Archive of Our Own

He was in pain. 

Upon incapacitation it had begun as mere soreness...mostly in his knees, his wrists, his neck. But by now it had grown to become a searing agony that flowed through Ian's entire body. His stomach was rumbling and tightening from hunger, his head pounded with enough ferocity to torment a troll, and every single part of him screamed for release that he could not grant. For perhaps the hundreth time he tried to shift his weight, to take some of it off his legs. And just like before, the chains that restrained him and kept him upright rendered that impossible.

Oh, how he longed for peace! For sleep, food, warmth, quiet...light. For freedom from this nightmare that refused to end. But most of all, he wanted to be home. He wanted his family. He wanted to see their gentle smiles and their loving eyes. He wanted to feel their arms around him, holding him close and keeping him safe. He yearned to listen to their voices, to hear them say that everything would be okay...

"I know it's hard, buddy. I know it hurts. But you can make it."

His body stiffened as a hissing sound, like steam erupting from a pipe, cut through the low cacophony that had sadly become normal for him. Exhausted tears sprang to his eyes as the air in his lungs sharpened and chilled, as a sensation that felt like brain freeze filled his skull. 

It was happening again, and he couldn't stop it...

Ian was about to walk down the stairs, wanting to know what their supper plans were, when he heard it. So unexpected, so unfamiliar to him, that he froze on the top step. He slowly crept down two more stairs, feeling anxious and tentative as he peeked into the living room.

His mother was crying, her face in her hands. 

Ian was paralyzed--his mother was the single strongest woman he knew. She was funny when playful, fierce when angry, beautiful when happy. He was positive, as all eight-year-olds were, that she could make any problem he had go away. He'd had no idea that even mothers could feel things such as sadness and fear, that even they could be pressured by the hardships of life. This revelation shook him to his core. Was anyone invincible, if mothers were not?

He should've helped her. He should've comforted her, the same way she did for him when he was upset. At the very least, he should've asked her what was wrong. But instead...he walked away. Ian sneaked back the way he came, never even letting her know that he'd been there. He closed his door and sat curled up on his bed, trying to forget what he'd seen. 

Ian felt bad for leaving her to cry all alone...but what could he do? What could he say that would make her feel better? How could he take her tears away, when he was afraid of what had caused them? 

A few hours passed until he felt brave enough to leave his room again. As he reached the banister, he heard his mother's soft laughter. He cautiously walked down the stairs and saw the reason why...Barley was there. His hands held hers, and though her eyes were still damp, she was smiling along with him. 

Barley had done what Ian hadn't been strong enough to do...and what's more, he'd made it look so easy. Ian stood there, watching them both, and he was filled with shame and regret. 

The memory faded. The invading presence left Ian's body. Maybe he should've been thankful that this memory hadn't been as long as some of the others...but he knew from experience that that thing would be back soon, eager for more. 

"Try not to think about it, Ian. It isn't something you can change." 

If he could have, Ian would've snorted at the unhelpful advice. 

"Hey, I get it. I'd feel the same if I was in your shoes."

But you're not, Ian wanted to say, That was my choice, remember?

"Just...try to distract yourself. Think of something else."

To pass the time, and to further push his sad memory away, Ian mentally counted each breath he was taking. He tried not to dwell on how tight his ribs had been feeling lately, or how his chest didn't seem to expand as much as it should have.

In...out...one...

In...out...two...

In...out...three...

He was tired. Cold. Hurting, both physically and emotionally. It hadn't taken long after he'd been brought here to realize that trying to sleep was pointless. The closest he could come to rest was dozing out, and something always brought him back to reality. Thus, it made focusing...difficult. 

In...out...four...three...

In, out...one...

In...three...out, five...

Nine...in, out...in...

The numbers blurred together in his mind. He'd never had trouble with numbers before, math had always been one of his easiest subjects. But now...Ian abandoned them, feeling resigned to such results. Unconsciously, he was drawn to make a different tally...his shackles.

There was one around his stomach, just below his ribcage. Chains were attached to it, reaching in different directions to stick to the floor--there were four of them, if he was remembering right. They were stretched taut, ensuring that Ian couldn't move even an inch. It left him positioned on his knees, and he'd been left that way for so long that his legs now felt welded to the floor of this cage. He wished so badly that he could just lay down.

There was one around each of Ian's wrists, which had been pulled behind him. They were linked to a single chain, only a few inches long, and anchored to the floor. His arms had fallen asleep quite some time ago, and his wrists burned from his past attempts to pull them free. Even rolling his shoulders was hard now. 

One was wrapped around his neck like a collar, with chains extending from it to the ceiling. He couldn't lean in any direction, and he couldn't afford to fall asleep. Several times Ian had nodded off, or found his head bowing, weighed down by his headache, and he'd come to choking.

"You know, when I said 'think of something else'...I meant something that doesn't suck. You know? Spells? Blazey? I don't know, sewing, I guess?" 

That managed to encourage a weak smile from Ian.

But the last shackle was--

Ian's scattered thoughts came to a halt when the hissing registered. He released a silent, weary sigh. Had it even been that long since he'd last endured this? He didn't know: time had lost all meaning for him.

"Just hold on, Ian. You're stronger than this thing--you have to live!"

Its hands, more comparable to smoke than anything organic...Ian could sense them drawing near. And sure enough, one reached up his nose, moving higher and higher in his head. The other entered his mouth, traveling down his throat and into his chest. They found what they were looking for--his brain and his heart--and they sank their clawed fingers into them. Ian clenched his teeth against the pain, his hands balling into fists as he whimpered and fought to suppress his anguished cry.

It was the only thing he could do.

He hadn't meant any harm. He hadn't meant to make his brother upset. But here Ian was, standing by the wall of Barley's room, the shattered picture frame in pieces at his feet. Barley stood in front of his door, and he was so, so upset. 

Ian had just wanted to look at the picture...

"How could you do this?!" Barley cried shrilly. His face was twisted in...anger, but there was something else. Something like sadness, except that felt like too weak of a word.

"I-I...I..." Ian stammered, his hands fisting in his shirt. The six-year-old wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He'd tried to be careful, he'd pulled a chair into the room, thinking he could easily reach the picture that way. But his fingers had slipped, and...

Barley's mouth was wobbling, and his eyes welled with tears. Ian didn't know what to do. Barley had been mad before, he'd been sad before, but...Ian had never seen his brother react this strongly. He'd never seen him cry in front of him.

"My picture of Dad..." Barley said, his voice shaking, "You can't...I can't believe...why...?" Suddenly Barley fled the room, wailing. 

Ian was getting choked up, too. He didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't mean to make Barley cry! He felt like a monster.

But I can fix it! Ian suddenly thought. He remembered seeing scotch tape on the dining room table. He'd get it and put the frame back together! Then Barley wouldn't cry anymore...

Ian didn't waste any time. He ran to the table--he didn't see Barley, he must've gone to their mother's room--and retrieved the tape. He got on his knees beside the frame and flipped it over. He saw his father's smiling face, now marred by a few thin scratches. Ian swallowed and began to pick up the broken pieces of glass. And he immediately discovered why it was dangerous to do exactly that, as he cut his finger. 

"Ow!" Ian yelped. He held his finger and watched in mute horror as blood welled from the cut. At that moment, his mother walked into the room.

"Iandore Lightfoot!" Laurel gasped, "Don't touch that, you'll hurt yourself!" 

The blood, the stinging cut, his mother's reprimand, his brother's tears, and his own guilt...Ian was overwhelmed by all of it, and he started to cry. 

The darkness was an illusion. 

Ian hadn't been thrown into some pitch-black dungeon with no window to see out of. Instead, it was a result of the last shackle, little more than a metal band that was wrapped around his head like a steel blindfold. The metal had moulded itself to cover his eyes so completely that not even a shred of light could break through. No doubt due to whatever dark magic it was that his captor possessed. 

"I would break every single one of these chains for you if I could. You know that, right?"

I do, Ian thought bleakly, But you can't...because you're not really here. 

His circumstances had been bad enough when he'd first been abducted. But not being able to see his surroundings, nor anything that was happening to him...it had elevated his fear to a whole other level. And worst of all, there was no reason for it. Ian was disarmed and tied down so thoroughly that he could barely move. No one knew where he was, otherwise they'd be here already. And there was nobody around for miles, so even if he could scream for help, they wouldn't hear him. The only reason it could have for blinding Ian was to demonstrate its power over him. 

Or just to be cruel.

Those incorporeal hands that tore open his mind and robbed him of his strength, the ones that left Ian trembling and close to breaking each time they retreated...they were the last thing he'd seen before his sight was taken from him. 

Ian walked into his bedroom, setting his father's ripped sweatshirt aside and feeling dejected. He sat down in his desk chair and pulled out his notepad. Glumly, he looked over the checklist he'd made this morning. One by one, he crossed out his failed objectives.

Speak Up More, Learn To Drive, Invite People To Party... He paused over the last one, Be Like Dad...and crossed that out too. 

His sixteenth birthday, his day to be the "New You"...and he'd messed up everything. 

Ian tossed his notepad onto his desk and slumped back in his chair. He contemplated the photographs that were tacked to his board, most of them of his late father. His eyes landed on one in particular, an old photo that showed Wilden proudly with his pregnant wife and his first son. They drifted to the next one, showing Laurel with both of her sons, her husband already deceased. 

Wilden hadn't lived long enough to meet his second child, and for most of his life, Ian was left to imagine what could've been. 

Ian pulled out an old radio, one that still had a casette player. He removed the tape marked "Dad" from its drawer, inserted it into the empty slot, and pushed Play. He rested his chin on his arms.

(Please, Ian silently begged, I can't keep doing this... How childish he was being, to plead for mercy where he knew none existed. He was so tired...)

After rewinding the tape, Ian pressed Play again. 

"Wil, you're not gonna get that thing working!" Laurel laughed.

"I think I've got it," Wilden replied confidently.

Ian straightened, a small smile appearing on his face. "Hi, Dad," he said.

"Hello? Hello?"

"It's me, Ian."

"Oh? Is that right?"

"Yeah," said Ian with a tiny laugh, "Did you have a good day?"

"Well, I'm trying to!"

"Yeah, me too...although I could clearly use some help," Ian added, a bit self-deprecating.

Wilden laughed.

"Sure wish I could spend the day with you some time," Ian stated, "There's so many things we could do! I bet it'd be really fun."

"Well, let's find out."

"Yeah!" Ian exclaimed, "I'd love to, we could--"

"Okay, bye!"

Ian's face fell as the recording ended, and his excitement faded. "Yeah...bye." 

Ian didn't try to talk anymore. 

His captor preferred him to remain silent. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because he had to speak in order to utilize magic...but his staff wasn't here, and he couldn't even move his limbs, so that was a moot point. Perhaps it was because Ian was a prisoner, and prisoners were supposed to be compliant. Or maybe, again, it was driven by pure sadism. Either way, Ian was swiftly punished if he wasn't quiet.

He still remembered the last time he'd spoken. He hadn't even been loud. He'd merely whispered, "Barley..." in a voice weak with despair and longing. But even a whisper was interpreted as an act of resistance, and the shackle around his throat constricted, cutting off his air.

Ian writhed in his restraints, gasping and choking, his chest threatening to implode if it didn't get the oxygen it needed. It left him desperate to survive, and when the collar finally loosened, he sputtered and coughed and wheezed as he tried to regain control of his breathing. For a while afterward the metal tingled, almost like static electricity, as a warning not to break the rules again. 

He wasn't even safe from this when his tormenter came to feed off of him. At first he would keep his mouth firmly closed when those ghostly hands came, to protect his heart in the only way he could. But then the collar would tighten, which inevitably caused his mouth to open to take in air. Closing his mouth afterwards made no difference, not when it was already inside. 

He wanted to talk. He wished he could call out for his brother and mother and weep when they didn't come. He wished he could scream and scream and scream because it was all too much to bear. But he didn't dare, for fear that he wouldn't live long enough to speak again. 

"Ian...don't give up hope. I promise I'll save you."

