When the art of immortality was finally perfected, humanity believed it had reached the pinnacle of creation. Yet the immortal world soon split into two completely opposing factions.

The first was the Society of Innocent Immortals. They had mastered the secret art of eternal youth, beginning with the mind itself. With a perpetually fresh outlook and an abundance of energy, they lived in harmony with the natural rhythm of life: waking with the sunlight, running around, exploring, and remaining endlessly curious about the world around them.

But this very freshness of mind came with a side effect. To them, everything was new, everything was worth investigating, and no answer could stop them from asking yet another question.

The second faction was the Society of Classic Vampires. They had achieved immortality by freezing themselves inside old, cold and rigid patterns of thought. Having lived for centuries with the attitude of “I know already. Honestly, do we have to go over this again?”, they had grown weary of almost every human experience.

Their outward appearance remained unchanged, but their thinking had become increasingly inflexible. Every reaction had to follow rituals established hundreds of years ago. If they wanted to laugh, they had to activate an entire facial-expression routine. If they wanted to look mysterious, they had to remember the precise angle at which they had leaned against a stone pillar back in the previous century.

And so began an ancient comedy of errors, repeated every single day.

Each morning, as the first rays of sunlight appeared, the Innocent Immortals would cheerfully pour into the streets, overflowing with seemingly endless energy. Whenever they spotted a Vampire, they would gather around, follow them everywhere, and bombard them with thousands of questions.

“Hey, sir! How come you’ve been alive for 300 years and still wear exactly the same style of cloak every day?”

“Why do you go out drinking blood every night instead of learning to cook? Don’t you ever get bored with such a limited menu?”

“Why do you have to stand still for three seconds before you can smile? Is your facial-expression system running on an outdated battery?”

The Classic Vampires were already exhausted from maintaining their ancient rituals. Now, under this relentless questioning, they could barely remember whether they were supposed to look intimidating or simply wait for their turn to speak.

At first, they tried to preserve their dangerous image with distant stares and icy smiles. But the more they explained, the deeper the Innocent Immortals dug. They kept asking until even the Vampires began to question the very truths they had defended for centuries.

Eventually, both sides could only sit and stare at each other in silence: one side bewildered because it had yet to find an answer, the other confused because, for the first time, it realised that the ancient books had never covered every possible question.

Unable to endure these daily “survival interviews” under the sunlight, the Classic Vampires were forced to develop their ultimate survival technique.

For thousands of years, history had claimed that Vampires avoided sunlight because they were allergic to it or had fallen under some dark curse. The truth was far simpler: they stayed awake at night and slept during the day to escape the little demons known as the Innocent Immortals.

During the day, while the Innocent Immortals roamed beneath the sun, the Vampires did not merely hide in the shade. They climbed straight into their coffins, slammed the lids shut, and lay perfectly still, like wax figures in a museum.

It was not some mysterious supernatural ritual. It was an act of desperate avoidance: the ultimate strategy for escaping an interview.

Whenever the Innocent Immortals skipped past a tightly sealed coffin, peered at it, and remarked:

“Oh, that one must be in maintenance mode. Let’s go find someone else to question!”

Only then would the Vampire inside dare to breathe a sigh of relief, pat his chest, calm himself down, and check whether he had locked all three doors.

And so, when night fell and the Innocent Immortals had obediently gone to sleep in accordance with their natural body clocks, the Vampires would cautiously lift their coffin lids and crawl outside to breathe the night air in solitude.

They continued their immortal lives, clinging to ancient rules, updating their blood-drinking schedules in notebooks, and sticking reminder signs all over their homes:

“Remember: You are a Vampire. Be mysterious. Do not ask why.”

For, after all, the most terrifying thing for a creature that had lived for centuries was neither sunlight nor a holy cross.

It was a young immortal running towards them, eyes sparkling, already preparing the next question.