Chapter 39

The Dark

“For every tear, there is a smile; for every drop of rain, a ray of sun. I’ve learned that too late.”

My Dawn, Vol. III

He started, sitting up rapidly in his bed, breathing heavily and sweating. It was back, the nightmares. Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs over to the side of the bed, holding himself up by his arms, his head lowered, droplets of sweat dripping like rain down his face. He winced, trying to dissipate the stray thoughts inside his mind. His blue eyes seemed to shine momentarily in the dark of the night, though turned hollow right after.

Reaching over to the bedside table, he picked up the gourd of water and downed a few mouthfuls, recovering somewhat. He got up off the bed and opened the window, letting the night’s gentle chill cool him down somewhat. It was calm and quaint, nary a soul to be seen or a sound to be heard. All in contrast to his nightmare.

Sighing, he reeled back and chuckled bitterly at himself. Not even twenty years seem enough, he mused. They would haunt him forever, it seemed. By right, he thought.

"… I wonder…" he mumbled. "What's Cal doing…" does he suffer the same nightmares? Noah doubted. While the two were eerily alike in many ways, they differed in one thing that made them leagues apart: the ability to deconstruct the feelings gnawing at their hearts.

Realizing he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, he reached to the other side of the bed and picked up the slightly flamboyant coat, throwing it on himself before leaving the room. His footsteps were muted, as though he were a ghost, as he made his way down and out of the inn. The shade of the night provided him enough cover to do as he willed, but there was little he wished to do tonight beyond simply forgetting.

He took to the streets, walking leisurely, mapping out the inked version into a fully rendered one inside his mind. He noted every small pathway, every landmark building, every point of interest. But… for what? He didn't know. It wasn't as though he was going to spend a lot of time here, or even return sometime in the future. It was simply a force of habit. Every time he'd arrive in a new country or a city back on Earth, regardless of whether it was for business or pleasure, he'd learn about its every nook and cranny.

It put him at ease if nothing else. Perchance, if something was to go truly awry, these tidbits of seemingly useless knowledge might come in handy. He walked aimlessly for a long while before reaching a rather beautiful building – Bright-Light. It was the local home to the Principality of Light, where they trained and preached the Doctrine of Light. It was wide and tall, not made out of rough stone but smoothed sandstone, giving it a peculiar luster due to the stone's nature.

It had sharp curves along the symmetrical lines, three-domed roofs, arched windows of stained glass, and a heap of symbols, each representing the Light. A set of a hundred stairs led up to the arched entrance, the gates flung wide open, faint, warm, golden light shimmering from the inside.

“… overbearing, no?” a hoarse voice startled him, causing his heart to freeze as he reached into his inner pocket and grabbed the knife’s handle, spinning to the side, meeting the speaker’s eyes. It was a hooded and cloaked figure, draped entirely in black, a pair of cat-like golden eyes staring at him bemusedly. I didn’t hear him… at all… “I mean no harm…”

“… can hardly trust someone who sneaks up on me, no?” Noah mumbled with a faint smile, analyzing the situation and the possible escape routes.

“… there are too many eyes on me,” the figure said. “It is hard to approach you, Dacent.”

“…!” Noah’s eyes widened. His identity was disassembled.

"When I was a boy," the figure ignored his shocked face and looked up toward the building in front of them. "I was in the awe of Light, of the Doctrine, of the Principality. I thought they were the heroes, the miracle-makers."

“…” Noah remained silent, calming down. From the looks of it, the figure had no ill intentions toward him, though it was hardly a cause to drop his guard.

“The older I grew, however, and the more I’d learned,” the figure continued. “The more disillusioned I’ve grown. And… now… in my heart of hearts, I truly wish the Light had never reached us.”

“… why?” Noah probed.

“… my daughter’s naïve, Dacent," Noah's heart froze once again as the words trickled into his mind. "She's a star-eyed one, too trustful. I know you see it as a benefit to you, but you must also realize that it makes her a liability. I've no illusionary dreams about her. She is not fit for her dream, Dacent.”

“… you are…”

“Be honest with me,” the figure said, glancing at him; there was a trace of loneliness in those golden eyes, one that resonated deeply with Noah. “Do you think, in your heart of hearts… she has what it takes?”

“… you say you bear no illusions toward her,” Noah finally let go of the knife’s handle and stood up straight, relaxing somewhat. If the King himself wanted him dead, how could he possibly struggle? “But you do. You see her as a lamb. I see her as a clay figure meant for molding.”

