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Chapter Text

Clancy blinked, his ears ringing not from the distant screams but from the intense words of the man yelling.

“Vialism is not the way! Free yourselves before it’s too late! Before you lose to them-!” A hand suddenly covered his mouth, muffling the screams and silencing them.

A cold breeze jolted Clancy out of his reverie. He looked down at his hands, one clutching a bag of notepads and pens, the other tightly clenched at his side. When had he done that? Shaking his head, he realised he was standing in the road, and forced his feet to move towards his apartment.

On the walk back home, he furrowed his brows as the words of the man echoed in his mind.

“Free yourself.” He murmured under his breath. Clancy wasn’t sure what that meant. Not fully, anyway. He had often looked out of his window, gazing into the distance at the rolling green hills, the lush woodland that stretched endlessly throughout the continent of Trench - or at least what he could see from inside the walls of Dema.

As if on command, it started to rain. Cold droplets pricked at the skin on the back of his neck, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Hurrying into the apartment building, he climbed the stairs to his higher floor, ignoring his protesting lungs. The view of Trench beyond Dema's walls made it all worth it.

Fumbling with the key, he quickly entered his home. Clancy closed the door and exhaled deeply, surprised by the nerves that had gripped him outside. Chuckling at his own anxiety, he set the bag of notepads on the kitchen table and glanced out the window before heading to his bedroom. He refused to let the words of a rebellious outsider affect him, but they lingered in his mind, taunting him. Despite his efforts to push them aside, they persisted, drowning out the noise of the city below.

They screamed at him; louder than the man in the street ever could. He tried to focus on his notepad, on the music he longed to create, to distract himself from thoughts of the outside world. Just write. Focus on the music. Just.. write.

Instead, Clancy found himself engrossed in sketching a map of Dema. Tracing his pencil in a circular motion, Clancy envisioned the familiar maps he had seen throughout his life. A large circle representing Dema’s walls, with a small, ancient city within it. Then, there were the towering structures of the Bishops, looming ominously. And on the outskirts, the, admittedly, haunting presence of the Neon Gravestones. As he paused, the words of the man he had encountered echoed in his mind, causing him to knit his brows in confusion.

"Lose to them," he muttered, his gaze shifting from the Neon Gravestones to the imposing Bishops' towers. A scoff escaped him at the absurdity of the statement. The idea of succumbing to them was preposterous. Becoming a Glorious Gone was the ultimate aspiration for any devoted Vialist, it was his very purpose.

"What if it wasn't?" The thought hit Clancy like a whip to the chest, leaving him speechless for the first time in a long time. As he dropped the pencil, his mind raced through the memories of his upbringing under Keons’ rule, the seminars and books on Vialism that defined his world. Dema, with its ancient facade, had always been the symbol of Vialism's power. Yet, as uncertainty and confusion gripped him, a nervous chuckle escaped his lips. The realisation dawned on him - there was no proof, no evidence to support the beliefs he had held onto for so long. A chill ran through his veins as he questioned, with a sinking feeling, if it was all a lie. 

His heart pounded in his ears as panic gripped him, consuming his every thought. The darkness seemed to press in on him from all sides, suffocating him in its inky embrace. The walls of his small room felt like they were closing in, threatening to crush him under their weight.

Desperately, Clancy tried to push the fear away, but it was relentless, a relentless force that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the oppressive darkness, but it was no use. The sense of being trapped only intensified, a suffocating weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He felt a surge of primal fear, a raw terror that made his skin prickle with goosebumps. He was alone, isolated in this confined space with no way out. The walls that once comforted him, now seemed to taunt him.

And in that moment, as the darkness pressed in around him, Clancy knew one thing for certain: he was truly and utterly trapped.

-

Daylight gently seeped through the window, illuminating Clancy's face with its warm rays. Opening his eyes, he realised morning had already arrived. He must have fallen asleep in a state of panic. The memories of his recent realisation flooded back, hitting him with the force of freezing ocean waves. With a groan, Clancy dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The once cozy and inviting atmosphere of his home now felt dull and empty. Despite the somber mood, his stomach demanded attention, growling in hunger until Clancy finally gave in and began to cook.

On that fateful day, a decision was made to write. To whom? That remained uncertain. Should they be addressed to himself, those who had come to the same realisation as himself, or perhaps to future generations? It didn't particularly matter who the intended recipients were; Clancy's primary goal was to be seen. It was imperative for others to acknowledge his presence, to recognise his existence, and to understand that he harbored aspirations and ambitions for the days to come. Above all else, Clancy wanted to convey the message that he was undeniably alive.

Clancy placed a piece of paper in the typewriter, his fingers caressing the keys before he began to type.

"988 06MOON 18"

As the words formed on the paper, a sense of bitterness crept over him. His once unwavering love and loyalty to Dema began to dissipate with each click of the typewriter keys. Suddenly, he saw the world around him in a new light, a world he had been blind to for so long.

Clancy used to take pride in his dedication to the Bishops, believing Keons to be his guiding light. As a child, he would marvel at the neon glow of the church and the intricate patterns of light dancing through stained glass windows. But now, with each keystroke, Clancy felt a growing sense of disillusionment with the religion that once consumed him.

Whenever Clancy felt overwhelmed and on the brink of giving up, he inevitably sought solace at Keons’ side. While other Bishops may have dismissed him or kept him busy with tasks, Keons always took the time to listen with kindness. His gentle gaze and outstretched hand provided comfort and reassurance, his words resonating with wisdom and compassion.

"My child, you possess a remarkable gift," Keons would say, his voice steady and reassuring. "Have faith in your abilities and trust in the path that lies ahead. Believe in yourself, as I believe in you. Do you comprehend the magnitude of your potential?"

Clancy could hear Keon's voice echoing in his ears, as though the Bishop was standing right beside him. The comforting words that once soothed him now felt hollow, piercing his heart with a sharp pain. Fighting back tears, he bit down on his lip, determined to push through the anguish. He knew he had to continue writing, even as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Just write. Just keep going.

After finishing, he felt a rush of emotions that left him breathless. All his thoughts and emotions were poured onto the page in front of him. His eyes quickly scanned over the words, feeling a sense of urgency and fear creeping in. Clancy swallowed hard, stealing a cautious glance towards the door, knowing he had to keep his creation hidden from the prying eyes of the Bishops. If they were to discover the contents of the letter, he knew the consequences would be severe.

But despite the danger, the words on the paper were his own, a testament to his existence and free will within the confines of the oppressive walls. With a trembling hand, Clancy defiantly signed his name at the bottom of the page, sealing his defiance and determination to fight against their control.