Ian loved the present Barley had gotten for him...a hardback book titled "Journeys of the First Starseeker". It revolved around a teenage elven boy who traveled among the stars, who grew into a confident, intelligent, and brave young man (exactly what Ian had always dreamed of being). A story filled with gorgeous illustrations and incredible writing...and insanely difficult to find. Ian had borrowed it once earlier in his childhood, and he'd gone for years without ever finding another copy. But somehow, Barley had found it--a newly-printed copy, no less--and he'd gotten it for Ian's thirteenth birthday. 

Which was why Ian was so upset when it was stolen from him.

It was recess. He was sitting by himself in the secluded corner of the school library--he liked it there because the shelves were arranged so that no one could watch him. He was enjoying his alone time with his new book when it was ripped from his hands without warning. Ian whirled around in his chair to see Jonwood Cloudfaller, an elven kid who was in the year above Ian's. Only if the rumors were to be believed, he'd been held back a year. The book was tucked under his arm and he was sporting a taunting grin.

"Cloudfaller!" Ian cried--that was what the older kid demanded everyone call him, presumably because he despised his first name. 

"Thanks for the paperweight, Lightfoot," Cloudfaller said smugly.

"No, stop!" Ian said angrily, jumping to his feet, "Give it back!" He tried to reach for the book but Cloudfaller, being taller and stronger than Ian was, simply shoved him into some bookshelves.

"And why should I do that, loser?" His arm was pressed against Ian's chest, keeping him pinned. He loomed over Ian, making him feel small.

What little boldness he'd had evaporating, Ian whimpered, "It was a birthday present..."

"Hmmm..." Cloudfaller hummed, pretending to think it over. He twirled one of Ian's curls around his finger, eyes gleaming with the feeling of superiority that all bullies enjoyed. Ian grimaced: his hair had always been a target of mockery, particularly among older students like Cloudfaller. "Maybe you can have it back," the other elf finally said, "if you ask nicely."

"I..." Ian said uncertainly, his voice trailing off. He didn't want to ask a jerk like Cloudfaller for anything--the rest of his family definitely wouldn't. But...

Cloudfaller sighed as though in disappointment. "I guess you don't want it...which means it's mine now."

"No!" Ian exclaimed, "Don't--!" He was silenced when Cloudfaller pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhhh," said Cloudfaller condescendingly, "It's a library. You're supposed to be quiet."

Ian squirmed--he hated being touched by people he didn't know well, which Cloudfaller picked up on and took advantage of. He moved his finger to grasp Ian's face in his hand, squeezing the younger elf's cheeks to mime him speaking. 

"Just say, 'Cloudfaller'," he said, raising his pitch in a poor imitation of Ian's voice, "'will you give me back my life, please?' You know, since you don't have one outside your stupid books," Cloudfaller added cruelly. 

Ian's cheeks flushed, and his heart stung...mostly because it was true. Reading his books was the closest he ever came to feeling resourceful, charismatic, and self-sacrificing...everything he wasn't in real life. He never wanted to venture outside his comfort zone, which meant that his world was very small. 

Cloudfaller snapped his fingers in front of Ian's face, distracting him from his depressing thoughts. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?" he smirked, "But never mind--I'm waiting."

Ian sighed, "Can I have my book--"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Cloudfaller interrupted, "You're not saying it right." The older boy yanked on Ian's ear.

"Ow, stop!" cried Ian, "I'll tell--" Cloudfaller's hand clamped over his mouth and shoved his head into the shelf, muffling Ian's groan. 

"If you tell anyone about our little talk," Cloudfaller said in a deadly voice, "I'll make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?"

Ian's breathing had turned rapid, and he was petrified by the look of malice on the bully's face. He squeaked as the pressure increased on both his chest and his face. Cloudfaller leaned in so close that Ian's nose wrinkled from his awful breath.

"Hey," said Cloudfaller lowly, "That wasn't rhetorical, you little worm." Ian nodded as much as he could...the pressure lightened and Cloudfaller retracted his hand, allowing Ian a little more breathing room. "Good," Cloudfaller grinned, "Now...what do we say?" 

Ian's lips quivered, his chin wobbling as he sucked in a shaky breath. "Cloudfaller," he said quietly, "will you give--" He gasped as Cloudfaller smacked his cheek, not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to hurt. "What--"

"You're a rodent," said Cloudfaller scornfully, "You don't deserve to look at people who are better than you." 

Ian cast his gaze to the floor, his face burning. His shaking fingers curled into his palms, nails digging into his skin. "Cloudfaller," Ian mumbled, "will you...give me my--" His words were stopped yet again when Cloudfaller grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. He hissed from the pain, but this time Ian bit back his protest.

"I've changed my mind," Cloudfaller said casually, "I want you to look at me." His hand moved from Ian's hair to grip his chin, craning his head even further backwards so their eyes met. Ian could see the glee in Cloudfaller's expression, and he knew that the older teen was hoping to see him cry. 

Inside, Ian seethed. But as always, his fear of getting beaten overrode his anger. "Cloudfaller," he said through gritted teeth. He paused, expecting another interruption. But Cloudfaller didn't speak, just looked at him expectantly. Ian forced himself to continue. "Will you...give me...back...my life, p-please?" 

Cloudfaller smiled and released Ian's face. He petted Ian's hair as though he were an animal rather than a fellow student. Ian's stomach churned: he wanted this guy to stop touching him already. "I might," he teased, "...on one condition."

A pit opened in Ian's stomach. "What?" Ian uttered, dismayed, "Y-you said--!"

"I never said asking for your precious book was all you had to do," Cloudfaller said, cutting him off. He was fiddling with Ian's ear and pulling on it, though not as hard as before. 

Ian closed his eyes, just wanting this stupid game to be over with. "What do I have to do?"

"Apologize," Cloudfaller answered.

Ian's eyes opened, and he looked at Cloudfaller in confusion. "I don't...what do you mean? Apologize for what?"

At first, Cloudfaller didn't respond. He just stared at Ian, clearly reveling in the stress he was inflicting on the younger boy. Then, he said, "For being a worthless loser." 

The words hit Ian like a truck, and he was truly in danger of crying now. "Huh?" he stuttered pitifully.

"You heard me. You're a weakling who doesn't have anything to offer. And I want to hear you say you're sorry for it."

Ian swallowed hard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't! He should just leave, forget about the book, keep whatever dignity he had left... 

But he remembered his birthday, not so long ago. He remembered Barley's anticipation when he'd been given his present, wrapped in purple and orange. He remembered the way Barley glowed when Ian had discovered the book inside. He remembered how Barley was happy, because he was happy. 

Ian couldn't lose that book. He couldn't disappoint Barley.

"Well?" Cloudfaller prompted, his finger tapping on Ian's jaw.

Ian crumpled. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I can't hear you, Lightfoot," Cloudfeather said, his eyes narrowing. 

"I'm sorry," Ian repeated, only slightly more audibly. 

"Sorry for what?"

Ian blinked back tears. "I'm sorry for--"

"You're not looking at me," Cloudfaller scolded.

Ian wanted to scream. Slowly, he tilted his head back to look at the bully's face. He felt Cloudfaller's thumb stroking his throat. He choked out, "I'm sorry I'm a...a-a w-worthless loser." There. He'd said it. And he truly meant it: he was a spineless coward. "Now w-will you give my b-book back?" he asked desperately. 

At his question, Cloudfaller laughed. "No!" He chuckled when Ian's jaw dropped in disbelief. "What--you didn't seriously think I was going to let you have it, did you?"

Ian began to see red. "You--!"

Cloudfaller's fist collided with Ian's stomach, driving the air out of him. Ian doubled over, and Cloudfaller threw him to the floor. The fight drained from the thirteen-year-old's body as Cloudfaller pinned his arm down with his boot. 

"You honestly think a little spitwad like you is strong enough to take on a guy like me? I don't think so. There's always gonna be someone who'll remind you of how weak and unimportant you really are. Don't you ever forget that." He removed his foot and kicked Ian's side, making the young teen curl up in a ball. Cloudfaller sneered at him and left...taking Ian's birthday present with him.

For a few minutes Ian didn't move, breathing shallowly and trembling. Then it sank in, just what had happened, and he got to his feet and bolted through the library doors. He ran to the bathroom and was relieved to see no one else there. He shut himself inside a stall and leaned against the wall, sobbing in humiliation and self-hatred. 

Over the next couple of weeks Ian would tell himself, This is the day. This is the day I'll finally be brave and get my book back. But each day, he would go home without ever even approaching Cloudfaller. His desire to stay as far away from him as possible was too strong. Eventually, Cloudfaller moved away, and the students celebrated...but not Ian, because he never saw his gift again. 

When Barley asked one day where his book was, Ian lied and said he'd lost it. Barley was saddened by this, as Ian knew he would be, and he tore the house apart trying to find it for him. Ian felt guilty, watching him go through all that effort because he couldn't tell him the truth, or anyone else for that matter. 

But it was no longer because he was afraid--Cloudfaller was gone, after all. He just didn't want them to know how pathetic he was.

Though he couldn't see anything, Ian retained his other senses. But for most of the time he'd spent here, he wished he hadn't...especially his hearing. 

It wasn't anything outside the cage that bothered him. This cage didn't follow the rules of ordinary objects, and as soon as it had taken him he'd realized that he couldn't hear anything outside these bars. No...it was what he could hear inside his prison that was driving him mad. They were everywhere...around him, above him...he could even swear that he was hearing them below him, too. 

Voices. 

The words were always indistinct, but they were constantly begging, screaming and crying. They weren't so loud that they threatened to shatter Ian's eardrums. They were closer to echoes, relegated to the background...but this was only a small comfort, because they still sounded utterly miserable. They never stopped, and along with the metal blindfold and the claws in his mind they contributed to the massive migraine Ian had.

Nobody had had a chance to tell Ian beforehand where these voices had come from or how they came to be there. But he wasn't stupid...he knew who they were. The creature that kept him bound was very old: it'd had more than enough time to prey on many, many innocent people. Ian was just the latest victim. Their souls were still here, trapped and unable to move on from this world. 

"These poor folks...I wonder how long they've been here?" 

I don't want to think about it, was Ian's nonverbal reply.

Before Ian was captured, he'd seen the skeleton of its previous victim ensnared in its chains.  That is, before they'd dropped said remains in favor of their new replacement. Ian could still feel the bones scattered around him, rolling into his legs whenever the cage swayed from where it was hanging. That was only one person, though Ian had a suspicion as to where the others were. For he could also feel a thick, almost carpet-like layer of something like dust on the cage floor. Except, considering what this thing was...those had to be the ashes of all the prisoners that had been lost to time. Maybe, once the monster had finished draining them, it had incinerated their bodies itself. Left the bones to disintigrate further with each passing year...

Once Ian had come to this conclusion, it was all he could do to not acknowledge those ashes. He tried not to contemplate how he was kneeling in them, or that they were clinging to his clothes, making his skin itch and coating his hands. He might even be breathing in some of them, every time a draft came through a decaying wall or a broken window. The idea made Ian shudder, the involuntary movement rattling the chains that held him. 

"It's too bad they can't help. It would be nice if I wasn't the only one supporting you. Right, Ian?"

These tormented souls that surrounded Ian never spoke directly to him. It was possible that they'd lost too much of themselves to know how. Who's to say they were even aware of his presence? And likewise, Ian was unable to reach out to them. He could neither offer comfort nor receive it. Technically, Ian wasn't alone in here. But for all intents and purposes, he was. 

"That isn't true. You've got me! I mean, in a way." 

Ian shivered with bone-deep cold. Normally, metal warmed the longer it was in contact with someone's skin. Not so here. These chains still felt like ice after all this time, refusing to warm no matter how long Ian wore them. He was starting to forget what warmth even felt like...

"Don't worry about it. When we rescue you, we'll help you remember."

Don't say that...I don't know if you'll find me in time. And you don't, either. 

In the back of his mind, Ian could feel a time limit steadily counting down. He wondered if his voice would join all the others, shattered and wailing for eternity. 

"Sylvan!" Ian called. It was the end of the day, and they were all outside. He hurried over to her and her group.

"Oh, hey," the elven girl said flippantly. From the looks he was getting from her friends, it was clear that they already wanted him to leave. Inwardly Ian quailed, but he ignored the instinct the run away.

"I-I have to talk to you," said Ian. He tried to sound firm, but his tone came off as feeble.

"Oh, really?" Sylvan snickered, "And what, pray tell, do you want me to talk to you about?" She clearly wasn't taking him seriously.

