The Lifeless Light: A Tale from Dema

Chapter Twelve: Five Lines

It was noon, yet oppressive, grey clouds blocked every ounce of light and joy from the sky. Frigid neon lights illuminated the colorless streets. There was an unsettling energy in the air—one of tension, fear, and finality. The two bishops walked beside me, their crimson garments drifting in the wind. The frantic, buzzing civilians around us stopped and stared in reverence as we passed by.

I had never physically fought anything in my life, and the thought of facing battle within minutes made my legs feel weak. Before we left the towers to meet our opposition, I was urged to select a weapon for defense. Blades always terrified me, since they required skill to wield. Axes were too heavy, and anything jagged or pointy gave me anxiety just looking at them. I settled for a wooden bat, carved out of hickory wood—a material only the far reaches of Trench possessed. It rested by my side as we approached the necropolis.

"Clancy?" Tyler asked.

"Yes?"

"You seem worried." Once again, I was reminded at how miserably unsuccessful I was at concealing emotions.

"Aren't you?" I said.

Keons' steady voice interjected, "We both are, but fear won't do us any good now."

"Are you sure I should be there at the necropolis?" I questioned. Most of my concerns revolved around being the most ineligible candidate to defend anything —or even be in the mere presence of warfare.

"We can't force you," Tyler said, "But what you seek lies in between the two conflicting sides of this world."

"I know," I agreed with a sigh. "But all my life I've ran, like a coward. I ran from Dema ... I ran from Trench. I hate how fear consumes me."

"Fear is not all bad, Clancy," he replied. "I've dealt with plenty of it myself. It's an emotion that dances on a fine line between falsehood and truth. If you're going to get to the other side, you must not let it torment you, but run straight through."

"If I might add," Keons said. "I don't believe you're a coward at all—nothing of the sort."

I contested, "But I—"

"You have been facing your demons ever since you first stepped foot in Trench. The bravery it took to travel through the land and return, sneak through the monastery ... face me again with such unwavering resolve. You're not a coward, my boy. You just haven't found the confidence needed to become your truest self again."

The bishops stopped abruptly, their faces echoing unrest. I was unaware, but a palpable, yet inexplainable aura lingered in the area—they sensed it.

"Do you feel that?" Keons asked Tyler.

"I do," Tyler responded with dread. "Stay low, it says."

Stay low. The phrase sparked a certain feeling within me ... it was all too familiar.

"What's going on?" I questioned.

"Nothing to concern you, Clancy," Keons spoke in a comforting tone, but there was something within the wrinkles of his expression that made me uneasy.

We continued along the path to the necropolis, as the streets grew quieter with every minute that passed. All had congregated before the graves, waiting to see what would become of this fateful meeting.

Tyler spoke once more, his voice less hopeful than before, "Clancy, when the battle begins ... please, leave me to fight alone."

"Why?"

"Please," he insisted faintly, almost in a whisper. "Just do as I say. I promise, I'll be fine."

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