Chapter Text

Six months had slipped by since Clancy made the bold choice to flee Dema. Every day that had ticked by since he first recognised his entrapment had felt like an eternity.

Despite his longing to break free, Clancy kept up the facade of serving Keons, fearing any hint of suspicion that could jeopardise his escape plan. But even the reassuring words of his Bishop that had once provided comfort now only served to deepen the doubts swirling in his mind.

During his free time, Clancy would escape to the city library. In the past, he had visited to immerse himself in the teachings of Vialism, but today he was on a new mission. Upon entering, he exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist and made his way to the rear of the library. The disorganised stacks of old, dusty tomes did not hold his interest this time. Instead, he discreetly retrieved a worn book hidden behind a crumbling shelf.

As he flipped through the pages, Clancy's eyes raced across the words, searching for something different.

This book was unlike any other, offering Clancy a glimmer of hope in its pages. Filled with scribbled details about others who shared his fate, it unveiled the secrets of a mysterious group known as the Banditos, who defied the boundaries of Dema to roam the vibrant landscape of Trench. Within its worn covers, Clancy discovered blurred photographs, faded pencil sketches, and a wealth of information beyond his wildest dreams.

The concept of “East Is Up” initially puzzled Clancy when he first came across the phrase. After all, conventionally, north is considered up on a map. However, his confusion quickly dissipated when he turned to a crudely drawn map of the city and saw the significance of tilting it so that the east side of Dema was facing upwards. In doing so, he noticed a marked section of wall that appeared notably weaker and more vulnerable compared to the heavily fortified rest. 

This section was located outside of Keons’ district, explaining why Clancy had not noticed it before. A realisation dawned on him as he connected the dots - East is Up, signalling that the east held the key to escape.

Clancy meticulously packed his small rucksack that held all the essentials for his journey - notepads, pens, a solar-powered radio, a map, and a trusty pocketknife. As he zipped up his jumpsuit, he cast one last glance at the place that had once been his home. With determination in his heart, he set off into the darkness of the night, leaving his past behind.

-

He barely even made it through the wall. The memory of stepping into the tall grass was the last thing he could recall. The ground beneath his boots was plush, and the scent of fresh air encompassed him. The luscious expanse of Trench's continent lay ahead, overwhelming him with its magnitude. In that fleeting moment, he felt the burdens in his chest evaporate as he experienced a new sensation of liberty and release.

Then, cold hands pressed against his neck, sliding round to the front of his throat. Clancy’s sudden panic lasted mere milliseconds before a fuzzy haze swept over his mind. His body grew heavy and weak, and his eyes slid to a close.

Clancy slowly regained consciousness in a dimly lit, musty cell. The chill of the stone floor sent shivers down his spine as he wearily lifted himself up. Every movement felt like a struggle as if his limbs were encased in heavy sand. His tired eyes fought the urge to shut, and his aching body was covered in scrapes and bruises. The sting on the bridge of his nose signalled the presence of a new scar. Without any windows to gauge the passage of time, he was left in uncertainty. But, he knew where he was.

From his research, he had unearthed the unsettling truth that those who were unsuccessful in their attempts to break free from the confines of the walls were not only captured, but also subjected to a degrading ritual known as being "smeared" before being confined in a holding cell. Clancy's hand trembled as he hesitantly brushed his fingers against his neck, only to find faint black smudges staining his skin. A wave of unease washed over him, as the realisation sank in that the Bishops were aware of his failed escape. Keons knew he had tried to escape. And he had failed.

-

Clancy's sense of time had slipped away as he waited in his cell, unsure how long it had been. The echo of approaching footsteps signalled that the wait may have stretched on for hours. The metallic clink of a key turning in the lock heralded the opening of his cell door. Two guards stood before him, their stern faces betraying no emotion as they loomed over him.

"Stand in the presence of your Bishop," one guard commanded, his voice brusque as he motioned for Clancy to move. With a heavy heart, Clancy obeyed, his eyes falling upon the imposing figure of Keons draped in red robes behind the guards. He knew then that his fate was in the hands of his Bishop.

Struggling to rise to his feet, Clancy bowed his head in shame. His determination crumbled in a fleeting moment.

"I-I apologise. I have erred. I should never have-"

“Quiet.”Keons ordered, holding up a hand and halting Clancy's faltering words.

"My son, you have been misguided by the flawed beliefs of an imperfect world. Beliefs that hold no truth," Keons stated solemnly as he entered the cell. Clancy averted his gaze, unable to meet Keons' piercing eyes.

"Your true place is here. Your true purpose lies within Dema," Keons asserted, reaching out to lift Clancy's chin and guide his gaze upwards.

"Look at me," Keons demanded. Clancy blinked back tears, mustering the courage to meet Keons' disapproving gaze. Silence hung heavy in the air before Clancy found his voice.

"I deeply regret my actions. I acknowledge my foolishness and assure you that it will not be repeated," Clancy stammered with genuine fear evident in his voice. The prospect of Keons' punishment weighed heavily on his mind. Would he be condemned to solitary confinement? Would he be tasked with gruelling hard labour? Or worse, would Keons resort to deadly consequences? The uncertainty made Clancy's throat tighten with dread.

Keons carefully observed Clancy's expression before finally releasing his grip on his chin. "You will be taken back to your residence," he stated firmly.

He turned and walked out of the doorway, leaving Clancy behind. "I do not want to see you here again," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument as he exited the room. A guard quickly stepped in, taking hold of Clancy's shoulder and guiding him out of the cell.

"You will be signed out and returned home. A curfew has been imposed upon you. Do not violate it, or you will find yourself back here for a much longer stay," the guard warned as he led Clancy through the corridors, disregarding his unsteady movements.

As Clancy was forced in front of a stark white wall, the harsh brightness of the camera's flash caused tears to well up in his eyes. His mugshot was quickly taken, and a file bearing his name was pulled from a drawer. The guard behind the desk stamped it with authority in bold black ink

“ FPE - Identified as Failed Perimeter Escape by Dema Council. Violation of section 15388642_14 of Vialist Code of Conduct ”.

Taking a mental note of the stamp, Clancy was roughly pushed towards a doorway before the guard issued a warning.

"This is your first warning. Go home," the guard ordered, his voice filled with authority. Clancy wasted no time in making his exit, not wanting to stick around to hear what the guard might say next.

Chapter Text

Clancy sat in his small, dimly lit room in Dema, staring out the window at the imposing walls that surrounded the city. He knew that escape was difficult, but not impossible. In the years since his first failed attempt, he had managed to slip away from the watchful eyes of the Bishops numerous times. He took each and every moment alone to learn more about the world of Trench and the group of rebels living outside of Dema. Clancy couldn’t help but envy them.