Ian shuffled his feet, already regretting starting this conversation. People in general tended to make Ian feel anxious, but Sylvan Brindlehand was a peculiar case. Whenever Ian greeted her, she wouldn't respond--sometimes she didn't even look at him. On those unfortunate days when Ian was forced to the front of the class to speak, he would later find her mimicking his shy stuttering. And when she thought he wasn't looking, she would eye him and whisper to one of her friends, then they would both laugh in an unfriendly way. She would make jokes about his nose, his freckles, his front teeth, or anything else Ian was self-conscious about. But she always kept her tone light and airy, in a way that told Ian he was supposed to find it funny. 

But on the other hand, she would bump into him, then wink when he looked at her. She would thank him whenever he loaned her a pen or an eraser, and tell him she would return it (she never did--but then again, kids are terrible at keeping promises). Sometimes when she was close enough to him, Sylvan would pull lightly at his curls just to watch them bounce back. Each time she did this she would comment on how soft his hair was. It made Ian uncomfortable, but at the same time he would blush and feel oddly pleased. She was one of the most beautiful girls in their grade, and Ian felt his heart skip a beat every time he saw her.

And therein lay the problem: Ian had a crush on her. His first serious crush, at that. Yet she frequently switched from teasing him to acting like he didn't exist. He couldn't figure out if she liked him or not...she confused him, but Ian couldn't help being infatuated with her. So much so that when he'd learned that she was the source of the rumors that had been flying around school...he'd given her the benefit of the doubt. Ian had reasoned to himself that she might've heard it from someone else. That once he explained the truth to her, Sylvan would understand and stop. 

Maybe from there, Ian might be brave enough to tell her how he felt...and she might like him back. She would be nice more often than she was mean--surely she wasn't all bad.

(Love is blind, Ian thought bitterly as he watched the memory play out. He had the insane urge to laugh hysterically, given his literal blindness now. Ian knew he was beginning to crack.)

"Sylvan," Ian said, "you and your friends...you guys have been talking about my dad."

"Oh, you mean the one who's never around?" said Gorgomon obnoxiously. Ian tried to keep the distaste off his face. He had known Gorgomon since kindergarten, and he had never liked him. 

"What's the problem?" a cyclops girl asked, leering, "Talking isn't a crime, you know."

"I never said it was," Ian told her, "But you guys have been saying things to other kids. Things that aren't true!" He directed his next question to Sylvan. "Why?"

Sylvan raised her eyebrows. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"N-no," said Ian, squeezing the straps of his backpack, "I just--"

"I think he is," a satyr scoffed.

"My dad isn't a criminal!" Ian yelled. He saw the looks of surprise on their faces. He rarely ever raised his voice at school. But when a kid had walked up to him this morning, asking with poorly hidden excitement if his father was a killer as the rumors had said...Ian was blindsided. "Why have you been telling everyone that he is?!" 

Sylvan shrugged nonchalantly. "Because it made sense to me? I mean, you never talk about him, which means you don't want to be related to him."

Ian's mouth hung open. He didn't know whether he was more dumbfounded at her explanation, or her matter-of-fact tone about it. "I--"

"And nobody's ever seen him. He doesn't come to parent-teacher conferences or anything like that. That means he's in prison."

"No!" Ian said, shaking his head vehemently, "He's not in prison! My dad never committed a crime in his life!" 

"So he did run out on you!" Gorgomon said, nodding as though it were obvious, "See, I told you all that he--"

"No!" Ian said again, interrupting the troll, "I want you guys to stop telling people that! It's not the truth!"

Sylvan frowned and put her hands on her hips. "So what is the truth, O Great One?" she asked, her words dripping with sarcasm. The look she was giving Ian...as if he was being the troublesome one...

"The truth..." said Ian shakily, "...is that my dad is gone. He's dead."

Most of the group looked shocked. A couple of them at least had the decency to look ashamed, if only for a moment. Gorgomon wore an expression of disappointment that his theory had been wrong. And Sylvan...

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?" Ian repeated, taken aback at her dismissive tone, "That's it?!" 

"Well, what else do you want me to say?" Sylvan asked, annoyed.

"I want you to tell me that you'll stop. That you'll tell people that you were wrong."

"Yeah, yeah," Sylvan waved her hand in irritation, "Whatever. It's not like the truth matters anyway."

Ian frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Sylvan, "I mean, look at you!" 

Ian stiffened. "What about me?" he asked in apprehension.

"You're a dweeb!" spoke the cyclops girl. 

"You're boring," Gorgomon added, "Not to mention kind of ugly."

"You don't have any friends," the satyr said nastily.

"You're wrong!" Ian cried, stung by their awful words, "I hang out with Kagar a lot..." But they weren't listening--they'd turned and were walking away. Sylvan remained behind, glancing at him scornfully.

"You really are hopeless, Ian."

Ian gazed back at her, feeling too hurt to say anything. 

"Even if your dad was here...you're still a nobody. You're not cool or fun. You're such a pushover that a strong breeze could knock you to the ground! Let's face it: there's nothing special about you. If your dad was alive..." Sylvan shouldered her own backpack. "...he'd probably still walk out on you. Sorry, Ian, but he just wouldn't like you." A car pulled up, and someone called for Sylvan. She jogged over to hop inside, and the car drove away.

Ian was rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak...unable to think. He just heard their insults in his head, over and over on a loop. He was so heartbroken that he couldn't even bring himself to cry. That almost would've been preferable to feeling like something inside him was shutting down. It was the start of a numbing, tiring depression that would plague him for months to come.

Ian learned a difficult lesson that day. That sometimes, beauty could mask a hideous heart.

Ian wasn't quite sure when the hallucinations had started. 

At first he could only hear the voice occasionally. A few words here, a sentence there...but over time it spoke with increasing frequency, and now it almost felt like a real companion. 

Almost.

"Do you remember when you crossed the Bottomless Pit all by yourself? The rope fell off--you didn't know yet, of course. But you were so sure that you needed it, when in the end, you didn't. This is kind of like that. You think you're too weak to survive. But I know that you're not."

Ian knew that his brother wasn't actually present. That what he was hearing was a figment of his imagination, which was slowly but surely taking over his decaying consciousness. Because if Barley was here, he'd be fighting to get Ian out, not sitting around and chatting. 

But Ian found comfort in it regardless. It gave him something to focus on other than the pain, the sleep deprivation, the constant lament of the stolen souls. He listened to what the illusion had to say, even though he couldn't respond out loud. He let himself believe, to an extent, that his older brother was trying to give him strength even now.

I think you're giving me too much credit, Barley.

"Am I? Ian, you've still got your Heart's Fire. Maybe the flames have dimmed a bit...but you've done a good job of keeping them lit. See, I made a sweet rhyme!"

Ian felt laughter bubble in his chest, but he swallowed it back down--he had no desire to be strangled. Still, he couldn't help but smile. 

"Now you try!"

Ian's smile faltered. Barley...I can barely think straight. 

"You don't need to! Poetry doesn't require logical thinking, Ian. It's something that comes from the heart."

Ian sighed softly. It's not like he had anything better to do. Okay. Um...it's cold and it's dark and...I'm going crazy. Now...now I'm talking to you...who popped up like a daisy.

"Eh...it's not perfect, but...I think with a little polishing, we could make you a master poet!"

Ian's smile returned. 

"You see? We're always a little stronger than we think we are. You have such a big heart, Ian."

As cold as he was, Ian felt his heart warm. Not as big as yours. The feeling dissipated, replaced by sadness. I wish I wasn't imagining this. I wish I was home with you. I...I miss you, Barley.

The apparition sighed, and there was regret in his voice. "I know you do, bud. I'm sure the real me misses you, too. He's still searching for you, but until he finds you...I guess you'll have to settle for me."

The hissing started again. Ian shook his head, silently mouthing, No, please no, despite knowing it was futile. The creature's hands reached into his head and his body, pain surged inside him, and he could sense yet another memory forming.

"Be strong, Ian. No matter what happens, just stay strong."

Ian climbed out of the manhole, stunned as he took in the sight of his high school, the construction site, the sign that verified what he didn't want to accept: that after all their struggles, they were standing in New Mushroomton. 

The very starting point of their journey.

Ian didn't notice the bus behind him until it blared its horn impatiently. Barley grabbed his arm, and Ian let his brother drag him out of the street and onto the sidewalk. 

Ian finally spoke. "We're back...home..."

(Not this, Ian thought, wanting no less than to tear the memory out of his head and throw it away. Please not this! For it contained his greatest regret...)

"We can figure this out," Barley said.

"Figure out what?" Ian responded, "We're back where we started!"

"There was a gauntlet! Unless that gauntlet was for, coincidentally, some different quest! That's a possibility," Barley added, eyes lit in dismay.

"What?"

"No, no, this...this has to be where the gem is, I..." The last part of his sentence was quiet and confused. "I followed my gut..."

"Oh, no..." Ian murmured.

"What?" asked Barley.

The cold that had enveloped Ian's mind at this turn of events was vanishing, and anger was beginning to take over. "The gem is in the mountain. The mountain we could have been to hours ago if we'd just...if we'd just stayed on the expressway!"

Barley was speaking, trying to counter Ian's statement with his own logic, but it was white noise in Ian's ears. He'd argued with Barley to take the expressway to Raven's Point, he'd known that it was the fastest way, but Barley had opted to take the Path of Peril. He'd sounded so assured that it was the correct option despite taking longer that Ian ignored his misgivings. He'd put his faith in Barley's plan! He trusted him! And now all they'd done was for nothing. Ian felt betrayed.

"IF I HADN'T LISTENED TO YOU!" Ian burst out, cutting Barley off, "Okay?!" He held his forehead in his hand. "I can't believe this..." He walked up to Barley, who had been stopped cold. "You act like you know what you're doing. But you don't have a clue, and..." And Ian said it. "That's because you are a screw-up! And now you've screwed up my chance to have the one thing I never had!"

Barley was speechless, looking as though someone had stabbed him. For a split second, Ian considered taking back what he said...before he turned to glance at Wilden's legs, the only part of him they'd managed to summon with the first Phoenix Gem. They could've had more than that, their father could've been complete, if only Ian had stuck with his instincts... He gave Barley a dark look before grabbing the leash that hung from one of Wilden's belt loops. 

"Where are you going?" Barley asked faintly.

Ian shoved his staff into Barley's arms. "To spend what little time we have left with Dad." He stalked off, pulling his father behind him.

"Ian, wait!" Barley called, sounding hurt, "We can still find the Phoenix Gem! We just have to keep looking!" He sounded on the brink of tears now, but Ian refused to look back. "Ian! IAN!" 

Ian continued walking until he could no longer hear Barley's voice, and he found himself at the cliff overlooking the sea. His anger evaporated...now he just felt hollow. He gazed ruefully at the setting sun, knowing that everything had been wasted. He saw movement in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Wilden reaching his foot out, feeling the ground in front of him. 

"No, Dad," Ian said forlornly, "He's not here." Ian sank to a sitting position, and his father did the same. 

Ian was overcome by the unfairness of it all. He'd never known his father, Wilden had passed before he was even born. Ian had spent his whole life wondering about his father, dreaming about sharing just a single conversation with him...or even getting a hug from him... 

Why did everything have to go so wrong?

Ian felt tears flowing down his cheeks as the memory ended. 

How many times? How many times since his capture had Ian been forced to relive his worst memories? How many times had he had his biggest mistakes thrown back into his face? How many times had his mind been intruded on? He could always feel those fingers, digging into his brain and sifting through its contents...

"Hey, it's okay," the fake Barley said reassuringly, "You said you were sorry. Try to remember."

I can't, Ian thought sorrowfully. It wasn't for lack of trying. Each time one of his memories had been dredged to the surface Ian had attempted to recall the good things that had happened afterward. But while it was still inside his head, the monster wouldn't let him. And even when it left, Ian found that bringing them to mind was a monumental task. He knew how events had played out, but it seemed that he could no longer envision them. The memories were still there, he could feel them, but they were out of his reach. 

"Well, you did. And I forgave you. How could I not?" 

Ian didn't answer. He was exhausted.

Why was the creature doing this to him? Was it simply part of the feeding process? Or was it out of some sick desire for entertainment?

"Ian? Buddy, you're scaring me. What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I just...I can't keep up...

