the flow which was staining his long-sleeved white shirt. Tears came to his eyes, and he closed them tightly as he dipped his head to let them slip silently down his pale cheeks.

The sound behind him caught him by surprise, and his heart and breath froze at once. It was a quiet sucking sound, followed by the swish of clothing. His heart raced as he stared straight ahead into the dimly glowing water, his breath quickening. A dry scraping sound began, accompanied sometimes by that awful slurping, and he closed his eyes again as it drew near. He lost his breath as a hand touched him, sliding under his left arm to splay long fingers across the middle of his chest, pulling him back against a solid body. The slight breeze on his ear warned him before he heard the rich and haunting voice,

“Master,” It breathed slowly, like a hiss of a snake that chilled his blood, “Where have you been, my Master? It’s been sooo long… years, I sense. Why did you leave me here, Master?” It asked, and Florian jolted slightly as he felt the second hand touch his thigh. “I was so hungry…” A cold tongue ran over his ear, and he gasped, a small yelp issuing from his throat. The body tensed all at once, and he didn’t have time to react before it pulled back, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. The face that starred into his was a mask of fury, violet eyes narrowed and sharp fangs bared, raven hair framing the now pale white face. It was beautiful now, and terrifying all at once. “Who are you, and why do you have my Master’s blood!?” That same soothing voice roared, filling the cavern and hurting his ears. Just as he opened his mouth, it filled with water as he was shoved under by the hands now on his collar. He grabbed the thing’s arms, his legs flailing to gain a kick as he fought to hold his breath. The wrist of his wounded hand was grabbed, and he gasped as he was pulled from the water again.

“Answer me! Who are you?!”

“F…Florian…Rozen!” The young man was able to say through his coughing.

“Rozen?! Where is my master, Sir Bijoux Gabriel Rozen?!” The dark-haired thing demanded.

“I, I don’t know!” he went under again. A moment later he was brought up, and he grasped desperately got a hold on his attacker, finding one by means of a thick lock of raven-colored hair.

“Try me again, human.” The other growled, his voice thick with unleashed anger and hate.

“Wait, wait! Bijoux… he was my Grandsire! The old head of the family…He’s gone.”

“Grandsire… Impossible! Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know! Don’t!” Florian pleaded, gripping tightly onto the hair as the being tried to force him under again. “Please, I’m telling you the truth!” he begged. The figure holding him stared hard into his face, its face screwing up in deep thought. This young man certainly had the face of his master, as well as the long blond hair and those clear blue eyes, not to mention the potent blood. The blood alone was proof that he was indeed kin of his master, and with a swift check of his own soul, he felt the keen absence of his master’s presence. He released the blonde’s shirt, allowing him to sit up properly as he moved back a few feet.

“Why are you here?” He asked when the other had gained his breath.

“The Noir Society contacted me…”

“Noir Society? Explain.”

“They told me that they had been searching for me, the descendant of the Rozen bloodline, for years now. Sir Bijoux had gone missing a long time ago, and they had known only that he had secretly sired a child after he sealed you—“

“You know of me?”

“Not…really. Just what my father told me when he died in my arms. Some people broke into our house when I was fifteen, and they killed him because he refused to help them. They didn’t know about me I guess, and as I held my father he told me, ‘Find the Night Walker, the Grandsire’s Weapon’.”

“Grandsire…” The pale creature said, and his voice was distressed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“By their guess… a few hundred years.” Florian said slowly. The dark haired man turned his body away from the blond, bowing his head. Silence filled the cavern, all for the sound of the water gently lapping at the edges of the pool. Finally, it spoke again.

“This is all you know?” he said sadly.

“Yes… I’m sorry.” Florian said slowly, hanging his own head. The man turned again, curiously. He sighed, his eyes lowered.

“What do you wish of me, descendant of Bijoux?” He asked quietly, and Florian breathed a sigh of relief.

“I ask that thou annul thy pact with thy Grandsire Bijoux of Rozen, and honor a new pact with me, Florian of Rozen.” He said, surprisingly clear. He’d gained a little confidence as things were now following the path that the Society had said they would. The dark-haired creature looked unsure at first, and he could tell that he was trying to read him as he stared hard into his eyes, but, kneeling, he gave in. Or so it seemed, because he smirked widely, causing Florian’s heart to race again.

“Speak my name, human,” he said with acid, “and let it be done.”

“Makhetkanaurhyk, the Night Walker.” The blond said, stealing the mirth from the man’s expression. It smiled slowly, almost sadly. Sitting up straight as he kneeled, the named demon turned his head to the side, pulling back his hair to bare his pale throat.