His dreams were a vivid tapestry of rolling hills and expansive woodlands, remnants of the breathtaking landscapes the continent had to offer. The scent of fresh grass beneath his boots and the invigorating rush of clean air in his lungs were the only things fuelling Clancy's determination.

Despite the temptation to fall back into the comfortable routine of ignorance and conformity, he knew deep down that taking the easy way out would not align with his values. It would certainly be a simpler path, but it would not be the right one.

Bishop Keons had a keen eye for trouble, and Clancy seemed to attract it like a magnet. Aware of the young man’s rebellious nature and penchant for questioning the strict laws of Dema, the Bishop took a special interest in Clancy's antics.

Keons' disapproving gaze and the disappointment evident in his wrinkled face as he released Clancy from the holding cell following his first failed escape attempt caused the young troublemaker to feel a sense of fleeting shame. But for Clancy, the memories of his brief taste of freedom always outweighed any guilt he may have felt.

As Clancy sat in his room, he meticulously inspected the fortress walls that enclosed the city. He identified vulnerable areas, where one could potentially scale or tunnel through. However, he was acutely aware of the vigilant guards stationed at these points, ready to foil any escape attempt with swift and severe punishment.

Before he could ponder his next steps, a knock suddenly interrupted his thoughts, causing his heart to race. He recognised the sound immediately - Keons was here, likely coming to check up on him. Hastily, Clancy hid his notes under the mattress before forcing a smile and opening the door. The sight of the Bishop, flanked by two armed guards, was always a daunting one, sending a shiver down Clancy's spine

"Good afternoon, Clancy," Keons spoke in a soft, yet unmistakably cold tone. Clancy sensed the underlying tension in his voice and greeted him respectfully, bowing his head and nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt

"Any tasks for me today, my Bishop?" Clancy asked, already anticipating the answer. Keons often assigned him the tedious job of transcribing ancient texts on Vialism into neatly typed manuscripts. It was no coincidence that the majority of these documents were focused on the religion that Clancy was beginning to lose faith in. Ironically, it had the opposite effect on him, further souring his belief.

"Unfortunately, not today," Keons said with a slight smile, his eyes crinkling upwards. "But come, join me for a walk."

He turned and started heading back towards the staircase of the apartment building where Clancy resided. Clancy was taken aback by the unexpected invitation, quickly closing the door and hurrying to catch up with the Bishop. As they walked, the guardsmen stayed close to Keons, while Clancy lagged behind. Despite his waning respect for the Bishops, there was still a lingering sense of unease in Clancy's stomach at the thought of walking alongside one.

As Keons and Clancy arrived at the city limits, Keons directed the guards to open a large door before them, making sure Clancy was witnessing the moment. They had finally arrived at the Necropolis of Neon Gravestones

“Are we here to pay our respects to the Glorious Gone?” Clancy asked, grimacing at the words on his tongue.

“We should always pay our respects to those who have given up their lives for Vialism. But today, I want to show you something else.” Keons responded. Clancy couldn't decipher Keons' intentions from his enigmatic tone.

The walk through the Necropolis of Neon Gravestones sent shivers down Clancy's spine. Darkness engulfed the area, the only source of light coming from the ominous glowing neon markers guiding his way. Empty spaces loomed around him, eagerly awaiting Vialism's next victim to fill them. Some graves were barely lit or flickering, as if the souls interred there had been abandoned and forgotten. Clancy's hands quivered at his side as he realised that these people had once had dreams, goals, and ambitions. They were just like him, trapped in Dema, perhaps longing for a life beyond its confines. The thought made him queasy with fear and dread.

Suddenly, Keons stopped. They had reached an uncovered part of the Necropolis, and the sunlight filtering in brought temporary ease to Clancy’s pounding heart. Ahead of them was a curved section of wall, and his eyes widened as his gaze travelled to the top. He saw a group of vultures perched on the wall, their eyes piercing into his very soul with a malevolent glare. The creatures' claws scraped against the stone with a ghastly sound, sending chills down his spine. Matted feathers floated to the ground with a sickening thud as the vultures shifted their weight, casting a sinister shadow over him. Their crooked beaks clicked and cawed in a disturbing chorus, as though plotting their next move. It was as if they were communicating to each other that their prey had finally arrived, sending a wave of terror through Clancy as he stood frozen in fear.

"Behold the guardians of the Neon Gravestones," Keons declared, his voice echoing with ominous undertones. With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he pointed towards the flock of vultures circling above them.

"They are the eaters of death, the silent watchers of our darkest secrets.”

Clancy shuddered as the vultures' piercing gaze seemed to penetrate his very soul. He tried to avert his eyes, but the unnerving sensation lingered.

“I brought you here to impart a tale.” Keons’ tone was commanding, and Clancy instinctively turned to listen.

“Once, there existed a village where the inhabitants revered vultures as divine beings. They would present offerings to the majestic birds, who in return bestowed protection upon the village. The crops thrived without any vermin or pests. The water flowed pure and unobstructed, thanks to the absence of beavers. The villagers lived in harmony and contentment.” Keons spoke, looking just past Clancy as if recalling a memory.

“As time passed, the villages grew complacent and dismissive of the sinister vultures that lurked ominously over their rooftops. The once revered protectors were now shunned and ignored, their presence no longer welcomed or acknowledged.”

Clancy could feel a chill creeping down his spine as he observed Keons circling him with an eerie intensity.

“And so, the vultures didn’t do their job. Famine ravaged the land, consuming the crops as they sprouted. Water dwindled to mere trickles of murky, silt-laden streams. The people wasted away, plagued by hunger and regret." Keons' voice dripped with cold disdain.

"Of course, the vultures still needed their meal," he added sardonically.

"And weak humans appear as easy prey when viewed through vulture-like eyes," the Bishop remarked as he placed a heavy hand on Clancy's shoulders, causing the young man to flinch.

"The cycle brought benefits to everyone involved. Straying from tradition only leads to discord. Do you comprehend my words?" Keons stood before Clancy, placing both hands on his shoulders. Clancy couldn't meet his gaze or find his voice.

“I said,” Keons' grip on Clancy's shoulders tightened, his words laced with authority.

“Do you understand me, child?” 

Clancy winced as he met Keons' intense gaze, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. After a moment of hesitation, he finally managed to respond in a shaky voice, "Yes, my Bishop. I understand."

With a nod of approval, Keons released his grip, but the weight of his words remained heavy on Clancy's shoulders.

Chapter Text

A resounding thud echoed through the room as Clancy released a stack of books onto his desk. Dust erupted from the pile, triggering a violent coughing fit that wracked his body. Despite the inconvenience of lugging the heavy books back from the library, Clancy knew their importance. He had carefully chosen the oldest volumes detailing the history of the Bishops and Vialism in Dema, seeking unaltered truths in their ancient pages rather than the potentially tampered-with accounts found in newer texts.