"Ian..."

I can't... More tears escaped. I don't wanna die. 

"You won't."

How can you say that? It's been so long...

"You've got the Manticore on your side, remember? She's undoubtedly joined the search. And Mom is as determined as you and I are. If nothing else, having Colt in the family means we've got the cops' help. And don't forget yours truly! We'll get you out of here." 

Ian was hesitant to hope. There was no doubt in his mind that his family was looking for him. But that didn't mean that their search would be successful. By the time they found him, his body could be completely drained and left to rot. His soul would join the collective, stripped of individuality. If Ian put all his faith into the idea of being rescued, only to die instead...

It hurts. I just wanna sleep...

"I know you do. I hate how much you're suffering." 

Ian couldn't help but wonder...if he died...would he still hear Barley's voice? Or would he be left to fend for himself? Ian sniffled. What he would've given for one last embrace...

"Oh, Ian...you didn't have to be here. So why? Why did you have to run in front of me?"

Ian straightened a bit, his joints creaking. He was surprised at the question. 

Barley...you know why.

"Ian, look out!" Barley shouted, and Ian gasped and rolled out of the way as a large metal arm shot past him. He quickly got to his feet and stared in horror at the absurd abomination.

This thing...it resembled a giant bird cage. Except bird cages didn't have arms that ended in three metal claws. Nor could they levitate, and they certainly didn't have a single glowing eye at the top. There were strange white orbs swirling around on the inside. Oh, and one couldn't forget about the chains inside, which were holding a desiccated skeleton. Needless to say, it was in the brothers' best interests not to be caught. 

"Barley, what is this thing?!" Ian exclaimed.

Barley's face was pale with fear that was usually reserved for the Gelatinous Cube. "It's a Soul Cage!" 

"A what cage?" 

"We have to move!" 

So far their efforts to stop the monster hadn't done much good, so hindering it was Ian's next strategy. He rushed to Barley's side, and he spun his staff above his head.

"Cumulo Mystara!"

A thick fog erupted from Ian's staff and spread rapidly in a wide radius, obscuring the boys from the Soul Cage's view. Ian grabbed Barley's arm and carefully led him to where he'd seen the nearest building, ducking behind it.

Until now it had been just a normal day. The brothers had been out in the field practicing magic until early evening. They were on their way back when one of Guinevere II's tires had burst and gone flat. They'd taken the damaged tire off and were about to replace it when the Soul Cage had shown up out of nowhere. Ian could only guess that it had seen them driving by in Guinevere and had followed them here. They couldn't put the spare tire on and fight the creature off at the same time, so they'd had no choice but to run for it. To make matters worse, they were currently at the edge of town. There weren't that many buildings, and the ones that existed were abandoned. Ian had swiftly called the police and then the Manticore for backup, but until they arrived the brothers were on their own. 

"What is this thing after us for?" Ian asked, trying to catch his breath. He could hear metal clanging against pavement, and he knew it was looking for them.

"Food," Barley replied, sounding equally breathless. He had his sword with him, but they both knew that they couldn't rely on it much.

"Barley, you're not making sense."

"When a demon is held in a cage, over time the two merge together, and that forms a Soul Cage," Barley explained, "It hunts people down so that it can feed off their life force. When it's all gone and the person is dead, it steals their soul and traps it forever." 

Ian felt lightheaded at this horrifying summary. "Can it be killed?" he asked desperately.

"Yes," Barley affirmed, "Its eye is its weak point. You destroy that, you destroy the demon." 

Ian was relieved by this answer, but it was short-lived. The winds were picking up, and Ian saw with growing alarm that the fog that protected them was thinning fast. What's more, the clanging sounds were getting louder, which meant that the Soul Cage was drawing closer.

"We're losing our cover!" said Ian fearfully, "We need to get inside!"

"I agree!" Barley said, running his hands along the wall until he found a doorknob. He tried to twist it, but the door was either locked or had warped in its frame. Barley threw himself at it, but it wouldn't budge. 

"I'll get it," Ian volunteered, "Stand back!" Barley did so, and Ian took up his stance, aiming his staff. 

"Voltar Thunda--"

"Ian, RUN!" 

Barley tugged Ian out of the way just as the large claw was about to grab him. It had found them, and its presence forced Ian and Barley away from the building. They retreated a few yards, then Ian spun around and aimed his staff again.

"Voltar Thundasir!"

The lightning bolt shot from the tip of Ian's staff, but the Soul Cage dodged and kept coming. It was surprisingly fast for its size, so Ian tried a different, more reckless approach. 

"Aloft Elevar!" 

Ian's magic enveloped an old, rusty truck, and with great strain he hurled it at the monster. The Soul Cage moved to the side, but this time the spell hit its mark, at least partially. The truck clipped it, bending its bars and sending it toppling to the ground. Ian was glad, but moving such a large object took a physical toll on him. He could already feel himself tiring. Thankfully, he could hear the police sirens, and he knew help was coming.

"Are you okay, Ian?" Barley asked in concern.

"Yeah," Ian panted, bent over with his hand braced against his knee, "Let's get back to town!"

"We can't," Barley disagreed, "If we lead this thing back to where there are people, they could become victims!"

Barley was right. They couldn't risk the lives of innocent bystanders.

"Then we'll make our stand here," Ian said grimly. 

The creature got back up, its bars straightening by themselves. 

"Don't get too close to that thing, Ian," Barley warned as he readied his sword, "You don't wanna get snatched by it!"

"Duly noted," Ian responded. He was scared, but he was getting better at hiding it. 

The Soul Cage charged at them.

"Wynda Zephyria!" Ian shouted.

The Soul Cage was hit by a small gale of wind. The spell managed to stop it in its tracks, but the monster dug its claws through the broken street and into the ground, and the wind could only move it a few inches. 

"Ian, remember how you and Mom beat the Guardian Curse?" Barley suddenly said. He raised his sword, and Ian understood. The only problem was, he'd have to disable the wind spell to make it work.

"We'll only have one shot," Ian said.

"Make it count!" Barley replied with a grin. He tossed his sword in the air.

"Accelior!" Ian chanted, and the sword cut through the air at blinding speed as it was hit by the velocity spell. 

But at the last minute, the Soul Cage's eye locked onto the incoming weapon. It moved away just in time, and the sword missed it by inches. The brothers watched in dismay as it fell out of sight.

"We were so close!" Barley yelled.

But hope wasn't lost: first one, then several police cars arrived on the scene. The officers got out of their cars, and though their faces showed utter bewilderment at the sight of the Soul Cage, they nonetheless aimed their weapons and opened fire. There was no sign of the Manticore yet, but Ian knew her tavern was farther away from their location than these officers had been, so it would take her longer to reach them. 

The brothers were determined to do their part. The Soul Cage was still moving around too much for Ian to get a good shot at its eye, but he used the velocity spell on anything Barley tossed for him--trash cans, broken machine parts, anything. Ian was hopeful that their combined efforts would be enough to wear the creature down, and then he could finish it off with arcane lightning. 

The police officers' bullets did barely anything to the Soul Cage, but their numbers alone seemed to intimidate the monster. However, Ian noticed that its movements were becoming increasingly erratic. It was bouncing and flying around more, its arms were swinging wider and wider, and its eye rapidly switched from one person to the next, as if trying to decide on a suitable target. Ian had the sudden realization that this thing didn't intend to leave without its prize. 

Eventually the Soul Cage had enough. Swinging its arm in a wide arc, it knocked many people aside. Then it came at the brothers. 

"Incoming!" Barley hollered.

"Bastion Fortigar!" Ian called out. 

The shield formed around them just as its claws hit them. But it came from the side, and despite not being hit by it directly, Ian and Barley still went flying off their feet. The shield disappeared instantly, and Ian's vision spun, briefly going dark as he hit the ground. He groaned at the impact, and it took a minute for him to rouse himself. Sound faded in and out, and the world shook and rocked around him. He held his head, trying to will everything to stay still. When awareness came back fully he was on his knees, and his hands were empty. He looked around in panic, then saw his staff lying a dozen feet away. He climbed to his feet, ready to grab it, when he heard Barley cry out. Ian whirled around to see his brother with his back against a tall, dilapidated brick wall, and his expression was terrified. The Soul Cage loomed over him, its arms spread out to the sides to keep Barley cornered, and Ian saw the padlock on its door come undone. It floated in the air as the door opened, and Ian knew what was about to happen.

There wasn't enough time. Not for Barley to escape, and not for Ian to retrieve his staff and drive the Soul Cage off. So Ian did the one thing that there was enough time for. He ran forward, farther away from his staff and closer to danger, his feet carrying him as fast as they were able. Ian ducked under its arm and kept running, and chains shot out from within the cage just as Ian appeared between the monster and his brother. 

Time seemed to stop as the chains wrapped around Ian's chest and midsection, and his brown eyes met Barley's hazel ones, wide with horror and disbelief. He saw Barley's hands, frantically reaching for him to pull him back. But he was too slow, and Ian was yanked off his feet and through the cage's door. Ian crashed into the skeleton, scattering its bones in every direction, and his eyes watered as a cloud of dust erupted from his landing.

"No! IAN!" 

Barley's scream was the last thing Ian heard before the door slammed shut, and then he was surrounded by the sound of people, moaning and crying. Ian shook off the chains, which had gone limp, and rushed toward the bars. But his fate was sealed when the padlock clicked back into place, locking him in. 

"Barley!" Ian cried helplessly.

He was suddenly thrown against the side as the Soul Cage fled, the ground getting further and further away as the beast took flight. Ian saw the officers race to their cars, but he knew they wouldn't make it in time to catch up. The Soul Cage was too fast, too desperate...too hungry. 

The sky grew dark as they traveled into the wilderness. Ian fought in vain to pry the bars apart, his terror growing the more he listened to the souls he was now imprisoned with. He was getting a good idea of his eventual doom, but he didn't want to accept it. There had to be a way out of this! 

After awhile Ian caught sight of a dark, ancient-looking mansion that had a gaping hole in the corner of the rooftop. As soon as they were above it the Soul Cage descended inside, moving throughout the large, empty space until they were just above the main staircase. Its arms latched onto the rafters above, allowing it to become stationary like an ordinary bird cage. With nothing there to oppose it, it settled down to feed. 

"Is anybody there?!" Ian shouted, "Can anyone hear me?! I need help!" 

That was all he had time to say before something grabbed his stomach and dragged him through the dust to the center of the cage. Ian struggled to his knees and looked down just in time to see a large shackle encircling him, then shrinking down so that he couldn't wriggle out of it. His breathing became more rapid as three other chains shot forth from the dust to attach themselves to it. His wrists were ensnared by other shackles and pulled behind his back before he could even react, and by the time more chains dropped from above to trap his throat he was hyperventilating. Ian looked up, and he felt the blood drain from his face when he saw them...streams of glimmering mist, which then changed their shape to become withered-looking, sharp-nailed hands. Ian squirmed, trying to move away as they came closer and closer, but the chains were too sturdy. Then one final shackle flew at his head, wrapping around his eyes, and he saw no more. 

Ian felt it for the first time: the smoke filling his skull and his chest, the claws in his mind and his soul. And he screamed. 

There was no other choice Ian could've made that day. Ian knew that. If he wasn't here, then Barley would be instead, left to suffer and die alone. His older, kind-hearted, lovable brother didn't deserve that. 

It was just...Ian couldn't help but wish that this never happened. That he and Barley had never gone out that day. Was it wrong to fear his death, which he sensed was right around the corner? He felt so cold, his heart was beating sluggishly, and he was so weak and hungry...he doubted it would be much longer now. 

"Ian...can you hear me?"

Yes, Ian could hear Barley, just like always...but vaguely he wondered why the voice wasn't as loud as normal.

"Ian?"

Yeah. I'm not dead.

Ian expected to hear the apparition say something else...what he wasn't expecting was for something to slap itself over his mouth while something else grasped the back of his head. Ian jumped, his panicked yells blocked by the obstruction. This was the first time he felt something physical besides chains, and he had no idea what it was! 

"Ian! Calm down!" Barley's voice said, hushed and urgent.

Ian whimpered, and his body trembled in fear. He flinched when he felt something next to his ear.

"...It's me."

Ian froze. 

"I'm here now." 

