Chapter 71

Cold Tears

He felt terror. As though the cold, emotionless claws of death itself were hanging above him, reaching out. As though the death’s maw was agape, ready to devour him. All around, he saw death, he saw terror, he saw cold. Invisible arms, hundreds of them, were grasping from the ground like roots, calling toward him, trying to drag him down, trying to bury him. But he wouldn’t let them. He would fight. He would fight cold with cold. He would fight heartlessness with heartlessness. He would survive. Always.

In the dancing strings of hidden terror, suddenly a change occurred. Forever and always, all he saw was darkness—the hollow eyes peering through the abyss, drenching his soul. The darkness was endless, much like the void from which he was born. It was forever, and it was eternal.

And yet, within the cosmic indifference, within the very frigid clutches that had abandoned him, he saw light. It was faint, undoubtedly, a blip in the cosmic darkness—but it was there, he was certain. After all, for someone who had stared an eternity into the very same darkness, any changes, no matter how minuscule, were grand.

Within that light, he realized, a figure emerged—it was a tiny figure, unfit to fill his shoes even. It was a frail and weak and seemingly insignificant figure. A human, of all things. Humans… humans shouldn’t be capable of Walking the Dark. And those who were would have never shone so resplendently—resplendently for a human, that is. And should have long since died.

The human’s eyes, he realized, were strange. They weren’t ignoble, they weren’t empty, shineless like the eyes of all other humans he had seen. For many eons now, he hadn’t seen a human with a shining pair of eyes. And this one’s… they were burning in their glow. The darkness—the invincible darkness—seemed to recede beneath the shine. It felt weak to it, to its ethereal touch. The light… the light was warm. And it was thawing the encasing frost.

The distance between the two subsided, with the human now standing directly above him. A tiny human… a tiny human towered over him. The human had seen past the veneer, had gazed beyond the shroud, had Walked the Dark to see him. To see not him, but him. The man hung forward and crouched, the eyes still shining like the lighthouses, guiding the lost in the endless darkness, all those who were adrift, stuck.

An arm and a hand reached forward—they were tiny, weak, easily snapped. Yet, beneath their might, the darkness cowered. For the first time, he felt warmth. Not the cold of the cold, not the frigidness of the abyss—but warmth. The human had seen, and had Walked the Dark, and had conquered the darkness.

“Who are you? Are you him?” he asked, his voice echoing into the abyss. It was a boyish voice, stretched and rippled and distorted.

“A friend,” the human replied, his lips curling up into a smile. The smile added more to the image, he realized. The human… was special. The human was different. Unlike all others, and beyond even that. “Where are we?” the human asked.

“In the Shadow,” he replied, sating the human’s apparent curiosity. “Where darkness reigns.”

“Would you like to leave with me?”

“Nobody can leave the Shadow.”

“I can,” the human said. “I… I don’t know how. I don’t even know what is happening. All I know is that there is a voice in my heart… telling me to save you.”

“Who are you? Are you him?” he asked again. He was uncertain. Should he stay? Should he go? Should he kill the human? The human was weak. Even he as he could kill the flesh and bones before him. But… he didn’t want to.

“My name is Valen,” the human said. “I am… a leader, I suppose, of the castle you attacked. And I’ve come to save you… and to save my peoples.”

“I cannot be saved,” he spoke honestly. He couldn’t be saved. He had been entrenched in the cold and inside the roots of darkness since the time immemorial. To save him was to defy the will of Gods. And for humans… defying their Gods was worse than murdering their brethren.

“Everyone can be saved,” the human said, his arm still extended and lingering. “Though I can save you from this place, I cannot save you from yourself. But I know someone who can. The same someone who saved me and gave me a purpose. Take my hand,” he added, urging. “Let us leave this darkness. The world outside… is far more beautiful.”

Sylas stared at one of the strangest sights he ever experienced—Valen was crouching in front of a giant, dyed in black-and-white—in fact, it literally looked as though someone poured a filter over the prince—immovable. At the same time, the giant was looking up instead of down for some reason, was similarly unmoving, and showed no signs of life. It was as though the two turned into statues depicting a paradoxical event—there is a human looking down at a giant, and a giant looking up at a human. How… poetic, no?

All the while, everyone stared with equal amounts of confusion and dread, unsure as to what was happening. Even Derrek was at an absolute loss for words.