Selecting the first book from the pile, Clancy carefully examined the title: "A Study of Dema’s Legacy and the Rise of Vialism." As he flipped through the fragile pages, he handled the novel with great care, as if it might disintegrate into dust at any touch.

As a young boy in his history classes, Clancy always found himself intrigued by the origins of Dema. Whenever his teacher discussed the grand cathedrals and churches, projecting images of the Neon Gravestones on the wall, Clancy couldn't help but question the discrepancies he noticed.

"Where are these old buildings? Why do the Neon Gravestones still appear as large as they are today when they should be shrunken down?" he would inquire, only to be met with ridicule from his less understanding classmates.

Despite the teasing, Clancy's genuine curiosity remained, causing him to feel marginalised and dismissed by both his peers and his teacher, who quickly brushed off his inquiries as mere conspiracy theories.

As Clancy flicked through the pages, his eyes scanned each word, delicately brushing off speckles of dust from the photographs to get a clearer view. Finally, he came across a date marking the founding of Dema.

"738? But we were taught it was 892.." he murmured under his breath, his brows furrowed in confusion. Picking up another book titled "A Retelling of Dema and Vialism’s Ancient History," Clancy searched for more information on the topic. To his surprise, he found a date of 694. Perplexed, he grabbed yet another book, "Exploring the Legends and Origins of Dema," only to discover a date of 910.

Clancy's eyes widened as he realised that none of the dates aligned with what they had been taught. He knew they had been deceived. Dema was not as old as they had been led to believe. They had been lied to.

After pausing to digest the surprising revelation, Clancy redirected his focus to the enigmatic Bishops. Just how long had they held sway over Dema? With conflicting accounts regarding the establishment of the city, it seemed impossible to ascertain the true age of the Bishops. Intrigued, he sifted through the pages until he landed on the chapter detailing the hierarchy of power.

“Since Dema’s humble beginnings, the Nine Bishops have lead the people through trials and tribulations. The leader of the Bishops is a respectable and honourable man named Nicholas Bourbaki.” Clancy wrinkled his nose in disdain.

As he adjusted the book in order to read more comfortably, he was startled when a photograph slipped out of the pages. It was of a man and a boy. The child was shielding his eyes from the sun, while the man stood to the left. His hand rested on his hip, and a smile was stretched across his face.

Despite the grainy quality of the photograph, Clancy managed to identify the man as Andre, one of the Nine Bishops. Although he had never met Bishop Andre in person, Clancy recalled seeing numerous images of him during his time in school.

Despite the dated nature of the photo, Bishop Andre's distinct features were still recognisable. Adding wrinkles, a red robe, and a hazy veil over his face, he was a perfect match to the image Clancy had in his mind.

Clancy gripped the photo tightly in one hand, his other hand absently running through his hair in confusion. The sight of a Bishop without their traditional robes felt unsettling to him. As he leaned back in his chair, memories of his schooling days flooded back, and he tried to piece together what he knew about each Bishop.

Andre was a creature of habit, steadfast in his adherence to tradition. He relied on the same book he co-founded Dema with for his teachings, followed the same path around the Neon Gravestones without fail, and maintained unwavering punctuality. In his district, change was a foreign concept - no new structures were built, no roads were altered. The perpetual sameness of each day left Clancy feeling uneasy, as he pondered the suffocating monotony of it all.

Sacarver was known to be more expressive than Andre, though his emotions still remained largely contained. He exhibited particular talent in the art of 'seizing', a crucial aspect in the practice of Vialism. Legends spoke of his daring, lone expedition into the wilds of Trench, in search of the elusive antlers that were essential for performing the miracle. Clancy, however, noticed a puzzling detail – no written records ever identified the creature that possessed such unique antlers.

Vetomo was infamous for his strict enforcement of discipline, especially when it came to dealing with troublemakers. Any minor mistake, like a misspelled word, would warrant a swift slap on the wrist from him. The citizens of Dema had been conditioned to believe that this harsh treatment was acceptable and necessary for maintaining order. Clancy couldn't help but recoil at the realisation that he had once subscribed to this oppressive ideology.

Nills was in charge of enforcing Dema's strict rules, overseeing everything from volunteers taking care of the grounds around the Neon Gravestones to the powerful and ruthless watchers stationed atop the walls. Nills made it clear that failure was not an option, especially for escapees who dared to return - they were met with a merciless response. Clancy felt a lump form in his throat as he moved on to the next Bishop, knowing that Nills' wrath was not something to be taken lightly.

Lisden was responsible for education in Dema. Clancy couldn't help but chuckle bitterly as he recalled the conflicting dates of Dema's founding in his research. Lisden ensured that every student thrived and became valuable members of the city. While he had high expectations for his students, he also had a harsh outlook on those who struggled or failed in the city's challenging environment. To him, they were insignificant mounds of dirt cluttering up valuable space.

Reisdro was similar in that regard, but albeit in a more religious manner. He often delivered impassioned sermons in his churches, fervently promoting the tenets of Vialism to all who would listen - and he would make everybody listen. Clancy vividly recalled the powerful impact of Reisdro's speeches, which resonated in his ears long after they had ended.

While many lauded Listo as a kind and polite individual, Clancy was wary of his true nature as revealed in the writings of the Banditos. Listo had a penchant for manipulating others, causing rifts in relationships, inciting arguments, and stirring up chaos whenever he felt his citizens were becoming complacent. Despite his outward demeanor, Listo had a dark side that allowed him to gaslight people and sow general unrest in Vialism. However, he also possessed a skill for mediation, able to sway troubled souls further down the path of Vialism with ease.

Keons was the trusted overseer of Clancy's district, serving as a guiding figure in his life. From attending his church to seeking his advice, Clancy had always found solace in Keons' wisdom and counsel. However, now that Clancy had discovered the truth about Vialism, it was a painful realisation to let go of his past beliefs.

Despite the turmoil, the familiarity of routine soothed Clancy's nerves as he often found himself easily slipping back into Keons' comforting presence. It was all too tempting to believe every word the Bishop spoke. Old habits die hard, as they say.

And finally, there was Nico - the most ruthless of all the Bishops. As their leader, he was the mastermind behind the misinformation and lies of Vialism. Clancy felt grateful that he didn't reside in Nico's district, but he was aware that the Bishop likely knew of his existence by now.

Nico was in charge of capturing escapees, subjecting them to humiliation, and persuading them to surrender. Through Clancy's investigation into the Banditos, it became clear that Nico was their most formidable adversary. If a resilient group like the Banditos struggled against him, then Clancy stood little chance of evading capture on his own.