The object...a hand, flesh-and-blood...fell away from his face and rubbed his shoulder.

It finally happened. Ian's psyche had snapped completely, and his hallucinations were becoming stronger than ever. That was all this meant. 

"Ian, I'm gonna cut you out of these chains. But I need you to be quiet and hold still, okay?" 

Now his mind was turning against him. It was playing cruel tricks on him, dangling the thought of freedom in front of his face, ready to take it away. A few more tears fell from his eyes at this theory...and he gasped as hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping the tears away.

Those hands felt so real...

...was...

...was this truly...?

Barley? Ian mouthed, daring to hope. 

"That's right. We came for you, Ian. We're gonna take you home." 

It was Barley. The real Barley, and not something his mind had conjured to cope with his pain. Ian found himself leaning forward, as much as his restraints would allow, and he felt Barley's forehead press against his own. He could hear Barley's breath hitching, and somehow Ian knew that his brother was trying not to cry. 

"Ian? We're here, sweetie."

Ian thought he might crumple as he processed the second voice...his mother.

"I'm right out here, Ian. Once you're free, I'll help you climb out."

"Okay," Barley murmured shakily, "I brought some bolt cutters--that's how I got the padlock off. But we have to be quiet so that it doesn't wake up."

Wake up? thought Ian, baffled. That was when the sound of thunder registered, intermingling with the cries of the dead. Barley must've left the door open, with Laurel waiting on the other side. But if that was the case, why weren't the souls taking their chance? Why weren't they leaving? Did they not recognize the opportunity? Ian's heart sank at the thought. At any rate, it was the first time in ages that he'd heard anything taking place outside. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Ian felt Barley's fingers trace the edges of the shackle around his eyes, looking for a way to open it, and giving up upon realizing that there wasn't one. A few seconds later, Ian heard the sound of a chain snapping, followed by Barley quickly grabbing the severed pieces and lowering both ends gently to the floor. Barley repeated the process with other chains, his movements careful and methodical. Once the chain binding his wrists was cut, Ian slowly swung his arms out in front of him, his fingers twitching and curling. The shackles were still there, but it hardly mattered. Just the simple act of being able to move his limbs again nearly made him break down. Barley took both of Ian's hands in one of his, his fingers massaging them.

"I brought you something," said Barley softly. Something was pushed into Ian's half-dormant hands...his staff. Once he could get them to work properly, Ian tenderly ran his fingertips over the wood, feeling oddly nostalgic. 

Ian was impatient to get out, now that his rescue was happening for real, but he had just enough sense left to remain still. Besides, after all the time he'd spent in this horrible thing, he didn't know how much strength he still possessed. Suddenly he was anxious about this fact. What if something went wrong? What if Ian would need to run, or fight, only to be overpowered? Surely it wouldn't take much effort on the Soul Cage's part to do so. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Three of the chains that were linked to his collar were disconnected, and Ian was wobbling, about to fall over. Barley caught him. "We're almost done," Barley whispered gently. It occurred to Ian that if the monster was sleeping, he could actually talk. Verbally. But...he was too afraid. The consequences had been so terrible. 

Things were going okay...until the last chain on the collar was cut.

Barley must not have been fast enough to catch it. Ian heard his brother hiss "No!" before there was a loud clang as the chain swung into the bars. The floor beneath them began to vibrate. Laurel shouted, and Ian heard the door swing shut.

"No, no, no!" Barley uttered.

The Soul Cage was awake...and it was angry.

A rasping cry was wrenched from Ian as the shackle around his middle, attached to the only chain Barley hadn't broken, suddenly tightened. He fell onto his side, hands scrabbling weakly at it, but he couldn't make it come loose.

"Ian?!" Barley said, frightened.

Ian wheezed, unable to answer as the shackle constricted even more, forcing the air out of his lungs. Comprehension dawned on him. Ian knew that this was it, the Soul Cage had no intention of backing off this time, it was going to kill him rather than let him escape.

"Hang on, Ian!" 

Ian heard Barley get to his feet, remembering that his brother still had the bolt cutters, when the Soul Cage unexpectedly jolted to the side. Barley fell to his feet, and Ian rolled in the ashes. He could see sparks lighting in the darkness as the agony increased and the shackle tightened even more.

Then the hissing started again. The demon was coming.

"No, I won't let you take him!" Barley snarled. Ian felt his brother's arms wrap around his head in an effort to prevent the demon from invading Ian's body. Barley hissed at it, "Stay back!" 

Ian grabbed Barley's vest, wordlessly pleading for release. But at the forefront of Ian's fractured mind was the knowledge of Barley's impossible choice. He could either leave Ian's side to retake the bolt cutters and break the final chain, letting the monster steal his soul...or he could guard Ian's soul and watch as the shackle broke his little brother's body and killed him. 

The Soul Cage shook even more, flinging the brothers around like they were in a snowglobe. Barley dragged them both along the floor and braced Ian against the bars, attempting to keep them still as the Soul Cage continued its wild movements.

 Ian writhed in Barley's arms, strangled gasps wrangled from his throat. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't get this thing off, his spine was on the verge of snapping--

"Manticore, I need you!" Barley bellowed, not even bothering to hide how scared he was for his brother. 

Ian heard a screeching of metal, followed by what sounded like a lion's roar. "Ian!" It was the Manticore's voice, ferocious with rage yet intense with worry.

"The chain!" Barley cried. Sound became fuzzy in Ian's ears. "Destroy it!" 

Distantly, Ian heard the chain break. The shackle stopped shrinking...but now it couldn't grow, either. Ian's breaths came in short puffs, his chest rattling. 

"Boys, get down!" the Manticore ordered. Barley pulled their heads to the floor. Heat washed over them as the Manticore breathed a great cloud of fire. An enraged screech sounded as the flames warded the evil presence off. 

Ian felt the floor rattle as the master adventurer stomped over to them. She fumbled with the shackle, possibly looking for leverage. "I knew bringing my own chains would come in handy!" she exclaimed.

"She tossed some chains through the bars," Barley told Ian, "Mom and Colt are holding this thing down!"

Ian didn't care what was happening--he just wanted this thing off of him! 

"Oh, forget this!" the Manticore snapped. 

Ian felt her teeth against his shirt, and she bit down on the metal. There was a moment of resistance, but her jaws proved to be stronger, and the metal broke and fell away. 

"Yes!" Barley cheered.

Ian sucked in a single, loud breath, then another, and another. Then he moaned pathetically.

"You okay, buddy?" Barley asked fretfully.

In response, Ian held up a shaky thumbs-up. 

"Good, now let's get--"

"Unhand me, you unholy spawn!" 

The Manticore's outraged shout interrupted Barley. She yelled as she was sent flying away. If ever there was a time Ian wished he could see what was occurring around him, it was now. Barley yanked him to his feet. 

"We've gotta go! While we still have the chance!" 

Ian's feet shuffled uncooperatively, trying to support his own weight. But he'd been down for too long, and he toppled out of Barley's hold. 

"I'm sorry," Ian croaked, speaking for the first time in...he didn't want to contemplate how long. 

"Don't be!" Barley said vehemently. 

Ian felt his brother take his hand...but then it disappeared as Barley was ripped away from him.

"No!" Barley screamed, and Ian knew he'd just been thrown out of the cage. 

His heart pounded. His arms flailed blindly for the one object that could still save his life...his staff. Once his fingers bumped into it, Ian grasped it securely. He could still hear voices from outside--Barley's, Laurel's, Colt's, and the Manticore's, all overlapping each other as they battled the Soul Cage. That must mean that the door was still open--the Manticore might have even ripped it off its hinges. He could crawl toward it, throw himself out. Escape.

But something held him there. It wasn't the chains that dangled from the shackles he still wore. It wasn't the genuine possibility that the Soul Cage might simply grab him and toss him back inside. It was his own will.

The demon had to die. It had to pay for all the lives it had devoured, the souls it had taken unjustly, the minds and memories it had violated. For the families it had torn asunder with each loved one abducted. Whether it was fair or not, responsibility rested on Ian's shoulders. He needed to ensure that the Soul Cage could never harm anyone again. 

Ian crawled through the ashes, searching for the chains on the floor, because if he found them he would find the center of the cage. He heard the others calling to him, telling him to get out while he still could, but he would not be distracted from his goal. His hand brushed one of the chains. He'd made it.

He was still too frail to stand, and the cage was still trying to break free of its unwanted anchors. So Ian rolled onto his back. He aimed his staff straight up, where he knew its eye was. 

"Voltar Thundasir!" Ian chanted. But his voice was feeble, and he heard only a slight crackle of electricity.

Ian gasped as something moved against him...the cage's chains. They were slow, and as weak as he was. But they were still moving, which had to mean that they were reforming. Ian didn't have much time--he had to end this now. 

"Voltar Thundasir!" Ian recited again, his voice coming out a bit stronger and clearer. But it still wasn't enough to trigger the spell. He could feel the chains beginning to wrap around him...

A cry cut through the air, diverting Ian's attention. It was his mother's cry--the Soul Cage must've landed a hit on her. 

"Mom!" Barley yelled. Then there was another cry as Barley was hit next.

Ian felt his mind become sharp and bright with pure rage.

No creature, demonic or otherwise, ever hurt his family!

Once more Ian aimed his staff--this was his last chance, and from deep inside him he called on all of the courage and fortitude he had left. 

"VOLTAR THUNDASIR!" 

Ian's spell emerged as a battle cry, and he heard the lightning fly, powerful and true. He knew it had hit its mark when he was nearly deafened by the explosion. A shriek rang through the air, sounding like it didn't belong to anything even remotely mortal. It was drowned out by the sound of voices, dozens upon dozens of voices, screaming in joy. 

The cage fell to the floor, knocking Ian around within. The chains around him went lifeless and slid off of him. His arms fell to his sides, one of his hands still clutching the staff. Ian felt his body grow even heavier than before, the last of his energy depleted. Weirdly, he felt water falling onto his skin and past his dry lips, but he couldn't bring himself to complain.

The Soul Cage, his captor and torturer...was defeated.

So why was everything still quaking?

"Ian!"

He heard his mother calling him--she sounded okay, at least. But Ian couldn't go to her. He could barely move at all. Footsteps approached him, and he was scooped into someone's arms. 

"I've got him!" It was the Manticore. 

"Good!" That was Colt, sounding winded from the ordeal, "Now let's get outta here! The whole place is coming down!" 

Oh, so that was it. Ian must've damaged more than just the cage's eye with his spell. But he couldn't do anything about it now. He just lay in the Manticore's arms as she carried him out of the cage, and then they all ran for the door. Ian thought he might go into shock when fresh air filled his nose and rain pattered his face, for both of them were sensations he was certain he'd never feel again. But he couldn't think on it too closely, because they were overwhelmed by the sound of the collapsing mansion. The event was punctuated by a loud clap of thunder.

They must've reached a safe enough distance, because Ian was laid gently on the grass. Every inch of his body seemed to melt in relief that he was finally off his knees. 

"Call an ambulance," Laurel demanded with barely contained fright. Ian heard her dart to his side. She lifted him to a sitting position and cradled him, his head resting on her shoulder.

"Already on it," Colt answered. His voice was a bit steadier, but not by much. 

Ian heard someone kneel by his other side. He could tell from the ragged breathing that it was Barley. "We've gotta get these shackles off," Barley muttered, fingers pulling at the blindfold. 

"We'll have to wait until they get him to the hospital," Laurel replied, pushing Barley's hands away. "Ian?" she said softly, turning her attention to her youngest child. Her fingers brushed through his filthy hair. "Sweetheart...?" 

Ian could feel her shaking, but he knew it wasn't because the rain had drenched her clothes. As for Ian himself...he wasn't shaking anymore. He didn't know why...he still didn't feel warm. 

"Ian?" Barley said nervously, "We need you to stay awake, little brother."

Stay awake? Why should he? After all that he'd been through, how was it fair to tell him to stay awake for even another minute? 

But...there was something he needed to do before he could sleep. 

Timidly, Ian raised his hand. Now it was trembling from exertion, the chain clinking against its cuff. He felt around until his hand found Laurel's cheek. He had to make up for one of his earliest missteps...when he had seen her crying and done nothing. He cupped her face, and he felt her hand rest on top of his.

"Mom," he whispered, barely audible, "it's okay...now..."

