The Darkest Dawn

by Marc Mulero

  “At least if you fizz, a part of you lives on in some way. Me? I have no possibility of that.”

  “Eres…”

  “But, since I’ve read about fission back when, I’ve always found the idea of it terrifying. The idea that you can just disappear without warning, perfectly healthy, in the middle of all of your aspirations. I understand why you take God’s Grasp, Ramillion. But don’t try to pull the sympathy card on me. You’re still running away from a greater responsibility while preaching to me the ones which I must assume.

  “Honestly. I would say much worse if you weren’t such a fantastic host. It’s only because I’m at your mercy that I’m being quiet. If you were Crow… or Proctor Hundul, or anyone in Elesion, I’d let you have it.”

  “By the grace of Mustae, thankfully there is a silver lining in my generosity.”

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “Oblivion, Eres.”

  “But you know that Gushda exists, oh. You’ve never seen it.”

  “Only through sculpture, and tellings.”

  “But why? Why haven’t you assumed an esper? I’m sure any of the old Skrols would have gladly bequeathed one to you. Hell, I would.”

  Ram grabbed Eres’ hand with both of his and lowered it. “Don’t tempt me, lad. Regardless of how you may perceive me, I do have responsibilities. Great ones. To see that the Skrols stay intact, even if there was only one left.” He winked at him. “I am a trainer, meant to keep the Skrols grounded in Rudo, to defend a secret that can only be formed here, in the physical, which will unlock something terrible in the Eternal.”

  As they continued their trek deep into the barren halls of the UnderSpire, the ice seemed to become thicker, darker, as if the weight of the structure was collapsing in on itself – like they were walking into the funnel of a frozen tornado. Here it was… the Northern Grottos.

  The landscape was changing. Even though all was ice-based here, there was life just minutes ago… and now everything was desolate. Cold.

  “We’re almost here, Eres.”

  “Ram?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Back when I was a child in Ombes, where the storms are as colorful as Mudry’s firelit sculptures, where the forests are as mystical as Dundo-Ba, where I had the most loving teacher of all,” he looked to the floor to remember his ooma, “I learned of something.”

  “What’s that? Don’t keep me in suspense!”

  “Don’t like it, eh?”

  They shared a quiet laugh.

  “My ooma taught me grace. Perhaps it didn’t show itself in the form of Reach, but it came out in other ways, and I do understand it now. Ram... in all of your knowledge, all of your wisdom, I can see that you still have yet to find yours.”

  Ram’s mouth twitched. That blow came hard coming from a western sphere kid, even if there was some truth in it. “There is a philosopher in you somewhere, lad,” he shook his head, “but the truth remains – too much speculation, not enough facts. How about this? We will debate this over a campfire of your own making, when you return, okay?” He yanked Eres by the wrist with one hand and lit a torch with the other.

  Their pace slowed as darkness loomed. They were approaching, Eres could feel it.

  He looked up at the low ceiling coming lower and lower to meet him, tracing strange symbols with his eyes, wondering why they’d been etched into porum ice the same as writing in dried concrete. He wondered how all of this came to be.

  There must be so much history here. My fata, and all of those before him, beside him… “How did this training even come about?”

  “Well, you saw my play. You were paying attention, weren’t you? The Founder started it all of course, which eventually snowballed into this. Ehem, pardon the pun. But you see, his first ambition after exploring the Secret was to gather the Five Hearts in an effort to preserve its grandeur for generations to follow. He chose them carefully, with much care and all of his wisdom behind it. After all, there had to be some set of standards for completely deviating to this path in life. Not all were worthy, you see. Later on, some chose their kids out of pride, while others - their most esteemed friends. Either way, the buck could not stop there. There needed to be some basis, some sense of sureness. So, it began…

  “Over a long arduous stretch of time, training methods were created and curated. Refined through the generations. And now here we are.” Ram presented the tail end of the grotto.

  “So, yours is one of many?”

  “Many? No. Of few, yes. Masarian has his own, as I’m sure you must have sensed when perusing his forest. He has a knack for these things, as do I, I think.” Ram cleared his throat. “Well, Eres, here we are.”

  The silence that followed was awkward only for Eres, for he couldn’t quite find the words with which to depart.

  Ram on the other hand, was all quaint smiles. He knew what was ahead for the young Dawn, but also had faith in him yet. It was obvious.

  “Ram?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you give me these few weeks of joy before sending me off? Why did you give me time with Kyta and Mudry?”

  “Oh ho, that’s an easy one Eres.” He sounded like he was joking, but it was obvious that he wasn’t. There was sincerity there. “The Skrol journey is terribly long. We wanted you to feel like you have a home to come back to.”

  In came the guilt for being so forthright in calling Ramillion selfish – the one who seemingly created an entire play to unveil for a foreign guest, the one who set up quarters for him, gave him friends in a place that could’ve been otherwise punishingly cold.

  “That is… kind.”

  “I don’t know why you would think of us as otherwise?”

  “The fire chambers.”

  Ram hooted before Eres pulled him in for a hug.

  “I will become what I am meant to be,” Eres whispered.

