The Lifeless Light: A Tale from Dema

Chapter Nine: The Lifeless Light

My awe-struck fascination with the Banditos proved valuable, as I could, in great detail, remember the route we took from Dema the evening before. I followed it back to the cave, which turned into a familiar concrete tunnel—this time illuminated only by the light of my lone torch. While I was the only one traveling through, I swear my footsteps echoed louder than the group of 15 banditos. The sounds of stray wildlife and noise from the city above felt more intimidating than before.

I saw a light at the end. I was relieved to find the entrance-way unguarded. Traveling at daybreak worked to my advantage since it was between the day and night guard shifts.

I shed my green jacket to reveal the same dull city clothes I wore from the night before. It fell to the ground where small bits of Trench's greenery peaked through the seams of white stone.

Entering Dema once again was a bittersweet reunion. Despite my reluctance, I felt a thread of peace from the sight of something well-known—yet I was soon burdened with a new, unexpected concern.

I had nothing to conceal my identity. After all I had committed the day before, I knew several civilians, especially those working within the monastery, had surely been alerted of my rouge status. If I didn't find cover, I would be spotted and reprimanded quickly. I wasn't used to being a "wanted man" ...

Then I remembered my monastery coat. Only those who worked within the nine towers are given the garment. It sat on a rack in my dwelling and was my best shot at traveling through restricted areas. Yet I feared my chances of making it that far within the city unnoticed.

I walked along the streets as the morning crowd filled the scene with bustle and chatter. Market hagglers called out, teasing their best deals for customers. My skin crawled, as if every pair of eyes were fixed on me. I needed to find respite in a quiet area before my paranoia worsened.

After passing by a mourning scarf seller, I got an idea. Grabbing the garment nearest to me, I pulled out a few coins, branded with the silhouette of the nine towers, from my pocket and gave it to the trader.

Mourning scarfs were worn around the head and face by those visiting the necropolis on the outskirts of the city, not far from where I stood. It served as a sign of respect and a cloth to wipe away tears. Some believed small traces of ash escaped from their respective neon gravestone and the scarf protected one from inhaling it.

I wrapped the white and grey cloth around my head in proper fashion and a wave of relief rushed over me. I could now reach the towers in peace.

Strolling down a quieter street, I looked at Dema with new eyes. I noticed vacant apartments I never recalled before—several of them. Vialism had torn through the population to the point some streets were barely inhabited. Yet everyone in Dema, even myself, lived in such a hypnotic trance that no one ever questioned it. Within the past three months, I had truly become a different person—chipping through the stronghold this blight of a city had placed on me.

I reached an intersection and gazed down both ends of the street. My feet turned to stone.

To my left was the nine towering black pillars, but to my right was an endless configuration of glowing white lights rising from a plain of dark grey slate—set against Dema's towering wall. It was closer to me than I first expected. The scene beckoned me, as if the spirits wrapped around my waist and pulled me towards their resting place.

I took a step.

It had been far too long since I visited the necropolis. Now that I knew the truth, my chest felt tighter with every move I made.

Dozens of iridescent markers turned to hundreds, neatly arranged in rows of ten. Sections corresponded with bishop whom the deceased served.

I looked out upon Nico's fallen.

During every Assemblage, all would gather to witness the Bishops craft and christen a gravestone for each of the souls lost that year. Their ashes would then be poured into the tubes, illuminated by neon, and fixed within the necropolis. It was their attempt to paint themselves as pious and caring, while concealing the ugly truth of the law.

We were trained to see these countless tombs as a glorious vista—the treasure of a life well lived—but it was only a fantasy to make up for the nightmare. Perhaps some of these individuals died naturally, but I shuttered to consider how many might have entered the Quiet Room.

I trembled to think of how many of these lives I had reduced to ash in blissful ignorance.

As I strolled through the graves, I reached a point where I couldn't take a step further. For once, my knees felt weak and I sat down. I felt consumed by their vast luminosity, glowing amid the morning mist. Chills ran down my back, yet I didn't want to leave.

I felt ... sorry, as if I needed to apologize.

Every night, the residents of Dema went to bed surrounded by this lifeless light. It perpetuated the dark mandates of Vialism—an ever-present mark of the oppression we so willingly accepted.

Dema wasn't always like this—Joshua and Tyler both said so. Had the law clouded my vision so greatly that I couldn't remember a time without it? It disturbed me to struggle for a brighter memory or a glimmer of the past.

Our eyes had been dulled. We were so caught up in placating Vialism that we failed to notice our inner spark smothered. The first true light I had seen was in the eyes of the woman from the Quiet Room.

When I freed her from the chamber, she held such a convicted passion. She possessed a knowledge of the truth and a fervent will to live beyond the confines of Vialism. Seeing Andre choke that light from her changed me ... and I wouldn't let her death be in vain. I hoped that one day this land could be something more than a regime, branded by the heavy glow of betrayed souls.

I looked over at the closest figure of light. Each was made of five glass rods connected together, forming an angular, slanted "8" sign. Yet as I peered closer, I noticed something peculiar.

The ash was floating.

Fine grey particles gracefully danced through the rods in a collective motion. Whenever I had visited the necropolis before, they piled at the bottom of each tube. As I moved closer, their motion gained speed.

It was almost as if the ashes themselves still contained life, which interacted with the presence of mine.

There was so much I still didn't understand, and it was time that I shook the chains of Vialism once and for all.

I turned around and faced the towers once again. As the Banditos closed in on the city, ready for battle, I was prepared to do whatever it took to find the truth—to find resolution.

This city didn't scare me anymore. 

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading! 

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