Knowing that he would eventually come face to face with Nico, Clancy understood the importance of being prepared for that inevitable confrontation.

Chapter Text

As he cautiously opened the door to his apartment, Clancy peered through the crack, scanning the dimly lit corridor for any signs of movement. The flickering lights provided brief moments of clarity, allowing him to confirm that the coast was clear. With a sense of urgency, he stepped out into the hallway, clutching a bag tightly at his side as he made his way towards the staircase. Every step was taken with care, his heart pounding in his chest as he silently prayed to go unnoticed. His strict curfew loomed over him, the consequences of being caught outside his home weighing heavily on his mind. If any guards noticed he was out of his home, he was doomed.

Pushing open the door to the outside, Clancy winced as the icy rain pelted his skin. He let out a frustrated sigh at the dreary weather and pressed on. The evening was quiet, with only a handful of people braving the elements. They moved with no sense of purpose, their eyes dull and devoid of any spark.

Ever since Clancy had come to his realisation many moons ago, he had observed his fellow citizens going about their mundane routines as dictated by the Bishops. There was no room for hope or dreams in their lives, and it filled Clancy with a sense of despair. The sight of their lifeless existence turned his stomach, and he longed for something more.

After weeks of meticulous planning, Clancy had exhaustively researched every resource available in the old, unedited books at the library. Despite the danger, his thirst for information only intensified. It would be dangerous, but he knew the place that would hold all the data he needed would be a Bishops’ office.

The rain mercilessly pounded against Clancy as he raised a hand to glance at his watch: 7:55pm on the dot. A sense of anticipation filled him as he knew that Keons would now be starting his evening sermon at one of his frequented churches. Clancy meticulously planned this heist, knowing where Keons would be each evening. The chosen church was the farthest from his tower, affording him the precious extra time needed for him to execute his break-in.

As Clancy approached the towering structure, he scanned its facade for any sign of an entrance. He had traversed these grounds before, carrying out tasks assigned by Keons in the aftermath of his failed escape from Dema. In hindsight, he chastised himself for not anticipating the need to enter a Bishop's tower and thus neglecting to note its points of entry. Clancy stood, regretting his oversight as he stood before the imposing building.

Startled by the sound of nearby conversation, Clancy quickly ducked behind a nearby car to avoid being seen. Two guards were approaching the tower, completely unaware of his presence. Clancy couldn't believe his luck.

“This rain is awful.” One muttered, fumbling with a set of keys on his belt.

“I prefer rain to sun. It’s way too bright for me.” The other responded. Clancy couldn't help but roll his eyes at their lack of enthusiasm, a stark reminder of the dullness that seemed to permeate throughout the city's inhabitants.

As soon as he heard the keys click in the lock, a sense of urgency surged through him. The guards entered the tower, and Clancy immediately sprang into action, thrusting his foot forward to block the door from closing. Peeking around the doorframe, he observed the unsuspecting guards saunter into another room and shut the door. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he realised he had successfully gained entry.

Silently traversing the cramped and shadowy hallway, Clancy finally reached a staircase. Recalling that Keons' office was several stories above, he steeled himself for the ascent. Every creak and echo in the old building filled him with fear, yet adrenaline surged through his veins, driving him forward, despite his trembling hands.

As he ascended, he pondered whether anyone else had ever embarked on such a daring feat. The citizens of Dema seemed uninspired and gloomy, leading Clancy to wonder if any of them had ever considered infiltrating a Bishop's tower. He surmised that the mere idea would likely instill fear in those devoted to Vialism like he once was.

As Clancy climbed the stairs to the top floor, he could feel his lungs struggling for breath. He couldn't help but wonder how Keons managed this trek daily. Finally reaching a large, red, wooden door, Clancy paused to catch his breath before giving it an experimental push. To his surprise, the door swung open easily, revealing the office. In a city as malleable and compliant as Dema, break-ins were not a concern.

Keons’ office was a grand and spacious circular room, giving off an air of scholarly elegance. The rich mahogany bookshelves, heavy with the weight of countless tomes and anthologies dedicated to Vialism, lined the walls in a symmetrical fashion.

A well-worn red carpet meandered through the center of the room, leading the way to a majestic dark oak desk positioned at the back. The desk itself was a bustling hub of activity, piles of neatly stacked papers covering its surface. A few stray sheets had escaped their orderly confines, drifting to the floor near a large filing cabinet that groaned under the weight of overflowing documents.

In one corner of the room, a lamp stood sentinel over the busy desk, its light dim and muted, casting deep shadows across the room. Clancy observed the scene and concluded that working in darkness was in his best interest if he was to be undetected.

In a rush, Clancy made his way to the desk and quickly scanned through the stack of papers placed neatly on top. The majority of them were official approvals for upcoming construction projects of churches and housing units, as Dema prepared to welcome new residents.

However, nestled beside them was a smaller pile that caught Clancy's attention. These documents contained detailed information and photographs of the inmates currently residing in the prison. As he flipped through the papers, Clancy's eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the unmistakable "Failed Perimeter Escape" stamp on several profiles. It suddenly dawned on him that he may not be as isolated as he had previously thought.

As Clancy sifted through the cluttered desk, his heart sank as he realised there was nothing of importance to be found. Undeterred, he turned his attention to the filing cabinets standing next to the desk. The first drawer let out a loud screech as he pulled it open, the rust making him cringe slightly. Ignoring the noise, Clancy's fingers expertly navigated through the meticulously organised chaos of labels and categories.

"Available, Aviary, Backup- Banditos," he muttered under his breath, his gaze scanning the files until it landed on a familiar name. His eyes widened in surprise as he swiftly retrieved the file from its designated place, his hand hesitating briefly before flipping through the pages. With a racing heart, Clancy began to read, his curiosity piqued.

The thick file contained an extensive list of known escapees who were rumoured to be hiding on the outskirts of the city. Detailed maps highlighted specific areas in the dense forests and rugged mountains of Trench where suspected encampments were believed to be hidden. Clancy's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he spotted a formal map of the city adorned with the official emblem of the Vialists, which he quickly stashed away. His heart raced as he turned the page and came face to face with compelling photographs of Banditos.

The majority of the photos were lacking in clarity. In one image, figures stood precariously on a cliff's edge, staring down at the camera. In another, a couple was seen darting into the distance. A group of five individuals were captured wielding baseball bats, charging towards the lens. Clancy was captivated by his initial glimpse of this enigmatic group.