It was the best he could do. His hand slipped out of hers and dropped to the ground like a stone. Then he sank into a darkness that was thicker and deeper than even blindness. 

He stood in a golden field, the grass reaching up to his knees, the sky above a vibrant blue.

Ian looked around, taking in the view with a feeling of awe. The land was so big, so expansive and alive. It seemed impossible that anything bad could ever touch this place. He closed his eyes as the breeze caressed his skin, and he smiled at how warm he felt from the rays of the sun. His ears were filled with the songs of the birds that soared over his head. 

He opened his eyes...and was stunned to see someone there. 

A young cyclops woman, about his height, her eye sparkling. 

"Um...hello...?" Ian greeted, waving his hand shyly, "Who are you?" 

She said nothing, simply giving him a look of encouragement. Puzzled, Ian turned to glance behind him, and was startled by the presence of a troll. Male and an adult, yet short for his species. He was wearing a small, friendly smile. He opened his mouth, saying something, but no sound reached Ian's ears. 

"I can't..." said Ian, "I can't hear you." 

He detected someone as his side, and when he rotated his head he saw a tall elven woman, her hair and skin a deep violet like his friend Sadalia's. She looked incredibly happy. Ian wasn't sure why. She was speaking, but just like the troll, she seemed voiceless. Was something wrong with Ian's hearing? No, his ears were still picking up noise, he could hear the grass rustling and the birds still singing. 

Ian found himself turning in a slow circle, watching as more and more people appeared out of the blue. Men and women, young and old. Satyrs and gnomes, cyclops and elves, centaurs, trolls...he could even see races that weren't native to the land he resided in, such as druids, dwarves, and orcs. 

Who were these people? Why couldn't Ian listen to what they were telling him? And why were they all giving him the same expression, a look of admiration, relief...and gratitude? 

So strange...Ian hadn't done anything to warrant such attention. Come to think of it...he didn't even know why he was here.

A shift seemed to take place among the group--Ian could feel it somehow. One by one...they began to turn away from him. They walked deeper into the field, heading towards the horizon. 

"Hey," Ian said uncertainly as the strangers passed him, "Where are you all going...?" 

None of them answered his question, but they spared him glances and smiles, and many of them waved in farewell. 

"Hey! Wait! Tell me who you are!" Ian said. Fear started to make itself known in Ian's heart. "Please, stop!" He stretched out his hand to grasp a druid man's shoulder, and he gasped when it phased right through him. "What...?"

He stared at his hand in disbelief for a few seconds. He tried again, desiring for someone to give him an explanation, but he achieved the exact same results with an orc woman, then a young troll woman, then a stout cyclops man. None of them were tangible to Ian, and they didn't heed Ian's requests for answers. So Ian decided that, if they wouldn't stay, then he would go with them. 

Ian sprinted through the grass, panting and puffing as he struggled to catch up to the strangers. But something curious was occurring. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't keep pace with them, and each and every one of these people remained ahead of him. When he looked back, he saw that there was no one behind him. He was at the very back of this exodus. His eyes returned to the front, and they widened as he witnessed the strangers rising from the ground. They floated in midair, rapidly ascending toward the sun. 

But Ian could not follow them. He jumped, again and again and again, but gravity always brought him back down. "Wait!" he called loudly, "Please! Don't leave!" He reached his hand out futilely. "Don't leave me alone!" 

His pleas did him no good. The strangers became more like silhouettes the higher they flew, until eventually...they were all gone. Ian breathed heavily as he stopped running and dropped to his hands and knees. This sudden isolation was crushing him.

"I don't wanna be alone..." said Ian softly, even though there was no one left to hear him.

The wind blew past him, changing from a breeze to a gust. Goosebumps prickled his skin as the temperature dropped. He looked up to the sky, now dark and gray with thunderclouds. Ian didn't know what to do. There was nowhere he could go, nobody he could seek out. He sat, knees curled up to his chest as the first few raindrops landed. 

Faintly...he could hear voices.

"...won't wake up!" 

The winds blew harder. A few drops of rain became several.

"His heart...!"

"You...to save...!"

"...help him!"

The panicked shouts didn't sound like they were rolling in from somewhere in the field. Rather...he heard them inside his own head.

"Get him...gurney!"

Ian clutched his hair, wanting to force the words out of his brain. They were scaring him, not helping, and he wanted them gone so he could figure out how to leave this field. 

"Ian!"

Which way should he go? It looked the same in every direction. He shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

"He's not breathing!"

Ian was sinking into the grass. He couldn't feel the ground.

"Breathe...!"

The winds died down. The rain stopped. 

"...got his pulse?"

He drifted, no longer bound to the earth.

"You're strong."

Ian opened his eyes...he could see through his hands. He was floating in a gray void, scattered raindrops hovering on all sides of him. 

"Come back...brave...brother..."

His fear was fading. In its place was a still tranquility, a supporting reassurance. It felt like an old friend. 

"...right...with you."

His best friend.

"Please..."

I'm not alone, Ian realized. 

He had no proof for this conclusion to make sense, but it did. It was an instinct, deep in his heart. Something like faith.

"IAN!"

Someone is calling me.

Ian was enveloped in a flash of white light. 

It hurt. It hurt everywhere. 

His skin was sore, his back was throbbing, his head had been bludgeoned, his stomach was eating itself, his arms and legs and feet and hands and fingers were heavy and useless, his lungs and chest and throat were full, they were much too full, he wasn't breathing right, his eyes felt thick and swollen, he couldn't see, everything was dark, no vision but there was sound, too much sound, there was beeping and rasping and loud talking, he was cold, so cold--!

Where am I?! he thought in agonized terror, What's happening to me?!

He couldn't talk, he couldn't even if he wanted to, he couldn't move, he could only stay there and feel, feel everything that afflicted him, he didn't know what or how or why, he was alone but not, a ruined, lone island battered by the chaotic sea that surrounded him, it hurt, his heart was strained to its limits, it had been fighting and struggling and surviving for so long--

I can't do this! I can't stay here! I don't want to, it's too much! 

His courage was overpowered by his panic, driven by pain so strong it wiped all other cognition out of his head, and when oblivion beckoned to him, he surrendered with a prayer for peace. 

"It doesn't have to end this way." 

He opened his eyes. He was...he didn't know where he was. It seemed as if he'd been dropped into a blank canvas. A place where smell, color and texture did not exist. He looked around, confused.

"Is someone here?" he asked in a small voice. He hugged himself. Tried to figure out what he had been doing. The memories were hazy...

"I know you're scared, Ian. I know you've been hurt."

Ian...that's my name, he remembered with a shock. 

"But there's nothing to worry about."

Ian looked around, but try as he might, he couldn't see the source of that voice. However...it sounded familiar. Ian began to walk, seeing no point in standing still. "Who's there?" he called as he went. 

"Follow my voice, Ian. I'll lead you out."

The voice said no more, but Ian heard a pleasant humming fill the atmosphere. It brought a small smile to his face. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

The humming stopped. The voice sighed sadly. "You're in-between."

"Between what?" Ian asked, frowning. 

There was a hesitant pause. "Life and death."

Ian's steps slowed. "I...I don't understand." 

"You'll have to choose which way to go." 

"Choose...?"

"We're almost there."

Ian squinted his eyes. Something was taking shape in the distance. 

"Where are you taking me?" Ian asked his unknown guide.

"You'll see," the voice responded affectionately. 

At first the shape was blurry, incomprehensible. As Ian drew closer it stretched wider and wider. Color appeared above and below, swiftly obscuring the white void that Ian had found himself in. Ian came to a stop as his surroundings changed completely.

He was next to a street. The asphalt was cracked with age, the lines were faded, and the edges were crumbling into gravel. He glanced up to see the sky, gradually turning indigo as dusk set in. When he lowered his gaze, he saw a vehicle. A van, identified by the word Valor near its front. It was a vibrant purple, with a white pegasus surrounded by lightning emblazoned on its side. The bumpers were attached by rope.

"Do you recognize this, Ian?"

Ian turned. Behind him was his companion, a figure glowing in such a bright gold that Ian had to shield his eyes at the sight of it. It was difficult to say for certain, but it looked and sounded like a man. 

"I..." said Ian, faltering, "I don't know." He felt embarrassed--there was something about this van that was tugging at Ian's heart, telling him that it was significant. But what?

"It's okay," the golden figure said gently as he walked past him, "It'll come to you." 

Ian surveyed the vehicle again in fascination. It looked like it had seen better days. The guide opened one of its back doors. "Are you coming?"

"Huh?" said Ian, befuddled.

"You have to drive us."

Intrigued, Ian walked over to the driver's door, opening it and climbing inside. He turned the key in the ignition as the stranger settled down in the passenger seat. Ian didn't question how he knew not to turn the key all the way, nor did he have any misgivings as he shifted gears and pressed down on the gas pedal. There was no map, no clue on where he should go, yet his hands knew when to turn the steering wheel and when to stay their course. 

"Why am I here?" 

"To decide on where you want to go."

"You keep saying that," said Ian, watching the trees pass by, "I don't understand what you're telling me." 

The man wasn't glowing as radiantly as before. Ian could almost make out a few features when he looked at him--a beard on his face, khakis, glasses covering his eyes. "You were injured, Ian. Badly. And not just physically--you were attacked on a much deeper level as well." There was something peculiar about the way the man was speaking. His voice was steady enough, but there was a slight quake in it. As if he'd been shaken. Weird, really--this man didn't know him.

Ian cast his gaze ahead, feeling lost. He couldn't recall the events that had led him here, not exactly. But...if he concentrated enough...he could remember fragments. Sensations.

Screams in his ears.

Skin rubbed raw.

Pressure on his spine.

Metal on his throat.

Ashes on his hands.

Claws in his heart--

"Ian."

A hand on Ian's shoulder, firm but tender, brought the teenager back to himself. His body was trembling, and he tightened his grip on the wheel to dispel it. He didn't want to ask, but he had to. 

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

The hand vanished. "You don't have to, not if you fight." 

"Fight?" Ian glanced away from the road. He could see the man's pointed ears, his long nose...his solemn smile. 

"If you want to live, you'll have to fight to stay. It won't be easy."

Ian was afraid. These flashbacks he was having, the ones that hinted that something terrible had befallen him...

"What if..." Ian bit his lip. "What if I..." 

"...don't want to fight?" the entity finished. Nothing about him seemed judgmental...but Ian noticed the sorrowful look in his eyes. 

"Yeah..." Ian mumbled shamefully.

"Then you would leave with me. We would journey together...forever."

That honestly didn't sound so bad. In the short time Ian had known him, his guide had been such a nice man. Everything about him invited trust. And this van was comfortable in spite of its (her) quirks. Yet Ian was still tied down with doubt. 

"Would there be any danger?" Ian questioned, "Anything that could hurt us?"

"Never," the man said, shaking his head, "I would always protect you." 

"Where would we go?"

The figure said softly, "Onward."

Ian was tempted. It sounded so wonderful, to never have to fear anything again. To venture through eternity without ever being threatened. But a voice--different from the stranger--floated up from the shadows in his mind.

"Put it in 'O'--for Onward!"

Ian's eyes fell on the dashboard, where a piece of tape with the letter 'O' was marked. What did this mean? 

"What are you thinking, Ian?" his companion inquired.

"I think," Ian said slowly, "I heard someone calling me. Before, I mean." His eyes met the mystery figure's. "It wasn't you."

The man said nothing, just waited for him to continue. 

"I don't remember his name," Ian confessed, "I don't know who it was. But...I do know it was someone very important to me. If I go with you...I'd never see him again, would I?" 

"You would when his time would come. But in either of your lifetimes? No, you wouldn't." 

Was it worth it to stay, though? Was it worth it to travel through wave upon wave of suffering? When all he had to go on was an echo? 

"I might choose wrong," Ian said anxiously.

The man was patient. "What is your heart telling you?"

His heart...Ian closed his eyes in thought. 

"Hey...you can do this." 

Ian straightened. 

"I believe in you."

"It's telling me to go back," said Ian resolutely, turning his head to face the guide. "That I have a family waiting for me."

The man broke into a grin at Ian's answer. For some reason, he looked relieved. "Good. Now, listen closely. Once we stop, you'll need to get out. This is about as far as we can go together." 

