Enemy of The Gods

A day in prison is longer than a thousand years at large

In the cramped cell, silence filled the air between Billy and Damian. Billy sat on a thin bed of hay, back pushed against mossy stone. To his right, a wooden door was set into the wall. A small window of irons bars in the door let in dim torch light. The faint croaking of bugs came through a further grate in the ceiling. Outside the two guards chattered as they played a game of Tallow— a common children's game across Wreathward.

"Billy... do you think we're going to die?" Damian sat across from Billy, his shag of brown hair tucked between his legs, arms draped lazily over his knees.

Billy twisted his lip into a frown. Under the low light, he hoped that his expression was hidden. He hated weakness, hated showing it even more. Yet, weakness was all he had at the moment.

Brining his gaze to the iron bars, Billy spoke. "Prob'ly not, we've been in worse." His voice and body was motionless, near catatonic.

"You're lying, aren't you?" Damian brought his head up. His left eye was bruised shut, faint purples welling under his skin. His one good eye looked helpless, wavering under the torch light. "Billy. Don't lie to me. Am I going to die?"

Billy froze completely. His jaw tensed, and his throat swallowed dry. Though he avoided eye contact, he could still feel Damian burying his one good eye into him. Billy grimaced, for a moment he wondered if it was time to give up the act. Wondered if in their final moments, he should tell Damian the truth, the Damian he had held to his chest through all these years. The idea buzzed around the inside of his head like an angered bee. But like a pest, he crushed it in under his heel.

"One little misstep, and already you don't fucking trust me?" He asked. Damian recoiled at Billy's words, the boy tucking his head back between his legs.

"Of course I still trust you..." Damian said. His voice was a soft mumble. Hearing the boy's voice, there was a small pang in his heart at the reply; a sensation he hadn't felt for a long time. Guilt, weakness. Identifying the feeling, a memory of his father came to Billy.

"Guilt is an excuse to not stand by your decisions. Think before you act, and you will never feel guilty." It was a lesson his father often taught. I should have listened to you more often, Billy thought to himself. But he couldn't quite push the feeling away. Despite barely seeing Damian, Billy could tell the teen was sulking under his hair. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be Damian. Soft, intelligent, but weak. It was Damian's true curse; Not his Dark Heraldry, but his weakness. His spine, or lack thereof. Under pressure he would always fold, just like he had in that court room.

Oh, Billy, I can't lie! Billy imitated Damian's earlier comment in his mind, mocking the words. If you had enough spine to stand up to them, we could be on our way home already. Billy's frustration slowly fermented. They weren't on their way home, instead they were stuck awaiting their death. Not even a decent death. They weren't feasting on their last meal, or surrounding themselves with women, or even dying honourably in war. Instead they are sat, silent, backs pressed against cold mossy stone.

After the question, Damian was silent. The room filling only with the sound of water dripping, flame roaring, and guards chattering. Yet, one of those suddenly fell silent. In an instant the faint torch light retreated, leaving only moonlight. The sound of wind whipping accompanied the retreating light, before a moment of silence. Billy whipped his head to the door. He hadn't heard the two guards end their conversation, yet the light had suddenly been extinguished. A deep feeling within his bones emerged, screaming at every muscle to run, hide, to preserve himself. But where was there to run; what did he have to defend himself? Scrambling to his knees, Billy crawled hurriedly to Damian.

He prodded the teen's side, "Damian! Something's coming. It's dark as shit, so no more excuses, alright?" Billy spoke in a hushed whisper. Outside he could hear the guards scrambling to arms.