He still had memories of what could be called his youth, when his people owned the night. He remembers their birth, emerging from the minds of humans, their fears and ignorance giving his people their power over what dwells in darkness.

This time was ours. When the fire circle sleeps, we rule. This was the rule. This should still be the rule.

These humans created fire of their own. First, paltry flame that gave out so little hurtful light that all we had to do is wait just at the edge, where they could sense us, if not see us. They knew we were there, waiting to strike. Puny flames made us even stronger, as all that they knew ended at soon as darkness began.

Barely a few of their lifetimes ago, their fire grew. Cold flame, now, spreading over the world, breaking our hold on the night. The light diminishing our numbers, we retreated, hiding in the last dark places like terrified prey.

We cannot hide anymore, else we will disappear. We will venture into their homes and make them remember to fear the night.

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