As he turned the page, he was met with a chilling sight. The final photograph depicted a man cloaked in darkness, his face obscured by a yellow bandana as he held a flickering torch. The torchlight cast an eerie glow on his stoic features, revealing a sense of power and authority. Scrawled in ominous red ink were the words, 'Torchbearer. Leader of the Banditos? Capture on sight. Do not approach!’

Clancy felt a shiver run down his spine. The man in the photograph exuded an air of mystery and danger. Who was this Torchbearer, and what secrets did he hold? His very presence seemed to command respect and fear, leaving Clancy with more questions than answers.

The sudden creaking of the floorboards outside Keons’ office sent lightning strikes of fear into Clancy’s gut. Frantically stuffing the papers into his bag, his eyes darted around the room, searching for a hiding spot. Spotting a large armchair in the corner by the door, he dove behind it just as the door swung open. His heart pounded in his chest, hand clamped over his mouth to stifle any noise as he awaited discovery.

The soft sound of robes whispering against the floor signalled Keons' entrance into the room. The Bishop halted his work at the desk, running a hand over the mounds of papers with a thoughtful expression. He hummed a tune to himself, selecting a stack and carrying it to the filing cabinet for organisation.

“Surely I didn’t leave it as messy as this..” Clancy felt his heart stop as the Bishop mumbled to himself. If Keons discovered Clancy's presence, he knew his life was in grave danger. Peeking anxiously around the edge of the chair, Clancy studied the Bishop intently. With each precisioned movement as he sorted through the papers, Clancy knew he was running out of time.

Now was Clancy's fleeting opportunity to escape. Heart pounding, he clutched his bag tightly, inhaled sharply, and lunged toward the door. Every muscle tensed, he moved with deliberate stealth, making sure to muffle his footfalls as he raced down the staircase. Ignoring the urge to glance back, he refused to waste a moment checking for Keons, relentlessly sprinting until he finally burst through the front door of the tower.

Rushing out of the building, Clancy propelled himself forward with an unexpected burst of speed. The rain pelted his face, obscuring his sight and hindering his journey back home. Finally reaching his apartment, Clancy shut the door with a sense of urgency. Collapsing against it, he gasped for air as sweat and rain mingled on his skin, a tangible reminder of his harrowing escape. Despite being safely indoors, a residual sense of fear and unease lingered in Clancy's veins, refusing to let him relax.

For an entire week, Clancy refused to step out of his apartment. Every noise outside his door filled him with dread, fearing either Keons or Nico was coming for him. He was on edge, expecting to be confronted, arrested, or worse, but to his surprise, no one showed up. No one knocked to take him in, and no one came to reclaim the stolen information.

Initially perceived as a relief, Clancy couldn't shake the feeling of suspicion that crept in. The ease with which he had snuck into the Bishop's office raised red flags, making Clancy question the situation. Something was wrong.

Chapter Text

A frustrated groan echoed through Clancy’s apartment, the sound of defeat palpable in the air. Slumped at his desk, he ran his hands through his dark brunette curls in frustration, the weight of his failed attempts heavy on his shoulders. Papers and books were strewn haphazardly before him, the crumpled evidence of his tireless search for answers. Clancy had exhausted every resource available to him - from hidden library books to stolen documents from Keons’ office - and even revisited the cracked wall where his escape attempt had begun. But with a surge in the number of vigilant guards patrolling the area, his efforts seemed futile as ever, leaving him at his wit's end.

Disgruntled, he muttered, "This can't be it. It's not enough." His gaze wandered beyond the papers to the bleak landscape outside his window, where the monotonous concrete buildings of Dema cast uniform shadows into his dimly lit room. As he sifted through the data gathered on Trench and the Banditos, Clancy had neglected to consider that there might be a limit to the information available.

Slowly reaching into the drawer of his desk, he retrieved the carefully folded image of the Torchbearer that he had acquired from Keons' office months ago. Risking everything to steal his Bishop's confidential files on the Banditos, Clancy knew the importance of keeping these papers safe. Despite his fears, Keons had not shown up at his apartment or sent guards to reclaim the stolen information. Clancy could only hope that his Bishop was unaware of his involvement, but a nagging feeling in his gut told him that Keons knew more than he was letting on.

Clutching the photo of the Torchbearer tightly in his hands, Clancy scrutinised every detail of the grainy image. The stern expression on the man's face conveyed a sense of unwavering determination and strength, while his rigid posture exuded a commanding presence that demanded respect.

Clancy couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the scarred and weathered hands that gripped the flaming branch with a fierce intensity, adding a sense of danger to the already imposing figure. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on the yellow bandana wrapped around the Torchbearer's nose and mouth, contrasting starkly with the dark shadows that danced across his face. The yellow tape that adorned his clothing caught the light, glinting in the darkness like a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

Clancy squinted, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the mysterious image in his hands. Holding it up to the window for better light, he suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed on something unexpected - words etched on the back of the image. Flipping the page over, his confusion deepened as there was no visible writing. He stared at the paper, desperately trying to uncover the hidden message that seemed to be teasing him in the sunlight. The enigmatic Torchbearer's eyes seemed to mock him with their silence, until Clancy's gaze landed on his torch. A jolt of realisation surged through him, igniting a newfound sense of purpose. With a newfound energy, he leapt to his feet, exclaiming, "Of course!"

As he exited his room and headed to the kitchen, he eagerly rummaged through his cabinets and drawers in search of his matches. He knew he had a box stored somewhere, but rarely had the need for them. After some searching, he finally uncovered the dusty, little box underneath the sink. Placing the photograph on the counter, he selected a match and promptly lit it. The small flame provided a comforting warmth to his hands as Clancy savoured the sensation. Leaning over the counter, he cautiously held the burning match over the space where he had noticed the words.

His eyes widened in astonishment as the letters mysteriously appeared before him. Starting off as a pale hue, they gradually transformed into a soft burnt brown, allowing him to finally decipher the message.

“Tunnels beneath Reisdro. 4th lamp marks entry. Way of rats. Do not be seen.”

As he read the words, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he tried to unravel the hidden meaning behind the invisible ink. Why were there tunnels beneath Reisdro's district? And what did the cryptic message mean by the "way of rats"?

A gasp escaped his lips as a thought occurred to him. Could these tunnels be a secret escape route? A way out of Dema?

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as the match burned his fingertips. Clancy quickly dropped the charred piece of wood, reflexively blowing on his hand as he winced in pain. "Real professional, Clancy," he muttered to himself. As the stinging sensation on his skin gradually subsided, he glanced at the clock on his wall. It read 6:25pm. His curfew had officially started. A mischievous grin crept across his face. But since when had that ever stopped him before?

-

Footsteps reverberated through the desolate alleyway, the ominous clouds looming above threatening to release their deluge at any moment. Clancy pulled his jacket's hood tighter around his face, determined to remain inconspicuous as he navigated the deserted streets. The cryptic message he had uncovered in the photograph earlier seared into his memory, guiding his steps with a sense of urgency.

