Rising Ashes

Clancy

As dawn crept over the horizon, Aimee had traveled a long way from Dema. The towering walls of the city were now nothing more than a distant memory, swallowed by the endless expanse of the wilds of TRENCH. Her legs ached with the effort, her muscles burning as the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its relentless rays down on her. She hadn’t crossed paths with any Banditos yet, but she held onto hope. Each step carried her further from the Bishops’ reach, further from the twisted religion that had ruled her life for so long.

The landscape around her was rugged, untouched by the cold, mechanical control of the Bishops. Rolling hills stretched into the distance, wild grasses swaying in the breeze. Aimee’s body felt heavy beneath the growing heat of the sun, but she couldn’t let herself slow down. She couldn’t lose her focus, not now, not when she had come so far. Her lips were dry, her breath labored, but she pressed on, scanning the horizon for any sign of a Bandito camp. Somewhere out here, they were waiting.

Eventually, Aimee found a quiet spot near a river. The cool sound of the flowing water was a welcome relief after hours of trudging under the harsh sun. She knelt beside it, dipping her hands into the clear stream, letting the cold water run through her fingers and soothe her cracked, dry skin. The tension in her shoulders eased for the first time since her escape. She was far enough from Dema now, far enough that the Bishops couldn’t reach her—at least, not physically. Here, she could rest. She needed to rest.

Aimee sat on the riverbank, her gaze fixed on the rushing water as it flowed endlessly downstream. For a brief moment, she let herself feel safe. But then, a sharp, throbbing pain pierced through her skull. Her hands flew to her temples as the sunlight overhead intensified, burning into her skin. The world around her began to blur, and nausea washed over her like a wave.

"No," she whispered, her voice tight with panic. Something was wrong.

"So few. So proud. So emotional." A deep, echoing voice filled her mind, its tone laced with cruelty. "Hello, Aimee."

She looked up, her vision swimming as a figure appeared before her, shimmering like a mirage. It wasn’t Nills—her assigned Bishop. No, this was someone far more dangerous. The red robe, the white veil obscuring his face, blurred by her distorted vision, made her stomach drop with fear.

"Nico..." Aimee muttered through gritted teeth, her heart seizing with terror. "Blurryface."

It was Nicolas Bourbaki, the leader of the Bishops—the most powerful of them all. If Nico was here, it meant she wasn’t just being hunted by Nills. Nico coming after you meant one thing: you were screwed.

The projection of Nico drifted closer, his presence oppressive and suffocating, even though he wasn’t physically there. Aimee's limbs felt like lead, her mind clouded by his influence. Without a word, Nico reached out, his spectral hands closing around her neck. The sensation wasn’t physical, but it burned. His fingers smeared across her skin, leaving a blackened trail of decay. Aimee gasped, her body locking up as his voice echoed in her mind once more.

"Follow me."

The command sank deep into her thoughts, wrapping itself around her consciousness like a vice. Her legs moved without her permission, stepping forward behind Nico's image. Panic surged through her, but her body refused to listen. She struggled against the invisible strings pulling her forward, but it was no use. His control was absolute.

A searing pain spread across her neck, the blackened marks growing like a stain, and Aimee felt her resolve slipping away. What was the point? She had come so far, fought so hard, and now here she was, caught in Nico’s grasp. What if I just give in? The thought echoed in her mind. What if she surrendered? Returned to Dema and gave herself over to the Bishops’ control? She could join the Glorious Gone like her parents. Maybe it was easier to stop fighting. I'm a Goner.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw something—a small, delicate yellow flower petal drifting down from the sky. It landed gently on her shoulder, soft as a whisper. Then another fell, and another, until they rained down around her, golden and bright, a stark contrast to the darkness creeping over her mind.

The sight of the petals broke through the fog in her brain. Aimee blinked, her mind snapping back to life. The haze lifted, and suddenly, Nico’s presence was gone, as if blown away by the wind. The pain in her head dulled, and she gasped for air, collapsing to her knees as she realized she could move again.

She looked up, vision still blurry, and saw figures standing around her, dressed in yellow, their faces hidden in the shadow of their hoods. The Banditos.

"Banditos..." Aimee croaked, her voice barely more than a whisper. Relief flooded her system, but it was too much. Her body gave out, and the world went dark as she passed out at their feet.

***
"Give her some room," a voice urged softly, cutting through the fog in Aimee’s mind.

It wasn’t the disembodied echo of Nico’s presence. This voice was real, solid, coming from someone standing nearby. Aimee's senses slowly returned as she felt the wet grass pressing against her hands and neck, the cool dampness a sharp contrast to the feverish heat she had experienced during her encounter with Nico.

Groaning, she slowly sat up, her vision still hazy. A group of people surrounded her, dressed in yellow, strips of bright tape wrapped around their arms and chests. Their eyes were filled with concern, but they kept their distance.

"Guys, you're crowding her," the same voice spoke again, this time more insistent. "She needs to feel grounded before you bombard her with questions. Give her some space."

Aimee blinked and turned her head toward the speaker, her mind still sluggish. The man who stood before her seemed familiar, but in her dazed state, she couldn’t place him right away. His features were sharp, his stance calm but commanding. There was something about him that tugged at the edges of her memory.

Then, it clicked. Her heart skipped a beat as recognition hit her like a wave. She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're... Clancy," she gasped, her voice trembling.

The man’s lips curled into a small smile, a mix of amusement and warmth. "Nice to meet you, kid," he said, his tone friendly yet tired, as if he’d been through battles of his own.

Aimee’s gaze dropped to her hands, and a rush of dread washed over her. Her skin… it wasn’t right. It wasn’t bruised or scarred, but instead, her hands looked like they had been erased, a deep, unnatural black covering them like ink. Not charred, but void-like, as if the life had been drained from her. Her throat felt tight, her skin raw.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice small and shaky as her mind tried to piece together the events that led her here.

Clancy’s expression grew somber, his eyes soft with understanding. Without saying a word, he held up his own hands. The same black void covered them, creeping up his arms and staining the skin of his throat, just like hers.