Only Sylas had a tiny inkling on what was happening—it likely had something to do with Valen’s ‘gift’, the ability to see past the illusions. However, from the looks of it, it appears as though he had been lied to. It would have been one thing for Valen to merely see that the giant was using a ‘fake’ body, but as it appears, he also had the ability to interact with the ‘true’ body that nobody else could see, not even Derrek. Probably another dimension? Sylas mused, his attention dragged back to the front as a row of exclamations echoed out up on the wall.

Valen had stood up, his back facing the wall, but the strangest thing was that the giant was… gone. The thing that towered over the wall was just… gone.

“… what the fuck…?” Sylas mumbled, rubbing his eyes comically. A moment later, he saw an even stranger sight—Valen had turned and, in his hand, Sylas saw a tinier one, extending out into a child’s body. It was a boy from the looks of it, appearing to be six-seven years old. His skin was sickly pale and ashen, veins visibly throbbing beneath, a pair of bright, blue eyes shimmering in the darkness. Hand in hand, the two began walking within the stretched silence as everyone was beyond confused, eventually finding their way to Sylas.

“Sylas,” Valen said with a smile. “Meet Iun. Iun, this is the man I was telling you about.”

“… the human?” the boy asked while gears were spinning inside Sylas’ head.

“Yes. The man who saved me,” Valen nodded.

“I… I… can’t see.”

“Eh? He’s blind?” Sylas mumbled absentmindedly, still trying to process what was happening.

“He’s blank,” the boy said. “No light, no dark. Unseen. Who… are you?” the boy’s guard shot back up as he faced Sylas who just wanted to sit down and cry at this point.

“… who am I? I, of course, am a darn-fine Prophet!” Sylas played his prophet card immediately. “And the Prince’s good friend. Right? We are good friends, aren’t we?” Say we are bitch, or this kid might literally kill me!! Sylas heard it—the ripples of the boy’s heart. He was anxious, uncertain, almost like a cornered beast ready to strike.

“Yes, we are,” Valen nodded with a chuckle, thinking that Sylas was just messing around. “And yes, he indeed is a Prophet. He was the one who foresaw the attack on the castle and warned us. He is the reason I arrived here just in time—both to save the castle… and you.” He’s… fuck, this shitty Prince is gonna stiff me with a kid, ain’t he?! No, no, no, no, dude! No! It’s one thing to be a weird uncle to Ryne, I can’t be a fuckin’ father to some magical kid who could fuck up my life with one snort! Come on, dude! “And if anyone can help you, he can. Don’t be afraid. He may seem strange initially, but he is a good man. I guarantee it.”

“…” Sylas eyebrows began dancing as Valen quite literally handed over the kid. That’s the game, Valen, eh? Alright, alright, alright you bitch-ass boy. Just you fucking wait. I will have my vengeance! Sylas grabbed the boy’s extended hand and realized it was cold—corpse-like cold. Right, well, he is fucking dead, after all… Sylas, the first man from Earth to ever become a father of a corpse. How fitting. Jesus fucking Christ… “Nice to meet you, Iun,” Sylas said with a forced smile. “And, might I add, thank you for not utterly demolishing our castle. We very much like the place, actually, despite how ugly it may look.”

“… for now,” Iun said warily, still clearly considering whether Sylas was a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ man.

“… alright, Derrek,” Sylas said. “Escort the Prince and announce our victory. I will take this fu—khm, I will take Iun and bring him inside.”

“What… what should I tell the men?” Derrek asked awkwardly. Even he had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on.

“Tell them, uh, I don’t know—tell them that the Prince is a man above men and that he defeated the giant with kindness and love or something.”

“…” Valen coughed awkwardly and looked away, clearly embarrassed, while Derrek nodded, seeing as it was likely the best alternative to telling the truth. Not only would Sylas’ explanation naturally wave off any further inquiries, but it would also, once again, escalate the Prince’s value in the people’s eyes. After all, that was the man who had just led a successful expedition to a bandit’s camp and immediately returned to defend the castle from yet another invasion, defeating a never-before-seen specter with his words alone!

“Will do,” Derrek nodded. “Let’s go, Your Highness. You are the man of the hour. I shall have the castle’s bard write a song about today, to immortalize the moment.”

“Hey, when you do, ask him to find me,” Sylas quickly thought of something. “I’d like to contribute.”

“Certainly,” Derrek nodded while Valen shot Sylas a helpless look. Though he knew Sylas would never just readily accept to take care of the kid and would definitely find a way to get back at him, the Prince was hopelessly hoping it wouldn’t be so… quickly. Ah, well. He’ll likely just exaggerate how well I did to make me feel embarrassed. I can live with that. Little did the Prince know that Sylas and he had very, very, very different versions of ‘just exaggerate’ and what the word implied.