“Seal it.” He said firmly, and Florian swallowed hard. He crawled towards the demon, placing his hands on his shoulders and licking his suddenly dry lips. He yelped as the other wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him against the dark-clothed body. “Quickly, or it will hurt more.” He was teased, and he bent forward to do as told. Even though the Noir Society had sharpened his human fangs, it took Florian a while of scratching and cutting to open a large enough font for blood to come steadily. The Night Walker bore it stoically, closing his eyes and tensing the arm about the human’s waist. The torrent of blood was hot and sweet as it evaded Florian’s mouth. He drank it in full mouth-fulls, swallowing loudly in the quiet cavern. The dark haired Night Walker let out a groan at last, his body relaxing and leaning into the blonde’s. The sudden rush of energy caught the young human by surprise, causing him to release his hold and his bite on the demon. His head fell back, the blood in his mouth spilling from his lips to gush down his pale throat, staining his shirt.

“Ahhh…” He gasped as the wave of energy came again, feeling like a thousand small currents of electricity coursing through his every vein. Something was pressing towards him, a pressure on his chest like he had never felt. It wasn’t unpleasant, or unwelcome, just a new feeling for him. It felt as if an empty place inside of him was being filled up by a warm and comforting presence, a strong and vibrant power. He fell back, caught by his demon’s strong arms as his head grew light and his vision swam. “Oh Lord…” He gasped, riding the foreign tide of emotions and sensations his body was going through. Dimly, as if he was far away from his body at the moment, he felt the demon’s cool tongue lapping at his throat, cleaning away his own blood. “My Knight…” He whispered, and just as he felt the lapping stop, he came back to awareness. His body was hot and sweating as he panted for air. His eyes were blissfully closed as he allowed his body to relax in the demon’s arms.

When he did open his dark blue eyes, he met the amethyst gaze of the Night Walker without fear, but the look on the demon’s face confused him. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“It’s… you called me ‘My Knight’, didn’t you?” The other asked, and he flushed.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly, but the other shook his head.

“No, it’s just… he always called me that… because it was a play on my name.” The demon explained, and the blond looked shamed.

“Should I… not call you that?”

“It’s alright. You are my master now, so you may call me what you will, Master Florian.” He stated matter-of-factly, and the human sighed.

“Then call me Florian… you called my grandsire by name, didn’t you?” He asked, and the demon nodded. “Than I shall call you Night, and you shall call me Florian. We’re linked to one another now, right? If I die, you die. If you are wounded, I am wounded. We have ways of healing, though I will have to be thought those. The Noir Society did not know those.”

“The Noir Society again…”

“Do you not know of them?” Florian asked, confused. “They kept calling me ‘Sir’, and treating me strangely.”

“Oh, I know of them. They’re somewhat of a rag-tag cult of Walks—demons you call them. And they treated you as such because you are a Saint.”

“A Saint?! But I’m not even Christian!”

“Not that kind of Saint.” Night chuckled. “They told you of what your Grandsire and I did, right?”

“Yes…roughly. They said you protected Walks and humans alike.” The blond said. He suddenly realized that he was still laying in the Walk/demon’s arms, and he pushed away quickly. Night ignored this, and spoke normally,

“That’s basically it, though it is not as easy as it sounds. A Saint is like a judge, you see. They protect the delicate balance of the human’s world and the Other world, the Illusionary World. That’s where the Walks come from. Not all of them are malicious, and some of them live as humans in this world without ever harming a soul. However, there are some people in this world that seek to destroy the Walks, simply because they are not human. There are also Walks that seek to overthrow humanity, and rule as leaders among them. Saints must fight those, as well. Saints usually have an arsenal Summoning Walks to protect and aid them in their cause. Bijoux Gabriel Rozen was believed to be the last Saint ever to walk this Plane. He gave his eternal soul in exchange to make a pact with me, as you have just done.”

“Night…No, Makhetkanaurhyk…who are you?” Florian asked quietly.

“I am as you say, Makhetkanaurhyk, the Night Walker. I am a Lord of the Walks, and known as the Prince of the Summoning Walks.” The raven-haired man said flatly. Florian’s eyes widened, and he bowed his head slightly.

“A Lord…and a prince!” He said in awe.

“Stop that!” Night admonished, lifting his head. “You must never bow to me, Master. You are a Rozen, and a Saint! You must always carry your head high, and bow to no one… for you are above even me.” He said with respect, and Florian flushed in embarrassment.

“No…” He said quietly. “I’m not above you, Night. We’re partners.” He said shyly, and Night’s violet eyes widened a little as his eyebrows lifted.

“Partners?” he asked.

“Yes. We’ll fight as partners, not as Master and Servant.”

“But the Pact…”

“Forget about all of that. I don’t want to own you. I’d rather you fight beside me.”

“You are still my Master, and I am not ashamed to bow my head to you. It is no dishonor to me.” Night told him seriously. Florian smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

“I have no right to be called a Master yet, though… I still have a lot to learn, so… at least until I am ready to use the power you and the Noir Society say I have…let me think of you as a partner. I’d rather be taught by a partner than a servant, after all.” He said. Night thought for a moment, then he smiled kindly.