  “And I will await your second coming.”

  Chapter 32

  A Test to Begin Tests

  Eres crawled on all fours until the space became so tight that he was forced onto his belly.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

  His breathing became more erratic, heart-rate rising. Debilitating thoughts of being stuck sprinkled in his mind. How long would it take to get back? Could he even turn around in this cramped cave?

  He looked ahead to his finger where his esper sat.

  Yes, retreat into it now, find your fata’s Skrol training memories, and find out how long this passage is.

  “Ugh.”

  And what would that do, huh? What if it’s miles long? Then what? Having that knowledge would break me down mentally, and on top of that, how long would it even take to find the memory? Stop it, Eres. Waste of time.

  After a long shaky breath, he gathered himself and kept on, using his elbows to advance.

  One-two… one-two… one-two… he focused only on going forward. Don’t deviate. One-two…

  It worked. He kept on for nearly an hour, which felt like an eternity in this position – but then, out of nowhere, something stopped him. A tug on his foot.

  No, he thought. He tried again to kick his leg up. No, c’mon.

  His bag – the one he was forced to tie around his leg because there was no room for it – was stuck on a jagged patch of ice behind him. Out of instinct he tried to turn. Crack. Big mistake. His elbow crashed so hard into the wall that he saw stars for a moment.

  That did it.

  It wasn’t the pain that was the problem, but a dangerous reminder of just how confined he was. His other leg kicked to find breathing room. Nope, just more wall. Why was his head wet? Was ice… melting? What about the porum casing?

  His mind was thinking on overdrive now. Panic. Pure panic.

  Next, he tried for a deep breath. That would calm him, right? Nope. Tricked again, because for the life of him, he couldn’t get that satisfying inhale. Air was stuck in his chest and everything was going wrong.

  “Oh All-Mother,
please, I can’t lose it,” he took another three breaths, “all my rations are in that bag. If I rip it, I’m done for.”

  He wanted to flail. Actually, he was going to. The thought of starving in that spot was something so intense that he started to become feral. His body was nearly convulsing in fight or flight response. He started thrashing, uselessly kicking and punching the solid walls swallowing him. Have to get out, Mustae, I can’t die here. Looking ahead proved to be the final straw, a terrible idea, for he saw nothing but more of the same dull darkness. No light, no indicator of an end to this claustrophobic’s nightmare, just the endless journey to nowhere.

  His chest rose as he lay on his belly, pressing his back against the low ceiling. Another reminder of how constricted he was. He tried a push-up to open the space just a little bit, against all logic, but as expected he just knocked the wind out of himself.

  I can’t…

  Why was the air getting thicker? His breaths shorter? Everything smelled like smoke all of a sudden, like he was inhaling a plastic bag over his face. Choking gasps. His ears started to ring, vision became a blotchy mess of ink blots. Torture… this was torture.

  “Have to… calm-”

  He was fidgeting frantically, still feeling the tug of his bag like it was about to rip.

  At the height of panic, when his heart felt like it was going to ram out of his chest, when his icy breaths were blowing so much steam that his vision was impeded, he collapsed – not unconscious – but his body had no strength left in it.

  A panic attack taking its course.

  “Think of something…”

  Windel immediately came to mind. A calming presence. Yes. Back in Ilfrid’s shider when she came to visit him in the oversized dressing closet. The eternal kiss – not because it lasted so long or anything, but because it would never leave his mind. Ever.

  She closed her eyes, didn’t back away… she accepted it. Kissed back even. To not be rejected by the one person he needed was a moment that he would hold close for the rest of his days.

  Crow didn’t matter at this point, nor Seren…not his Skrol plight or the forces that were always against him. For once he wasn’t so focused on how terribly he missed his ooma, on the feeling of being so alone. For once he could hold on to what mattered most: this memory.

  He could see her so brightly, feel her even. Her hot lips, soft touch of fingertips against his arms. He felt it all over again – the goosebumps rising on his skin. Bliss.

  His eyes opened and feeling returned to his numb limbs.

  “I can…”

  He inched back slowly, felt the part of his bag that was stuck on a jagged point, and rotated his leg to free it, pushing with his foot, careful not to tear. His mind was clearer now. And just like that, the bag was released. He could do this. He had to.

  One-two… one-two…

  Another hour, maybe two. He couldn’t tell because of this different approach he was taking – to let his mind wander wherever it wanted. It jumped first to the Scarred Lands where he’d reunited with her against all of the odds. Then back to Kor Vinsánce – his true beginnings. The Swuls - Nuganzia and Teros. Harsh as they were, he missed them. Then, as if traveling through an infinitely fast tunnel, he zoomed all the way up to the present. Kyta, Mudry and Ramillion. A trio not to forget. Their theatrics, ridiculousness, and beneath it all, kindness.

  “We wanted you to feel like you have a home to come back to…” He heard Ramillion’s voice in his head. That kind of selflessness would carry him far. It would stick, help him through this.

  Suddenly he was drawn back to reality - a tickle on his nose like the tip of a feather was grazing it, then the same sensation on his arms. His shirt was flapping in the wind. An end was finally in sight.