“Tunnels beneath Reisdro. 4th lamp marks entry. Way of rats. Do not be seen.”

Deciphering the code, Clancy realised that the "way of rats" referred to the alleyways. Just then, a ragged creature emerged from the shadows, darting across his path. While most shied away from these rodents, Clancy couldn't help but find them endearing in their own way.

Reisdro’s district, a reflection of the Bishop's devout beliefs, was adorned with a multitude of religious symbols and figures. Although Clancy had traversed these streets before, the overwhelming presence of Vialist propaganda struck him with renewed intensity. Towering billboards illuminated the empty pathways, tattered posters clung to the walls of every edifice, and churches stood on nearly every street corner, as abundant as local convenience stores. The relentless barrage of Vialist ideology, once a comforting wave of familiarity, now stirred a disquieting unease within Clancy.

As Clancy reached the end of the alleyway, he surveyed his surroundings. It was a dead end, and panic began to rise in his chest. Quickly pulling out his map of Dema, he tried to pinpoint his location. Despite his initial doubts, he was confident he was in the right place.

"I wish these lamps would stop flickering so much. I can barely see-" Clancy paused, his eyes drifting upward to the row of streetlamps above. The first three lamps were lit, their faint glow attracting clusters of flies. However, the fourth lamp was out, flickering sporadically. It provided brief moments of light, illuminating his surroundings before plunging them back into darkness. Clancy put the map back. He was here.

Beneath the flickering lamp, a sizable wheeled waste bin stood inconspicuously, seemingly innocuous to passersby. However, Clancy's sharp intuition, honed by countless mystery novels, told him otherwise. With a determined shove, he moved the bin aside, revealing a hidden manhole in the wall. The lid askew, a ladder descended into the shadows of the damp tunnels below. A mix of fear and anticipation surged within Clancy as he realised he was on the brink of discovering the truth he had been seeking.

As he slowly descended the ladder, Clancy winced at the sensation of cold, slimy droplets seeping through his fingers. His grip tightened on each rung, his heart pounding with the fear of slipping and falling into the darkness below. The complete lack of light made it impossible to see where he was going, adding to his unease. Finally, his feet touched solid ground and he cautiously let go of the ladder, the sound of water dripping in the distance filling the air with a surprisingly soothing rhythm. However, the noxious odour of mould and decaying food lingered around him, making each breath a struggle. With a quick flick of a battery-powered torch, the dismal view of the tunnels was revealed. Piles of garbage and rusted metal cluttered the path ahead, forcing Clancy to carefully navigate his way through the mess as he ventured further into the unknown depths.

Clancy walked through the labyrinthine tunnels of Dema, following the yellow arrows spray-painted on the walls that guided his way. It felt like he had been walking for hours, the twists and turns making it seem never-ending. Despite the unsettling echo of his footsteps on the concrete floor, he found solace in the markings left by the Banditos. He couldn't explain why he trusted them, but their presence gave him a sense of comfort in the desolate underground world of Dema. The occasional scurrying of rats added to the eerie atmosphere, making Clancy feel even more isolated in the vast network of tunnels.

After a long journey through the winding tunnels, Clancy emerged into a vast chamber where multiple pathways met at a central point. The room was filled with plastic chairs and rough-hewn wooden tables, all showing signs of wear and dampness from the surrounding condensation and puddles. Despite being adorned with growths of lichen and moss, the furnishings didn't appear neglected; rather, they seemed to possess a sense of purpose. Every wall was covered with the words "East Is Up" in bold, spray-painted letters, creating a sense of familiarity and unity in the space. The remnants of burnt torches and tattered jackets littered the floor, their presence adding to the eerie atmosphere of the room. Cold to the touch, these discarded items hinted at the struggles and challenges faced by those who had passed through before Clancy.

As Clancy cautiously made his way through the room, his eyes were drawn to a battered metal cabinet in the corner. Approaching it with curiosity, he gently pulled on the door, the broken lock clattering to the ground. Inside, he found a worn rucksack slouched against the back. Its frayed threads and well-used zippers gave it a sense of familiarity, a reminder of the human presence that once inhabited this place. Carefully unzipping the bag, Clancy uncovered a collection of peculiar items. A dull whittling knife, likely used to craft makeshift torches. A pair of surprisingly clean shoelaces, marred only by a few yellow stains. And lastly, a roll of bright yellow tape.

Clancy gingerly retrieved the yellow tape from the bag, cradling it in his hands as though it were a precious artefact. In the photographs, the Banditos were adorned with the same yellow tape, proudly displayed on their shoulders, elbows, and collars. It felt like a special privilege to hold something that marked him as one of them. Clancy hesitated, his fingers itching to peel back the edge of the tape before he quickly stopped himself. Wearing Bandito tape in Dema would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention and could potentially be a death sentence. The mere thought of being confined to the isolation cell again sent a shiver down his spine.

Reluctantly placing the tape back in the bag, Clancy hesitated before taking a few steps away. It was getting late, and guards would begin patrolling the streets soon. As he made his way back to the tunnel he had emerged from, Clancy glanced back at the room with determination in his eyes. He knew he would come back, he knew he would join the Banditos.

Chapter Text

The sound of a pen scrawling across paper reverberated through the silent, barren apartment. Clancy's hand moved swiftly, trying to capture his fleeting thoughts before they slipped away. This was no ordinary letter; it was a message to the Banditos, a desperate plea for help. The tunnels of Dema remained eerily still, just as deserted as they were on his initial visit. Clancy wondered if the rebel group still ventured into this underworld, this hidden realm of darkness.

It had been a mere matter of months since Clancy stumbled upon the intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the city streets. With each passing day, he delved deeper into its mysterious depths, meticulously mapping out its twisting passages and dark corners. What initially required a makeshift map now seemed second nature to him, effortlessly manoeuvring through the maze with a sense of familiarity.

Yet, despite his thorough exploration, one crucial detail continued to elude him - the exit. Clancy couldn't shake the feeling that either he simply couldn't locate it, or perhaps some unknown force was purposefully keeping it beyond his reach. Perhaps, he mused, he wasn't meant to find the way out yet. Perhaps there was still more to learn, more to discover, before he could finally break free.

As he pondered this dilemma, a sense of unease settled within him. Something about Dema’s comforting lull of routine and organised system tugged at his bones, whispering at him to stay.

Clancy added the final touches to the letter, carefully penning his name before leaning back in his chair. As he reread the words before him, a thoughtful expression crossed his face, causing him to absentmindedly chew on his lip.