“I understand, Florian.” He said. Reaching forward, he took a hold of the hand that had been cut to waken him, lifting it to his lips. The blond winced as he re-opened it with his long nail, but didn’t protest. The demon licked the wound slowly, and it stung as if his saliva its self was rubbing alcohol. When he released his hand, however, the cut was healed.

“How did you do that…?” He asked, smiling.

“We have many ways of healing one another. If you are wounded, I can use my saliva to seal it, and my blood to replace what you have lost. If I am wounded, you can give me some of your blood to heal me. However, if one or both of us are close to death, only one thing can save us.”

“What is that?” Florian asked curiously.

“A sharing of body and soul.”

“What?” The blond was puzzled.

“Mating.” Night said flatly, and Florian’s face turned red.

“You mean sex?!” He blurted. Night shook his head, chuckling.

“I believe that is the crude word you humans gave it. But what I am talking about is a sacred joining of life’s energies, brought about by the highest sense of touch that one can achieve.”

“O-Oh…and… you and Grandsire did this?”

“On several occasions; yes.” Night told him honestly. Florian’s face felt unbearably hot, and he looked away as he spoke.

“B-But that was only… in extreme cases, right?”

“Correct. Whenever one of us was beyond other means of healing.” The other affirmed.

“Good.” Florian breathed a sigh of relief, smiling. They hadn’t mentioned anything about sleeping with the demon, after all.

“How old are you, Mas…Florian?” Night asked.

“Nineteen.”

“Truly?” His voice was skeptical.

“Yes, truly! Is something wrong with that?” Florian asked, slightly irked.

“No, it’s nothing like that. Just… Bijoux was fifteen. Most Saints are in their thirties before they can summon the lowest Walk.” Night said in a pacifying voice. Florian blinked his blue eyes, calming down.

“Oh…so…what’s that mean?”

“It means, Florian, that you’re Chosen.”

“Oh, please… I was just a normal college student before all of this. I didn’t know anything about the occult, Noir Society, or you before those men killed my dad. Don’t go calling me Chosen and making this all too cliché, please.” Florian said, rolling his eyes. Night shrugged, brushing his hair over his shoulder. “Let’s get back outside.” He said, slipping his legs into the water.

“As you wish.” Night said, and he scooped the smaller framed human into his deceivingly slender arms.

“Hey…Night?” Florian asked as the demon stepped into the water to his waist.

“Yes Florian?”

“If you were in a pact with Grandsire Bijoux…how come you’re not dead?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Night said, his voice carefully controlled. Florian searched his partner’s face for a trace of emotion, some hint of how he felt, but he found none.

“Right.” He said firmly, and then the demon smiled. They plunged into the icy water all at once, and he closed his eyes as he felt the water rush by him in a torrent. They broke the surface only an instant later, and Florian wiped the hair from his eyes as he was set on the edge. Makhetkanaurhyk lifted himself from the water in one shove of his arms, landing in a kneel from which he quickly stood, alert. Florian turned around to see the arm of the white-suited Society man peeking from behind a ridge in the tunnel.

“State your business, Walk.” Night said in a dark tone, much like the one he had threatened Florian with not long ago.

“He’s from the Noir Society, Night. He came with me. I think his name was…”

“Detrich, my Lord.” The man said, stepping into view. His hat was held to his chest as he stepped forward. As soon as he was near enough, he dropped to his knees, placing his hands on the ground before him. “It is an honor, my Lord. I come humbly in the name of the Noir Society to beg forgiveness for not delivering the Saint to you sooner than this.” He crawled forward, pressing his lips to the tall dark-haired demon’s worn boot. Florian was shocked to see the smug and arrogant man, who had been running this operation with a firm hand a sharp tongue, trembling before his partner. He couldn’t blame him, for he had been much the same after the other had held him underwater.

“So then it’s true. Kharmentela finally made it official.”

“The noble Lady has asked me to invite you to our humble abode in order to recuperate, and to inform you of the time that has passed.”

“Who is Kharmentela?” Florian asked.

“An old friend of mine.” Night answered before the white-clad one could answer. “She is known as Lady of the Night. She gave up her seat in the Other world as I did, to protect the balance.”

“The Summoning Walks have been in chaos since you vanished, my Lord! The Lady begs that you right them before amateur Summoners do any more harm.”

“Amateur Summoners?” Florian asked again. His head was spinning with too much new information. Detrich looked like he was loosing his patience with the human, no matter the Saint’s position, but he dared not speak against his Lord’s Master.

“A Summoner without the Right. You, as a Saint, possess the Right. Amateurs cannot properly bind or control a Summoning Walk, and therefor cause more harm than good.” Night said patiently, however.

“Oh…” The human said, not quite understanding. He moved to stand, but as soon as he was up his legs gave out. He was caught again in the arms of his powerful partner, and as his eyes closed, he saw the white-clad man stand.

“The sun has set, my Lord. Allow me to guide you to our resting place.”

“Very well. While my master recovers from the tax of the Pact, I will speak with Lady Night.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” The man bowed deeply. Florian was out.