  “Wait a second…” he said to himself. “What kind of wind is underground? Have I been traveling up all this time to the surface? No, that’s not right.”

  He kept going, the breeze growing stronger with every few inches gained.

  “A beast’s breath? An Aegod maybe? Mustae no… that would be a nightmare to begin training with. No, not right either. The stream of air is too constant to be breath.”

  He turned a corner and the dullness was no more. Light, not blinding, but just enough to give him hope.

  “Of course. An enchantment, like in the consortium. I’m close. I have to be.”

  The crawl space was opening, finally, like a giant serpent yawning – its massive larynx expanding. Eres got to his knees and nearly bumped his head, but that didn’t matter, not at all. “Yes,” he gasped, “yes, freedom. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Crawling a few more gars ahead gave him enough space to stand until he was confined no more.

  He stretched long and hard - back arched, arms extended, wrists rotating. Everything was achy from stiffness, but that was okay. Everything was okay. The dark cloud plaguing him was lifting. A threshold crossed; a milestone reached. Eres continued his victory stretch - hands overhead before folding forward. He kicked to get the kink out of his right knee, and then worked to untangle the bag from his leg. Yes, he celebrated again, sighing deeply, forgetting to actually look up from his feet. But eventually he did.

  Where am I?

  A slow pan around the room made him freeze in place, even contemplate diving back into that tight nightmare of a tunnel. Walls of wintery bliss were no longer blue but now purple, maybe even black. It smelled like death in there – a rotting carcass refusing to fully decompose. He recognized the scent – smelled it before back in Dolseir growing up. And what were those quivering streams of light illuminating the place? Lightning? Unmoving, stuck lightning?

  “What in Mustae kind of enchantment is this?” Eres peered up to follow it at least twenty feet until it met the ceiling. He couldn’t help but be drawn closer to it like a moth to a flame. Amber eyes reflected the beam, ogled it.

  Should I touch it? I shouldn’t.

  Caution may have been exercised in his mind, but his finger was already guided by curiosity.

  Zap.

  “Woooaaooow!” He spun away – finger sizzling with smoke, nerve endings burnt dead. Another groan before he landed on his rump, still shaking away the pain. “What… what is this place? What am I supposed to do in here?”

  He looked around frantically, less wondrous like before, and more… mad from getting burned. Panning around again, this time more purposefully, he counted the lightning bolts shaking in place – the ones that may as well have been chuckling at him.

  This place is evil.

  It was a trap. Of course, it was. And it was clear now why the electricity surrounded him - because this was an arena of sorts.

  But what in Mustae was he supposed to fight in here, in the middle of nowhere?

  He couldn’t help but wonder: Had others before me perished? Is that what that smell is?

  Wait a second… that in the corner, is that a podium?

  It appeared like a globe sitting on a pedestal. He’d seen this before, back in Kor. It was the same device that Proctor Ren had utilized to teach Factions class.

  “What the hell is tech doing in a place like this?” He didn’t even realize he was speaking aloud. If nothing else though, at the center of the podium rested something he understood – an octor – something he could use.

  Eres rushed to it. He didn’t care if it was booby-trapped, he had to know, needed direction… something.

  He clicked it on and didn’t move a muscle. His eyes darted back and forth to see if a boulder was loosed or a swinging guillotine was rushing overhead. Nothing yet. So he inched closer. The model was ancient by present standards, true, but he knew how to make it function all the same. His fingers were at work, sifting through options until condensed slides of past Skrols were displayed before him. His shuffling slowed down considerably. He’d read about some of these people… even saw them in his esper. His paternal ooma, the one that he felt die by a volley of bullets. She was there with him looking on with a hardened set of eyes that
seemed to be staring directly into his. What a badass, he thought. Then swiped past.

  Six faces he didn’t know, all unique in their own right, whether by garb, expression or otherwise, like old war portraits, showing how varying the Skrols existed in different times.

  Then on the seventh, he stopped. A debonair looking man with a mischievous face younger than Eres remembered was front and center. The caption read:

  Agden Way – Reacher of Storms, Defender of Secrets.

  He looked at it for a long while. Is that how he thought of himself? Well, in truth, I’d have to agree.

  In some sense, it was like he’d never lost his father at all since he’d encountered remnants of him so often in his esper, but to see him in Rudo - it sparked a pang in his heart that hadn’t been felt in some time. He wanted to curl over and experience the heartbreak, but curiosity won again. Two taps activated the device, and then a thrum, a vibration shook the whole enclosure.

  A foggy mist began to blanket the room. The colors changed to fiery orange, and there amongst it, when the air cleared, a figure materialized – it was Agden. Just like when Seren appeared back in Factions class upon Proctor Ren activating his device way back when.

  “Whoa.” Eres took a step back, but then remembered that this was just a projection, no matter how real it felt. His father was so young, so different here. No windburns on his face, skin less weathered, and his eyes… full of energy – Eres guessed because he hadn’t yet been on the run for most of his life, he guessed that his father wasn’t boundless at that point.

  The projection showed more than just Agden though. There on the floor, a singed body was spread out.