Cameraman Never Dies

Clarus was a city drowned in the ever-present daylight, where shadows were considered an endangered species, and sunglasses were a mandatory fashion statement. The city stood as a radiant beacon, proclaiming the glory of the Avians, a proud race with wings as white as the freshly fallen snow.

Ruling over them were the Luminarii, noble Avians whose very existence was a walking destruction. Among them was Celeste, a Luminarii whose patience was being stretched beyond normal human comprehension by her sister, Flora, who was currently making herself comfortable on a marble bench glowing brighter than her guilty conscience.

"What are you doing here, Flora?" Celeste demanded, her crossed hands perched on top of each other in a manner that screamed superiority— and exasperation. "You're supposed to be at the welcoming assembly. Do you know how many times Father asked me if I've seen you? Do you know how many times I lied? And mother still has not finished her evening tea. Why are you both like this? Poor father."

Flora tilted her head back lazily, letting her unfolded white wings drape over the sides of the bench like some kind of feathery display. "Waiting for the sunset," she said with a peaceful smile, as if her response wouldn't trigger an aneurysm in any sane Luminarii.

(A/N: Aneursym is something like the bulging of blood veins, mostly in the head)

Celeste blinked. Once. Twice. Then she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like someone sharing a dangerous secret. "You do know where you are, right? Clarus. City of Sun. The sun doesn't set here, Flora. Ever. It's like… it's like… asking a Luminarii to dye their wings black— it's just not done!"

Flora waved her hand dismissively, her wings rustling like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. "Oh, I know," she said, as if this were the most reasonable explanation ever. "But imagine it. Just imagine the sun dipping below the horizon, the sky shifting from gold to amber, to crimson, to velvet blue. Wouldn't it be glorious? Like a dream you didn't know you needed until you woke up from it."

Celeste stared at her sister as if she'd sprouted a second pair of wings. "Flora, do you hear yourself? The sun doesn't set here because it can't! It's literally powered by the Church of Light! They've spent centuries ensuring this city remains bathed in perpetual day! There's an entire choir whose sole job is to sing about it! I mean, what were doing in history classes?"

"I know," Flora said, sighing wistfully. "But don't you think it would be beautiful if it did? Just once? The first night in Clarus history... the stars twinkling above us…" Explore stories on My Virtual Library Empire

"The stars twinkling above us?" Celeste repeated, incredulous. "Flora, the night isn't some romantic backdrop for poetry recitals! It's dangerous! You've read the chronicles. Night means darkness, and darkness means them."

Flora turned her gaze to her sister, her usual dreamy expression replaced with something sharper. "Them," she echoed softly, her wings ruffling ever so slightly.

"Yes, them." Celeste's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Vampires. The Nocturns. Do you think they'd just let us sit here, admiring the stars if the night fell on Clarus? They'd descend on us like vultures on a wounded sparrow. We've grown too comfortable in the light. Without it, we'd be— "

"— vulnerable," Flora finished, her tone unusually serious. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the unchanging horizon. "But maybe that's the problem. Maybe we've grown so used to the sun that we've forgotten what it's like to stand in the dark. To face it."

Celeste felt a chill run down her spine, which was a strange sensation in a city where the temperature was perpetually pleasant. "Flora, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Flora replied, her voice was calm, "that the sun won't shine forever. And when it doesn't, we'll have to decide whether we're creatures of light— or something more. I want to be a light envoy and travel to places outside this city... and maybe see the night sky illuminated by stars, I want to fall asleep on a grass patch staring at the starry sky."

Celeste opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She watched her sister recline against the glowing bench, her face illuminated by the ever-present light of Clarus

"Let's head back anyway," She shook her head in defeat. "The pilgrims would appear before night, and your job is to welcome them. And doing your job properly is the first step towards becoming a light envoy."

Flora looked at her sister and folded her wings, "Okay."

She stood up and walked to the edge, unfurling her wings again to take flight. She let herself fall from the ledge and flapped her wings— flying towards a giant arc made of white stone and gold.@@novelbin@@

Celeste looked at her sister flying away with a face devoid of any emotions. She was never going to let her sister be a light envoy, nor were their parents— it was just too dangerous of a job.

———

Noel Rivet had his doubts. Not about himself— oh no, Noel had an ego big enough to classify as its own celestial body. But he was wondering how in the name of all things spooky he was supposed to pull off his mission without looking like a tourist with a camera slung around his neck. And this odd feeling of forgetting something just won't go away.

The church he was sent to monitor was a decent-sized one for a town with a population of just over three hundred thousand people, give or take the odd census miscount. Not massive, but big enough to scream, "Look at me, I'm totally not suspicious!"

Getting to this town had been a journey that deserved its own memoir. Noel had skipped the direct railway because, you know, nothing says "subtle operative" like showing up in first-class with a newspaper and a trench coat. Instead, he'd taken a carriage to some village that could've been a set piece for a soap commercial.

Then, after befriending a farmer who smelled like apples and questionable life choices, he hitched a ride to the next town and finally hopped on a train. It was the kind of journey that would've made a travel blogger quit on day one.

Now he was standing in front of the church. It wasn't huge— like, the big-city churches would've laughed at this one and asked if it needed help with rent. But it still had an air of oomph, like it wanted you to know it meant business. The stained-glass windows glared at him like judgmental aunties at a family gathering.

To blend in, Noel did what any self-respecting spy would do— he became the touristiest tourist ever. He took long, aimless walks, peeked into souvenir shops, and even bought a mug that said "I love Somol" because the shopkeeper wouldn't stop staring at him.

He asked for directions he didn't need, sat on public benches and stared at completely ordinary lampposts, and nodded knowingly at random statues like he was a historian on vacation.

By the time he got to his hotel room, it was night. He locked the door, pulled the curtains, and flopped onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. But Noel didn't have time to nap— he had business to attend to. He waited until the clock struck midnight (because, duh, midnight's the spooky hour), then turned himself into a shadow, which was hands-down his favorite party trick.

Sliding under doors and skimming past light sources like a stealthy pancake, Noel made his way to the church. People were still inside the church and praying, because well... this was the church of night after all, what better time to pray than the night.

But his destination was something else, searching through the nooks and crannies while avoiding both light and people— he finally found an open secret chamber. It was not meant to be open like this, he knew this and wanted to retreat, but despite his best urges— curiosity killed the cat. Maybe one of the members forgot to close the door.

Inside, he expected to find all sorts of ominous things: robed cultists chanting in senseless tongues, creepy statues that followed him with their eyes, and maybe even a cat doing that weird thing where it stares at nothing and hisses. But nope. The place was emptier than his fridge back home.

Noel floated around, checking every nook and cranny. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a cobweb. "Well, this is anticlimactic," he muttered, forgetting for a moment that shadows don't usually talk. Deciding it was best not to press his luck, he turned to leave.

Except there was one small problem: the door was gone. As in, poof, vanished, adios. He stared at the blank wall where the entrance used to be, his brain doing cartwheels. "Okay, Noel," he whispered to himself, "you've been in worse situations. Like that time you got stuck in the outhouse during a thunderstorm. This is just like that, but with more stupid curiosity."

Realizing he was trapped, Noel did the only logical thing: he sat down, pulled out the mug he'd bought earlier from his shadow, and pretended to drink tea from it while muttering, "I'm so glad I paid a whole sten for this."

Whatever happened, Noel knew panicking would only worsen things, he needed a plan to get out.