Embraced by Darkness, it was said, an embrace full of love and care. The love of those we once held dear, but no longer live beside, joined into the void of healing and rest. In this warmth nobody is left behind—monsters of colossal size, insects unseen by the eye, horrible people, kind people—we all heal at Dark. Darkness, in her immense kindness, does not discriminate.
A fucking lie, Orlin had known. He lay on the floor unable to look beyond his thoughts, every movement a bone-crushing ordeal. He remembered the teachings of his grandma. He believed in the almighty Darkness, so why did it hurt so much?
It hurts, Grandma, you liar.
Darkness did discriminate, and he was one of the people it hated. From a young age he had to endure pain before sleeping, suffering from all wounds, small or big, it didn't matter—it always hurt.
"You seem to be in horrible pain," came Cassian's voice from somewhere.
Orlin coughed, breathing slowly, trying not to expand his chest too much.
"We should have done it at Light," he coughed again. "The pain… I hated it."
"Man up then," Cassian said, his tone irritated. "Don't go thinking you got Altus' gift because you deserved it. Altus gave it to you so we could have a better chance at fighting the tier two and protect our brothers at arms. I was against it, but… don't go complaining about pain."
Orlin didn't revolt or protest. He just lay there, wondering when his life had gone wrong and why he was here, when he could have been elsewhere.
Darkness was cruel, and his grandma was the worst for lying.
"Have you fought with a mutant before?" Orlin said, groaning as he sat. Although he couldn't see Cassian, he could feel him watching.
"Two. I have fought two mutants, though not alone—Ezo was with me, and twenty young and valiant men. Sir Gregor, Sir Roberto, and Sir Pantro too. We were twenty-five against two, and only five survived. Rolan and Patrick died last cycle in an ambush, and now Altus is dead too, so in truth Ezo and I remain."
Orlin shivered. "You must have been younger then."
"Twelve, thirteen. I can't recall, but yes."
"Maybe you really are special. We're of the same age, yet you feel so unreachable. You speak of killing the thing fathers use to scare their children with such ease."
He stopped, feeling something hot running down his face. Whether he was crying from pain or fear, he could not tell. "I'm scared—scared of dying, scared of becoming someone I don't know. My grandma always cared for me in Darkness, singing to me, guiding my thoughts away from the pain. But I knew, Cassian, I knew she was in just as much pain as me and did nothing to ease her own. I hate her for lying, and I hate myself for being born weak."
A fire burned, its flames a pale specter, dancing and drifting from side to side, struggling against the vast Darkness. The heat was stronger than any fire at Light, a final desire—a desire to live. Cassian sat before it, his face visible now, his eyes blazing just as fiercely.
"Why do you think you were born, Orlin?" Cassian asked. "Why are you in this world you fear so much? Why were you born this monster you hate?" He fed branches into the fire, keeping it alive.
"I don't know," Orlin said, his voice strained.
"You don't?" Cassian sounded surprised. "Neither does the rest of the world." He stared into the flames. "Nobody knows why we exist, or why we must suffer. But we keep moving forward—to live for those left behind, or simply to live for ourselves."
"But—" Orlin began.
"No buts," Cassian said, strengthening the fire. "You know why your grandma did what she did. She did it because she loved you. She expected nothing in return. I can't speak for her, but I'd wager it hurt her more to see you suffer than to endure her own pain."
Orlin could no longer stop the tears from falling, the words hurting more than Darkness ever had. I miss her, he realized. Why did you leave me here to fend for myself? I can't, Grandma. I tried, and I can't.
"Thank you," Orlin said.
Cassian didn't answer. He simply stared into the fire, lost in thought.
Then he said, "The day I was born, people stopped believing in a future. My existence was a wish for death and destruction. You remember how I told you nobody knows why we are born? The truth is—I do. And I'm sorry for what I might become."
"Sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying," Orlin said between sobs, confused.
He saw Cassian blink once, then laugh.
"Don't take my words too seriously. I'm a mutant. Sometimes I just speak nonsense."
Orlin didn't press him, but he took Cassian's words to heart and wondered what he truly meant.
The pain had left Orlin by then. The strength gift of Lord Altus had settled, no longer threatening to tear him apart. Ezo now sat nearby with Cassian, drinking from a skin—by the scent, it had to be wine.
"The bloody mutant is getting closer," Ezo said. "We might meet him in a few Lights. Good thing the bastard's far from his host—we'd have a clean fight, three against one." He chortled. "You better sleep, boy. Next light you'll learn how to use that gift properly by keeping pace. If you don't, I'll beat you bloody."
"Maybe I'll beat you bloody," Orlin shot back.
Ezo gave him a crooked look, then laughed. "Aye. Just sleep."
Orlin tried, but he couldn't help listening as they talked.
"What did you do with Altus' body?" Ezo asked.
"I buried him," Cassian replied. "Left no trace, so he could rest undisturbed."
"I'm going to miss the moron," Ezo muttered with a low laugh. "Gut-Reacher… that was no name for a sword made of such fine steel."
_ _ _
At Light they kept running. Every stride took an explosion of power, sending Orlin forward. He felt invincible, the price of Darkness behind him, but not forgotten.
Cassian's words—and his own feelings—stayed close to his heart. With this new strength, Orlin hoped he could keep growing, keep climbing higher.
Still, the fact that Lord Altus had given his life for his men weighed on him. Orlin found it honorable and wondered whether the knights and lords of songs were ever truly capable of such sacrifice.
In the songs they were always mighty and flawless, which meant they never needed to go so far to protect those around them.
He remembered the tales of the Lord of Swords, Sir Jeremy Oliveira—one blade in each hand and four more floating at his side.
The great battle against the albino dragon.
The duel against Sir Lucien, the fighting thunder.
A wish of his.
A wish for his name to be remembered and sung in awe.
But that was why it was a wish. Wishes were not meant to come true.
"We should stop here," he heard Ezo say.
The group of no more than forty men stopped, taking out the little food he had.
Orlin looked around and saw that everyone was the same—soon the food would run out.
Even though they ate only once a Light, most of what they had carried had been left in the village.
A cruel jest, Orlin murmured.
Still, he ate the dry meat and rock-hard bread, excited but more anxious. Would it be this Light, or the next?
Probably neither. Cassian had said the fight would most likely happen at Dark. The mutant could not attack at Light with this many men—tier two or not—especially with three mutants among them.
The better chance the tier two had was at Dark, with only the three of them. Even that was dangerous. A single wound was enough to take any of them out of combat, and the tier two had it worst—Darkness would treat him less kindly.
They started moving again. Orlin slowed his pace and stayed among the others. Their heavy breathing and panting made him feel more tired than he was. Ezo still led the charge, and Cassian ran behind.
Cassian mostly stayed back to help those who were thirsty—another gift Orlin noted. He had fire and water, and the ability of those eyes of his.
Orlin sighed. The words Cassian had spoken at Dark were unclear to him, troubling. Death and destruction, he thought. Cassian knew the reason he lived, good for him.
As he kept thinking back, a sudden fog clouded Orlin's mind. A faint pain followed, and he could no longer remember what he had been thinking about. Like a man dying of thirst, he tried to drink the thought back, but he could not recall it.
Then Orlin forgot that he had forgotten something. And a crooked laugh buzzed in his head, the same he had heard at the village.
You been rob moron. Something hot came out of Orlin's nose, he touched it, and his fingers were wet black.