“…” the figure continued staring at him in silence.

“… it isn’t set in stone by birth who will we end up being,” Noah continued. “If anything, I prefer her naivety and star-eyed outlook on the world. That hopeless optimism is the best fuel for the dreams. Surely, however, you didn’t seek me out this far, and this lonesome, merely to imply I should drop it.”

"… you really are an Outlander, huh?" Noah nearly choked on his words once again. There was really only one explanation – the Light. "Only someone from beyond the membrane of the peninsula would claim something like that. What makes you so confident?"

“… because I made it,” Noah shrugged. “With a way worse start than her. She’s young, a Princess, well-liked, clever, yet ruthless when necessary. She has all the qualities of someone meant to lead from the front. She’s been merely living in the shade of those who have years on her.”

“… you seem to hold a lot of faith in her.”

"I don't," for the first time, he managed to change the figure's expression. "All the faith I hold is in me. Without me, she'd be the exact same way as you described her. A naïve, star-eyed girl who would eventually be married off into one or another Dukedom. I've no illusions about her, unlike you."

“… I see it, in your eyes,” the figure sighed, shaking his head. “That confidence… is nostalgic. I thought I could reform the world as well, but I didn’t have the heart for it. Do you?”

“Hm?” Noah tilted his head to the side slightly.

“You must know already that the only way to reform the world set in stone as much as this one… is to break it. Break it like a pot of glass thrown against the floor, the broken shards melted by the fire. I couldn’t do it. Can you?”

“… why not?” Noah said. “You speak as though chaotic times are the worst thing that can ever happen.”

“… aren’t they? I couldn’t fathom just how many would have to die for the smidge of a chance I might succeed. Can you bear that many dead on your shoulders?”

“… why should I?” Noah asked back. “Will I be the one to kill them?”

“…”

“I’m not so saintly as to pick up on the evils of others, I’m afraid,” he chuckled. “If the world can be thrown into chaos, and if within that chaos many wind up dying, it is neither yours nor my fault. It just means that the seed was already there."

“… that’s a mighty way to deflect,” the figure chuckled hollowly. “Though, I suppose, only someone with that mindset would thrust the world into an inferno.”

“… isn’t that a bit hypocritical?” Noah mused. “Isn’t your kind beset on waging a massive war every turn of the crown?”

“… you seem unabashed about mocking the Doctrine,” the figure said. “I don’t mind it, but you should curtail it in front of the others.”

"… I'm not mocking, just questioning," Noah said. "In truth, I don't need to plant any more chaos than the amount that's already there. I'll just abuse it and exploit it in her favor."

“… is that so?” the figure sighed and fell silent for a moment, glancing at the majestic structure in front of them with a contemplative gaze. There seemed to something somber about him at the moment, Noah mused; even the King was not void of worries and of plight, after all.

"You probably know I can't support either of you outwardly," he said. "And I have little ways of helping otherwise. By now, most of my power is symbolic as I had to slowly wane away at it due to the succession. I’ve neither the wealth nor the influence anymore to do much for the two of you.”

“It’s fine—”

“So,” he interrupted firmly, seemingly having made up his mind on something heavy, the yellow eyes mellowing out somewhat. “I’ll grant you this,” he suddenly threw something dark and round at Noah, who barely caught it. It felt smooth amidst his fingers, though the appearance startled him greatly – it was wholly black, like a black hole itself, repelling all light. “I’ll commit my last… and gravest sin.”

“… what’s this?” Noah quizzed.

“It’s the Dark,” the figure replied. “Antithesis to the Light. It’s something my Father gave to me when he beset the crown of jewels on my head. I was supposed to use it to reform the world, but I couldn’t. And I hardly trust any of my children to hold such ambitions. I may as well liberate my blood from that curse and let it go.”

“… what do I do with it?” Noah quizzed, inspecting it closely. There seemed to be nothing on it besides its unique appearance.

“It will speak to you, eventually,” the figure said. “I ignored it, but it’s your choice on what you do. Farewell, then, Outlander. I do hope that you at least give her a pleasant life…”

“A moment…”

“… hm?” the figure halted in its steps, glancing back at him.

“I’ve met Sumnner,” Noah just remembered his promise with the strange creature. “And he had some words for you.”

“Oh? What words?” the figure asked nonchalantly, seemingly not nearly as interested as Noah thought.

“… the Fire is coming.”

“… and it shall burn away the Light…” the figure echoed in visible horror, shaking like a leaf in the wind.