Ian nodded. "Got it." 

"It's important that you don't give up. That if you get knocked down, you get back on your feet, whatever it takes. You'll need to press on, no matter what happens."

Ian swallowed. "What will I be facing?"

"I can't say," the man told Ian apologetically, "Life is different for everyone. But staying can be hard." He sighed. "It was for me..." 

Oh...he was already dead. Ian wasn't surprised, considering their discussion, but he felt sympathy for this stranger. The man saw Ian's expression, and he chuckled.

"But this isn't about me. I think...no, I know you'll be okay. You're much stronger than me. You've made it this far. You just need to go a little further. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ian said quietly. 

"Then we can stop here."

"Okay." Ian slowed the van and parked it. He got out of the driver's seat and made his way to the back of the van. He opened the door, then said over his shoulder, "Thank you so much for your help." He hopped out of the van, taking in the wilderness around him, and started to walk.

"Of course...I'm so proud of you, Ian."

The words pulled Ian up short. 

"I remember his beard was scratchy, he had a goofy laugh, and I used to play drums on his feet."

"When he walked into a room, people noticed...he was just bold."

"He fought so hard because he wanted to meet you more than anything."

"He's very proud of the person you grew up to be."

Ian gasped as he remembered. He whirled around. Raced back to the vehicle, where Wilden Lightfoot stood inside.

"Dad!"

Just as he was about to reach him...he ran into something. Ian staggered backwards, nearly falling over. He shook his head a bit to shake off the impact. But when he recovered, he saw that there was nothing there. Ian cautiously stretched his hand out, and he felt the invisible wall that was now standing between them.

"You've already made your choice, Ian," Wilden explained, his tone delicate. 

Ian's heart fell and he bowed his head. His gaze landed on his father's purple socks. "I know." His voice cracked. "I just..." 

"I feel the same way. If I'd given into my wish to give you a big hug...I don't know if I could ever have let you go."

Ian could feel tears filling his eyes and with great effort, he forced them back. 

"Ian, it's okay," his father said reassuringly, "It won't be forever. We'll see each other again."

A wobbly smile appeared on Ian's face as he looked back up. "Well," he said a little hoarsely, "You'll have to wait a...a long time."

Wilden was unbothered. "I'm a patient man." 

He placed his palm on the barrier. Ian put his hand in the same spot just on the other side. They stood that way for what felt like forever, neither of them wanting to pull away. But in truth, it wasn't very long. 

"It's time to go, Ian."

Reluctantly, Ian stepped back. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, Iandore." Wilden's eyes, the same color and shape of...his...were shining. 

There was so much more Ian wanted to say...but the words wouldn't come, and even if they did, they wouldn't convey nearly enough. His throat closing up, Ian had to train his eyes on the ground below his feet. Leaving was hard, but he'd accepted that it was the only way forward. Only when he'd walked a good distance away did he allow himself to look back. 

The original Guinevere was just a speck on the horizon, taking his father with her. 

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

He couldn't move. His whole body felt made of cement. His thoughts were just as heavy. Vaguely he registered that something was wrong, but he was too exhausted to care. 

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

His limbs were aching. His chest was, too. His back. His head. His wrists. His very muscles. There was a dull throbbing in each and every one of them. 

Maybe he did care.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

His eyes had been glued shut. That's what it felt like, anyway. Perhaps he just didn't have a desire to open them. Being awake...may just be too much trouble.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

But...there had to be a reason, right? For being aware right now? He wasn't sure...it hurt to think.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

He was...searching. Wasn't he? 

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

Searching for someone.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

Someone who was calling for him.

This thought, an instinct more intangible than logic, is what finally caused him to stir. He forced his weighted eyelids to open, and quickly regretted it as the light stabbed into his eyes. His face scrunched, and he moaned at the unpleasant surprise. 

Someone gasped. 

"Ian...?"

He couldn't immediately put a name to that voice, but nevertheless the sound of it was enough to wash his worries away. 

"Is he--?" A second voice, feminine, that was equally comforting to him. 

Foosteps approached his side. He didn't open his eyes, the light being too painful, but he could sense that there were faces hanging over him. "Hello...?" he tried, his own voice a faint whisper. 

A choked, relieved laugh sounded, and someone kissed his temple. "My boy, my wonderful baby!"

"Mom," Ian slurred, so happy to hear her. She took his hand and caressed his cheek. The gesture melted his tired heart.

Someone else squeezed his shoulder. "Welcome back, Ian," he said shakily.

Ian's smile grew a bit wider. "Barley...hi."

"Hi to you too, my squire," was his older brother's watery response. 

"Ian," said their mother, "are your eyes hurting? Here, I'll turn the lights off. I'll go get the others, too, and the doctor. Let them know!"

"I'll close the curtains," Barley offered as her footsteps retreated. There was the sound of curtains being drawn, and he returned. "Can you open your eyes now?"

Ian tried. He really did. But while it didn't hurt as much, having his eyes open to slits was the best he could manage. His vision was blurry.

"That's okay, you're still sleepy," Barley said encouragingly. He patted Ian's hand.

"I think I was dreaming..." Ian murmured.

"Oh," Barley said in an odd tone, "What about?"

Light and shadows...colors and words...running and falling...

"I don't know..." Ian answered, troubled. He was already drifting off. He fell asleep to the sound of the beeping machine.

Ian hadn't been expected to survive. Not that he knew this: the last thing Ian remembered before he woke up in a hospital bed was being in his mother's arms and trying to dry her tears.

He was already in bad shape by the time the paramedics had arrived on the scene, but his heart had nearly stopped--twice. The first time CPR had been performed, and the second time occurred at the hospital, in which the doctors had used a defibrillator. Both incidents had transpired in the span of two hours. 

His physical ailments weren't that serious, all things considered. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a long while, but based on the Manticore's knowledge, being inside a Soul Cage slowed deterioration of the victim's body. Possibly so that they would die more gradually, and thus allow the demon a longer meal. Ian had some pretty awful bruises on various parts of his body, the worst being on his back, his neck, and his eyes. He did have a fever for a time, and doctors were concerned about the possibility of him contracting pneumonia. More often than not they'd kept his bed reclined so that he could breathe easier. 

The bigger problem was that in spite of what should've been minor-to-moderate issues, Ian's body was on the brink of shutting down. As soon as he'd been brought in to the hospital they'd placed him in the Intensive Care Unit. The first few days had been the diciest--they'd had to put him on a ventilator and keep a close watch on him to make sure his heart didn't fail. The Soul Cage had fed on Ian's spirit for an entire week, to the point where it had very nearly been severed from his body for good. Even as the days passed and his body had healed enough to be moved to a regular hospital room, Ian had still been in a coma for another week. Throughout all of this, they hadn't believed Ian would ever wake up. 

It took quite some time to get the full story on where the Soul Cage had even come from. But out in the countryside, not too far from New Mushroomton, there was an ancient castle that had stood empty for decades. With no living heirs left to claim it, the castle was finally allowed to be sold, with the purchaser intending to remodel it for reasons undisclosed. When the purchase was made, the castle came with a written warning detailing a sealed chamber in the heart of the castle...one that must never be opened under any circumstances. Why the previous owner couldn't exlain the reason for this, even in writing, was anyone's guess. But then again, the people who built New Mushroomton completely failed to notice the lethal gauntlet that was literally under their feet. Afterward reports would conflict on whether the chamber was opened accidentally during renovations or whether the buyer had deliberately ignored the warning. Whatever the case, the seal was broken, and the Soul Cage was unleashed. Interestingly enough, despite being surrounded by dozens of workers who were wholly unprepared to deal with this monstrosity, the creature had not even attempted to capture any of them before escaping. The Manticore theorized that its primary concern at that point was to put as much distance between itself and its centuries-long prison as possible. It disappeared quickly, and before long it found the abandoned mansion in the forest and claimed it. Everyone knew what came next.

Of course, all this information was withheld from Ian, and would remain so until long after he was better. After his awakening Ian hadn't spared much thought about whatever might've taken place after he'd lost consciousness at the mansion, or why the Soul Cage had been out and about that day. He was too busy struggling through the recovery process. 

He was still very weak and frail. Even a task as simple as crossing a room took an enormous amount of energy. He had to do breathing exercises, undergo examinations, take medicine, choke down hospital food, have x-rays done, answer questions, have appointments scheduled (such as for physical therapy), take walks for as long as his body could handle. All of which was done in yet another week. It was long, grueling, even mortifying at times. The only thing that made the experience tolerable was the presence of his family members, who stayed with him through everything. Even though Ian barely spoke, they did their absolute best to keep his spirits up. By the time he went back to sleep every day he was so wiped out that he couldn't ponder on the past or future. His every waking thought was stuck on the here and now. 

At least, until the time finally came to return home.

It all really started to sink in late one evening, not long after he'd been discharged.

Ian woke up from a dream where claws made of smoke had grabbed at him, tearing his clothes and his skin, creeping closer and closer to his face. One thought led to another, and memories of his horrible ordeal flooded his mind and refused to go away. He remembered the chains holding him down, the cold that seeped into his body, the remains of the dead scattered around him--

His door opened, and Barley was there, checking on Ian before retiring as he had done every night so far. Barley had always had uncanny timing, and at this moment Ian found it to be both a blessing and a curse. He was breathing shallowly, eyes burning and muscles tense, and he hadn't wanted anyone to see him like this. 

"Ian?" said Barley worriedly, striding into the room and kneeling by his bedside, "Did you have a nightmare?"

Ian shrugged--even if he hadn't, his thoughts and recollections were out of place nowadays. How could he be sure of anything?

Barley settled his hand on Ian's back. "Talk to me, buddy." 

Ian opened his mouth, ready to tell Barley he was fine. But he couldn't fight his own emotions off anymore, and he burst into tears. They streamed down his cheeks, and no matter how many times Ian scrubbed them away there was more to replace them. Barley didn't say anything, didn't even hesitate. He just pulled Ian into a protective embrace. Ian didn't know why, but the reminder that he could feel his brother's warmth after a lifetime of cold elevated his crying to full-on sobbing. 

"You're okay, Ian," Barley told him gently, rubbing his back with one hand, "I've got you. Just let it out."

It was undignifying, losing so much control over himself like this. But at this moment Ian was no longer a young wizard maturing into adulthood, but a traumatized child who desperately wanted his big brother. He was so lucky that Barley had never failed to give him what he needed. He stayed right where he was, holding Ian and humming an old lullaby their mother used to sing to them, never once straying from his side. He hugged Ian to him, his shirt growing soaked from Ian's tears, until eventually they wound down to a few hiccups and the occasional shuddering breath. 

"Are you good?" Barley asked as Ian rubbed his eyes. Ian nodded, sniffling. Barley took a box of tissues from Ian's nightstand and offered it to his little brother. Ian grabbed a fistful of them, using them to dry his face. 

There were many things that Ian had the urge to say. I almost died. I thought I'd never see you again. I was all alone and I went crazy. He settled for the only thing that felt safe.

"I'm sorry." 

"Ian, you have nothing to be sorry for," said Barley, taking Ian by his shoulders.

"I couldn't do anything," Ian blurted out. 

Something had been unlocked in Ian's soul, and the contents came spilling forth. Ian opened up to Barley about everything he had suffered in the week he'd been missing. How stressful and intolerable it had been to stay in the same position for days on end. How terrifying it had been to have his sight cut off for so long. How maddening it had been to not be allowed to speak, and the horror of being strangled if he uttered so much as a single word. How insane he was going from the never-ending lament of the captured souls. How it felt to be completely helpless...

"Barley...sometimes it's like I can still hear them. The other victims. I c-couldn't help them..."

"Ian, you set them free when no one else could. You helped them find peace. That makes you a hero," Barley said with conviction.

"I don't feel like a hero," Ian replied sorrowfully.

"Well, you are," Barley insisted, "You saved those people."

"I couldn't even help myself."

"You held on," Barley responded, "You fought to stay alive until we could find you, and then you fought some more. A lot of other people...they would've already been dead by the time that week was up. But you were still there, waiting. The doctors, they...they weren't sure you'd make it. They told us we should...look into making arrangements..." He trailed off, looking crushed. Before Ian could say anything to this, Barley took a deep breath and continued. "But you proved them wrong. You came back to us! Ian, if you could only understand how strong you are..." 

