The Living Light

CW: Contains violence and references to child abuse

My mother used to tell me… “Nicolae, soarele este totul.”

It means the sun is everything.

She would say it when I complained about the summer heat while we worked the fields. Back then, I thought she was just being hyperbolic. But as I grew older, I came to understand how true it really was.

Life clings to its warmth like a newborn to its mother’s chest. It paints the leaves green and whispers to seeds beneath the soil, commanding them to grow. Even the wind dances from the sun’s effects.

But not all things thrive in that brilliance. Some—like myself—must survive hidden from this breath of life. Some must shape their lives around its absence, waiting in shadows while the rest of the world grows golden.

The moon—they say it guides the night… I’ve heard plenty of tales over the years implying the sun and the moon are some sort of equals, but they’re all unfounded. The moon is no equal. The shine that we see is not its own. It only reflects the sun’s glory, a pale echo of a power it cannot possess.

And yet, it is under that borrowed light that some of us find our truest shape.

***

“Wakey, wakey,” said an upbeat, masculine voice.

Nicolae woke to a hiss and a scalding splash. It seared his skin like acid—but the burn went deeper than just mere flesh.

He was bound to something ancient and creaking, wrists chained in cold metal that pulsed like it remembered old uses. He couldn’t be sure, though. He was blind. His captors had gouged out his eyes while he was unconscious.

He tried to scream for help, but his mouth was gagged. Whatever stuffed it felt like a sock packed with lumps—bulbous, alien shapes. The object forced his mouth open painfully, and it was strapped around his head with tight, unrelenting tension. Every movement triggered a burning sensation across his tongue and throat, as if something caustic coated the fabric. Whatever was inside the gag, he believed they’d shoved into his empty eye sockets as the same burning sensation—distinct from the liquid they’d tossed on him—engulfed the holes where his eyes once were.

In the static air, the distant sound of running water – a shower – hid in the silence. A silence that lasted until the voice spoke again.

“Those friends of yours put up a good fight, Nicolae. They must really care about you,” he said. “I’m not kidding, it was a damn good fight. But not nearly good enough.”

Footsteps approached—steady, deliberate.

“They came in strong, fast, and in great numbers... Too bad that’s exactly what we wanted.” He chuckled. “Each and every one of them is dead, Nicolae.”

Polly…

A cold hand patted Nicolae’s cheek; he became furious, shaking back and forth in his restraints. He attempted to channel all his strength to break from the chains but couldn’t. Instead he fell over in the chair.

“Yeah, you’re not busting through those, bud. Ain’t no slithering through silver.”

The voice laughed, then kicked Nicolae in the gut—again and again. Each kick was thunderous, shifting Nicolae inch by inch.

“I must thank Mr. Bram, he made the perfect guide,” the voice said as he continued his onslaught. “My brother… You remember him. He was the big guy that killed your whole family…”

Nicolae growled through the gag, but the captor could only continue to laugh and kick.

“He thought it was all just fibs and fiction—until we lost your gang over the Delaware… Once that turned out to be true… it became so much easier dealing with y’all."

The sound of the running water stopped.

“Looks like he is finally gonna join us,” the voice said as he rushed to lift Nicolae back up.

“I’m sorry for his tardiness. He’s got a thing about dirt. Wasn’t too happy learning about your perversions on holy land... especially after a rainy day.”

There was a beat of silence before the voice continued.

“On the topic of your perversions in an old church… Why children? Despite the fitting setting that is.”

The voice grew closer to Nicolae. Close enough that he could feel the man’s breath and smell his cologne — it was woody and cheap.

“You were running with quite the sizable group… why did it have to be kids?” the man said with a delusional anger stealing his tone. “Did the little ones give y’all a kick Did they squeal more to your liking? More to your taste?”

Nicolae felt a hard punch against his jaw. It hurt more than all the kicks combined. The man’s fist carried some kind of metal—knuckle dusters, maybe—and fractured Nicolae’s jaw. It was the first time he ever had a broken bone. It hurt like hell. Worse than anything he ever felt. Worse than the beating that knocked him out. There was something extra to that punch, it lingered after, burning and tearing where he stuck.

“I was told to not rough you up too much. Ramses wanted to be a part of the fun… He doesn’t take too kindly to things that hurt kids… But maybe one more hit won’t be so bad—”

Heavy footsteps approached from the right side of Nicolae. They were slow and muffled, not from the march of boots, but the hush of sneakers.

“Enough Moses,” Ramses yelled. His voice was deep—far deeper than his brother’s.

“What? Can’t I have a little fun?”

“You can have fun later. Don’t taunt fate, nor the captive.”

“Fine…”

The heavier footsteps of Ramses walked towards Nicolae, pausing a distance in front of him. After a moment, there was the audible clicking of an unlocked deadbolt followed by the distinct creaking of a door. The opened door welcomed the chirps of morning birds. A heavier coo resonated through all the chirps—a morning dove.

“You think this’ll break their tether to Whitney?” Ramses asked.

“Everything else that has happened in the book has proved true.”

“But what if this one thing is the outlier.”

“You already know what we’ll have to do.”

“Yeah,” Ramses said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Okay, stand him up.”

Nicolae felt the arms of Moses forcefully lift him.

“Walk,” Ramses ordered. His anger still simmered.

Nicolae was hesitant and fought against the initial gentle drive of Moses, but eventually he began to shamble towards the door. Moses acted as a rough guide, keeping him straight with a painful grip on his arm. As he approached the doorway he felt the chilly morning air brush against his skin. He savored it the best he could, snapped out of it with the forceful persuasion of the guiding hands.

Moses whispered into his ears. “You know, it’s so interesting. You root yourself into earth marked with spiritual memories… Yet, you can’t face the living symbols that contain life… Quite fitting that a dark hearted thing like yourself is so repulsed by the sun…”

He was pushed forward and felt the warmth of the rising summer sun. It embraced his body. It tired him. Moments earlier, he felt like he could live forever—even in this sorry state. But the heat, the light, the life—they stripped him of his strength. They stripped his will to fight back.

Soarele este totul…

Something sharp pierced his back.

Then, an axe cleaved through his neck.

Consciousness vanished. Flesh turned to ash.

***

Moses snickered. "The one thing about living in Santa Clara I never could stomach—all the damn vampires."

Ramses exhaled. "Jackass."