From the Journal of Faris Khan — On Those Who Came After the Night
The Forever Night did not only change the sky.
It altered what the world would permit to enter it.
Before, difference arrived slowly—through trade, war, marriage, exile. After the Night fell, difference arrived as consequence. New kinds of beings did not migrate so much as precipitate, drawn in by imbalance like sediment settling in poisoned water.
People argue about origins. I care about behavior.
Tieflings
Tieflings arrived quietly, which is always how the dangerous ones do. They look like contracts written into flesh—horns modest or extravagant, skin marked by colors that never existed before the Night. Some claim infernal ancestry. Others deny it too carefully. What matters is this: they understand negotiation better than purity.
Tieflings survive because they expect rejection. They build resilience where others build entitlement. In Constantinople, many become intermediaries—fixers, translators of intent, people who can walk between factions without pretending innocence. The Ascendancy tolerates them because they are useful and never ask to be trusted.
That alone makes them difficult to erase.
Djinn
Djinn do not recognize the Forever Night as an ending. To them, it is an anomaly—a wound in causality rather than theology. They entered through cracks no one remembers opening. Some arrived bound. Others arrived curious. A few arrived offended.
They are older than our categories of good and evil, and deeply annoyed by being forced into them. Djinn trade in oaths and interpretations. They grant power with the precision of lawyers and the cruelty of poets. Many align temporarily with resistance networks, not out of compassion, but because they dislike monopolies on reality.
I trust them less than vampires—and respect them more.
Demangels
The Demangels are the most troubling.
They should not exist. That is not an insult. It is diagnosis.
They are fusion-born entities—angelic structure corrupted by demonic survivability—made possible only because the Forever Night broke the boundary conditions of creation. Ivory skin threaded with black veins. Wings that cannot decide whether to soar or suffocate. Eyes that burn with violet flame, not rage, but analysis. Their halos spike and dim like broken instruments.
Demangels do not conquer. They reframe. Many serve as assassins, advisors, or memory-curators within Constantinople and beyond. They are drawn to systems that lie to themselves and specialize in making those lies operational.
They do not believe in redemption. They believe in alignment.
I avoid them whenever possible. When I cannot, I speak very carefully.
Dhampirs
Dhampirs are proof that systems fail most honestly at the boundary.
Neither human nor vampire, they inherit contradictions instead of clarity. They age unevenly. Hunger misfires. Guilt persists longer than intended. The Ascendancy never designed them, which is why it cannot fully control them.
Dhampirs survive by adapting faster than ideology. Many become scouts, relic runners, or intermediaries between resistance cells. Others disappear into ordinary life, which may be the most subversive act available.
They are dangerous because they remember what it felt like to choose—then lost the luxury of pretending choice was simple.
Lesser Vampires
Lesser vampires are made, not born. They carry borrowed immortality and inherited obedience. Blood-oaths regulate sensation, loyalty, even ambition. The Ascendancy calls this harmony.
It is not.
They are the most tragic population in the city—not because they suffer the most, but because they suffer with purpose assigned. Many function perfectly and never realize what has been removed. Others feel the absence as pressure without language.
Those who pursue the Left-Hand Path frighten the Court more than any rebellion. Not because they rebel—but because they begin to misroute obedience without collapsing.
A system can correct violence. It struggles with refusal that does not announce itself.
Pureblood Vampires
Purebloods predate the Night—or claim to. They are elegant, assured, bored. They speak of eternity as if it were a personal achievement rather than a logistical problem. The Court is filled with them. So is stagnation.
They are not inherently cruel. That is the mistake people make. They are convinced. Convinced that time validates them. Convinced that survival equals correctness. Convinced that history is a resource to be curated rather than endured.
This conviction makes them dangerous, but predictable.
Which is why they fear what they cannot classify.
The Forever Night did not invite these races.
It made space for them.
And space, once opened, does not close cleanly.
Those who understand this survive not by choosing sides, but by learning how each kind of being breaks under pressure.
That knowledge is worth more than blood, silver, or faith.
It is the only currency that has not yet been regulated.