Ian wasn't sure he was convinced of this strength. Certainly the effort that had been spent first on surviving in the cage, and then healing after his coma, couldn't be denied. But he still felt haunted. 

"It made me see things. Things that happened in the past, that I wanted to forget, o-or at least leave behind me. And it did it so much that...that it was hard to have hope." He slumped against Barley's chest. Barley's arms re-secured him, and Ian rested a hand on his brother's wrist. "Why did it do that, Barley? What was the point?" Ian could tell from the pregnant pause that Barley didn't want to answer his question. But he did anyway.

"To break your will. If all a victim feels is despair, then...that makes it easier for the demon to steal their life." 

That made way too much sense. "It almost worked," Ian said dejectedly. 

"But it didn't," Barley emphasized, "You're stronger than that thing was."

Ian sighed. "Maybe. I still have trouble finding the good memories sometimes. But..." A smile crept onto his face. "I'm getting better at it." He wriggled free of Barley's hold, and he walked over to his desk. He unpinned something from his bulletin board and carried it back over to the bed. 

"What's that?" Barley asked curiously.

"The list I made for Dad," Ian answered. He showed it to Barley.

Play catch

Take a walk

Driving lesson

Laugh together

Heart-to-heart

Share my life with him

Every single box had been checkmarked. 

"I couldn't do that stuff with Dad," Ian said, "But I did do it with you. When I look at this list...I can feel everything again. How amazing it felt to take those first steps over the pit. How much fun we had when we were dancing so stupidly." He laughed fondly. "When I used magic for the first time. When you taught me so much more in the tunnel. And when I realized...that you were always there for me. Even when you didn't have to be." 

He looked at Barley, his smile becoming more melancholy. "I'm not okay yet. But I'll get there...right? I won't feel this way forever, will I?" 

Barley ruffled Ian's hair. "Of course not. Don't worry about it. Nothing's stopping you from making new memories." He wrapped an arm around Ian's shoulders and rested his cheek on his head. "And we'll help you with the rest."

The next morning Laurel surprised Ian by coming into his room. Blazey hopped onto his bed, licking him and yipping until he was positively awake.

"It'll just be the three of us today," Laurel informed him.

"Oh," said Ian, caught off guard. He shoved Blazey off of him, scratching her ears. "Okay, um...what are we doing?"

She gave Ian a one-armed hug. "I found our old home videos. It's been a while since we sat down and watched them!"

Ian cringed. "Oh, no..."

"Hey," Laurel scolded playfully, "Those were precious times I recorded, mister! It wouldn't hurt to revist them."

"Fine," Ian huffed, "But we're watching a real movie afterward."

She planted a kiss on Ian's hair. "Deal. I'll even make popcorn--the homemade stuff!"

Ian brightened at this. He loved homemade popcorn. 

Laurel had to assist Ian down to the first floor. He could walk on even surfaces well enough, but stairs were still tricky. When they reached the living room Ian all but collapsed onto the sofa. Blazey jumped up beside him and made herself comfortable. Barley was already there, hooking up their old VCR. 

"I didn't know we still had that thing," Ian said.

Barley spared Ian a wry smirk. "Well, some of us still respect the classics, Sir Iandore!" Ian shook his head, but he couldn't hide his amusement.  

Laurel carried a large stack of video tapes out of her bedroom. Barley stood up and walked over to the couch to give Laurel some space. She set them on the floor and sorted through them. 

"How're you holding up this fine morning, little brother?" Barley asked. He sounded nonchalant enough, but Ian could see the concern in his eyes. 

"I'm feeling okay," Ian told him sincerely. 

"Oh, how about this one?" Laurel said with a huge grin. She held up a tape marked The Boys' Birthday Show.

"Yes!" Barley said excitedly.

"No!" Ian cried, his cheeks flushing.

"Sorry, Ian," their mother said smugly, "You've been outvoted." She laughed at his groan.

The video had been just as embarrassing as Ian had remembered. He'd been four while Barley had been seven. They'd been hosting a "show" for their mom's birthday...the show in question being held in Barley's room, the stage being his bed. Barley had been performing "magic tricks", really just hiding objects behind his back and under his feet and thinking no one would notice, while Ian had been hiding under his chair in fear of "bad magic tricks that appeared bad guys". Laurel and Barley both gushed at how adorable Ian was back then, while Ian wanted to bury himself under a mountain of pillows. 

And yet...it wasn't all bad. They'd all still had fun at the time, Ian included. There had been plenty of times where they all had laughed, especially when little Barley had started singing about ducks while Ian had quacked and flapped his arms like one. Laurel had sounded like she genuinely enjoyed their antics. So as embarrassing as it was to watch, Ian felt more at ease than he had all month. 

His feet were firmly on the pedals, legs stiff with the knowledge that the training wheels were no longer there to prevent his fall. 

Ian blinked as the mental image appeared out of nowhere.

He had an iron grip on the bars as he pedaled slowly. Barley trotted alongside him, arms on either side of him in case he lost his balance.

But he didn't. The bike wobbled a little more righting itself, and Ian was able to straighten the front wheel. Barley hung back and cheered upon seeing that Ian would be fine, and the younger elf smiled in triumph. 

Ian chuckled at the warm memory. And the next tape was inserted.

Now it was Barley's ninth birthday. They were at a family friend's house, and the brothers were bouncing on a trampoline. Ian had been content to bounce normally, even on his knees or his bottom from time to time, but Barley had practically been performing gymnastics. He'd rolled around, spun in the air, sommersaulted...basically everything that should've left him with an injury but somehow didn't. Or at least, that was Ian's opinion. Their mother hadn't seemed perturbed by his stunts at all, so maybe Ian was overthinking it. But there were wide grins on both of the boys' faces, and Laurel was cheering them both on.

"What she and her flunkies say...nothing they say is important. You got it?"

Ian remembered. The day he had finally confided in Barley about what Sylvan had said to him.

"Remember when you stayed with that kid to watch over him when those crooks humiliated him? Have you seen the grades you come home with every day? And the way you're always there to help whenever Mom needs you...everything about you is special." 

Ian hugged a cushion to his stomach, casting an affectionate glance in Barley's direction.

They watched several more tapes. Each one seemed to unlock more and more recollections. He could envision his first sewing lesson with his mother. He'd initially been put off by the idea of learning a "girly" skill, but he found to his own surprise that he could do it very well, and his mother was a patient and fun teacher. And of the many qualities Ian had that he'd long believed were negative ones, sewing wasn't one of them. He loved being able to fix his own clothes.

He remembered coming home with his 1st Place ribbon in the math competition. Laurel was so proud that she'd made a homemade strawberry cake with whipped icing, Ian's favorite dessert. And even though he detested math, Barley picked his little brother up and swung him around in continuous circles, because he was glad that Ian could be good at the things that he wasn't. He even insisted that Ian stick it on the bulletin board with Wilden's photos. Laurel agreed. 

"You've only ever had your father on that wall," she said, "I think it's time you started putting things of your own up there. This is something to be proud of." 

He remembered when they'd returned home at last after the school was destroyed. They'd had Ian's birthday cake already and Ian was ready to sleep like the dead. But Barley pulled him aside, telling him there was one last thing Ian needed to do before he could rest. He led Ian to his bedroom, where he retrieved a box from under his bed. Looking pleased, Barley handed Ian his birthday gift, covered in shiny wrapping paper. Ian hadn't expected this, but he tore the paper open. His jaw dropped when he saw what was inside: a fresh copy of Journeys of the First Starseeker. Ian had never told Barley what had transpired with Cloudfaller, and he didn't ever plan to. There was no point. 

Barley grinned at Ian's speechlessness. He told Ian that he remembered how upset he was when the first copy was lost. Since they'd never found it, Barley had opted to get a new one for Ian's sixteenth birthday. He sheepishly added that he'd intended for it to come with a "passcard" allowing Ian driving privileges to Guinevere for a whole week...but now that Guinevere was gone, he had to nix that idea. Ian was still too stunned to say anything, but he wrapped his arms around Barley and embraced him tightly. He hoped that the action would say everything for him. 

Recalling these memories wasn't the same "reliving" experience as it had been in the Soul Cage. There were some gaps here and there, Ian couldn't see, hear or feel every little thing that had taken place at the time. But it was a start.

Eventually Laurel announced that they were done with the home videos. This took Ian aback--time seemed to be flying today. But he felt fine. No, not just fine. He actually felt good. 

"Are you ready for the movie?" Laurel asked.

Ian made a decision. "Actually, not yet. I want to go outside and practice my magic."

Laurel and Barley both stared at him, open-mouthed. Ian hadn't used any magic since their battle with the Soul Cage. And he'd only been home for a few days.

"Are you sure you wanna do that, Ian?" Barley asked uncharacteristically. 

"Come on," Ian teased, "since when do you want me to not do stuff?" Barley didn't laugh, and Ian sighed. "I won't push myself. I'll just be in the backyard."

"Okay," Barley relented, "But I'll be out there with you." He gave Ian a smile that didn't fully reach his eyes, and he got up and left through the door in the kitchen. Blazey hopped off the couch and followed him.

"Ian," said Laurel carefully, sitting down beside him, "you've been through a lot. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"This isn't about proving anything, Mom," Ian replied, "This is about getting back on my feet." She still looked doubtful, and Ian knew he would have to elaborate on his feelings. "I've been scared of a lot of things. I never wanted to get hurt, or make a fool out of myself. But I got so scared that for most of my life, I just held myself back. I missed out on a lot because of that. I wanna move on with my life, even if it's just a couple of steps at a time. If I don't start now, I might spend the rest of my life feeling like I'm back in that cage." 

Ian could tell that his words struck a chord with his mother, because her eyes softened. "Okay, how about this," she said, "I'm going to go make popcorn. You have until I'm done to get your practice in, and then you're coming straight back in to relax." 

Ian thought that was a reasonable compromise. "Deal." He kissed her forehead.

Ian met Barley outside, staff in hand. 

"Hey, Ian," Barley spoke, "Before we get started, I wanted to tell you something."

"Are you afraid I'll keel over?" Ian asked.

"No, I'll catch you if it comes to that," Barley said. Ian nodded, having already known this. "What I wanted to say is that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Ian repeated, "For what?"

"For..." 

Ian saw Barley avert his gaze, and he could guess what his older brother was thinking. "Barley...don't hate yourself for what happened." 

Barley's eyes widened, as though surprised that Ian could read him.

"You didn't have any control over the situation."

Barley scowled, though it wasn't directed at Ian. "It should've been me."

"No, it--"

"It's my job to protect you. It always has been, and--"

"Barley," said Ian loudly, interrupting him. They were both silent for a moment, and then Ian spoke. "You didn't have a choice you needed to make. I did. And I decided to protect you."

Now Barley's eyes were growing wet. "You shouldn't have had to."

"You..." Ian paused, feeling guilty. Last night when he'd vented about everything that was plaguing his mind, he'd just wanted to get rid of his burden. Now it seemed that he'd merely moved it onto Barley's shoulders. "I can't pretend it wasn't horrible. And even if I could, you'd know that I was lying, especially after I broke down like that. But...when I think of you in my place, chained up and having your soul sucked away...I know that I did the right thing. I have no regrets." 

There was an expression on Barley's face, similar to the one he wore when Ian had decided to sacrifice his chance to meet their father so Barley could have his closure. A mixture of amazement and heartache. He hugged Ian. "I'll fight harder next time," he vowed quietly, "I'll run faster, I'll think smarter...I'll never let this happen to you again."

Ian didn't refute him. But he did say, "I made my choice, Barley. Don't blame yourself, please."

"I can't make that promise," Barley admitted, "But I'm proud. I'm so proud of how strong and caring you've become. I love you so much."

Ian looked into Barley's eyes, so much like their father's. "I love you, too," Ian told him earnestly. 

Things weren't completely back to normal. They hadn't been since Ian's family had found themselves in this world of magic, and they never would be. While Ian didn't want to acknowledge it, he knew that he would still have bad days in the near future. It would be an uphill battle to regain his power, to leave this tragedy in the past where it belonged. 

But he wasn't alone. He would never be alone. He had people who would support him, guide him and defend him no matter what. 

The tale of his heart wasn't over. He would keep its fire alive, to protect them in return.