“ I hope this message finds you safely. I am a citizen of Dema, but I want freedom. I have come to see the oppressive nature of the city and how the Bishops exploit our vulnerabilities for their own gain. My eyes have been opened to the corrupt practices of Vialism. I promise to keep the secret of the tunnels safe, even at the cost of my own life. I seek to join the Banditos, but I am afraid. I have attempted to leave the city before, but I was smeared and caught mercilessly. I am asking for your help. Cover me. - Clancy ”

He finished the letter quickly, rereading the paragraphs a number of times before he felt satisfaction with its words. Once finished, he delicately placed it on his desk before rising from his seat to grab a glass of water.

As he stood in the kitchen, a sudden draft sent a shiver up his spine. The familiar surroundings of his apartment, once a sanctuary where he could escape the chaos of the outside world, now felt foreign to him. Every crack in the walls, the unforgiving concrete floors that seemed to intensify his physical discomfort, and the dull greys and whites that dominated the colour scheme, emphasised the stark emptiness that had infiltrated his once welcoming space. 

As Clancy re-entered his room, he couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the imposing photo of the Torchbearer on his desk. Sometimes, he could swear that the eyes followed him wherever he walked.

The figure's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce through him. The bandana wrapped around the lower half of the Torchbearer's face added an air of mystery, making it impossible to discern the emotions behind it. However, his eyes spoke volumes - they were filled with a sense of duty and unwavering determination, as if urging Clancy to emulate the hero's courage and strength.

A wave of dread swept over Clancy, causing his stomach to twist and his chest to constrict with fear. In his single-minded focus on unravelling the mysteries of the Banditos and concocting his escape plan, he had overlooked a crucial question that now loomed ominously before him. Would the Banditos even accept him into their ranks? Doubts plagued his mind as he realised he was just a face in the sea of Dema's population, nothing noteworthy or exceptional. Countless others had dared to defy the oppressive regime before him, and he was certain more would follow in his footsteps. He wasn’t anything special - not even to the Bishops who would hunt him down.

Clancy’s heart sank as he turned away from the haunting photo of the Torchbearer, unable to bear the weight of its gaze any longer. He found solace in the simple act of sitting on his worn bed, feeling the familiar creak of the aged mattress beneath him. Leaning back against the cold wall, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of the never-ending thoughts that plagued him.

The walls of Dema seemed to close in on him, suffocating him with their familiarity. He had been trapped within their confines for so long that he couldn’t fathom a life beyond them. Memories of his past were hazy and fragmented, leaving him with more questions than answers about his origins. Clancy couldn’t recall if he had been born within the walls of Dema or if he had been brought there against his will. The years spent within its confines had blurred together, creating a sense of timelessness that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Despite the passage of time, he couldn't shake the feeling that this place was not where he belonged. It lacked that sense of comfort and familiarity that others associated with the word 'home'. Instead of feeling welcoming and cosy, it felt cold and isolating.

As he delved into his research on Dema, he came across stories of tight-knit communities and esteemed individuals who had played key roles in shaping the city's history. However, the Dema he experienced bore no resemblance to the vibrant and interconnected community described in those tales. There was a palpable lack of camaraderie among the residents. People avoided each other, if they were even aware of the souls living on the other side of their bedroom wall.

Throughout his years of education, Clancy was consumed by an insatiable curiosity about the illustrious history of Dema, the mysterious society in which he lived. Despite his persistent questioning and longing for knowledge, his teachers and peers dismissed him with apathetic shrugs, as if he were somehow misguided for seeking answers. It seemed as though they expected him to blindly accept the greatness of Dema without questioning its origins.

This pervasive attitude left Clancy feeling bewildered and isolated, as no one would offer him the explanations he craved. As he matured, Clancy found himself yearning for a deeper understanding of his world, fueled by a longing for truth and a sense of dissatisfaction with the status quo.

Perhaps this was why he took so much comfort in Keons. The kindly Bishop had always welcomed his questions, understanding they were from a place of curiosity. As a child, he would sit captivated at Keons' feet, absorbing every word of his passionate teachings on Vialism and the blessings of their homeland.

Throughout his upbringing, Clancy placed his unwavering faith in the Bishop, turning to him in his worst moments of darkness and despair. Despite the weight of his troubles, Keons always made time for Clancy, soothing his anxieties with lengthy and heartfelt conversations late into the night. In his darkest moments, Keons was a beacon of light, a constant source of comfort and support for Clancy.

Now, with new knowledge weighing heavy on his heart, he felt a deep and searing pain. The realisation that he had always placed his unshakeable trust in Keons, believing that he knew what was best for him, was like a dagger to his soul. The betrayal cut deep, knowing that he had been deceived, manipulated, and misguided his entire life.

Each memory of blind faith and unconditional trust in the Bishop felt like a bitter pill to swallow. The sting of the truth lingered, eroding any semblance of trust that once existed. Keons was no longer the beacon of guidance and wisdom; he was now a shadow of doubt and deceit in his eyes.

Clancy felt the tendrils of darkness creeping into his mind once more, a sensation he had grown all too accustomed to. With a determined shake of his head, he tried to dispel the encroaching thoughts, as if physically shrugging off their weight. His gaze shifted upwards, drawn to the view outside his window.

As he looked out, his eyes fixated on the familiar sight of the green, rolling hills that surrounded Trench. It was as if he was transported back to his childhood, when the world seemed simpler and full of wonder. Despite the imposing concrete walls of Dema blocking most of his view of the outside world, the sight of those hills, covered in lush forest and vibrant flora, provided a sense of solace and nostalgia that he had not expected. The familiar landscape of Trench brought him a sense of peace and comfort, grounding him in a way he had not realised he needed.

Clancy closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to the brief moment he had spent outside the bustling city. In his dream, he could almost feel the waft of fresh air brushing past his nose, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of flowers and the earthy aroma of lush grass. The image of reaching down to touch the damp ferns beneath his feet lingered in his mind, still cool from the morning dew. With each breath, his muscles relaxed, and he felt weightless once again, as if he was floating on air. Though the moment had been fleeting, it held a profound significance for Clancy. It had been a taste of freedom, a glimpse of a life beyond the confines of the city walls.

And as he thought about the Banditos, he couldn't help but hope with all his heart that they would be the key to the liberation he so desperately yearned for.

Chapter Text

“This was a stupid idea.” Clancy muttered beneath his breath,the bitterness evident in his tone as he walked down the lonely street. With each step, he kicked a pebble that scattered along the cracked concrete. It hadn’t taken long for Clancy to make up his mind to return to the tunnels beneath Reisdro’s district. As regret gnawed at him, he wished he had waited for a different time of day to embark on such a journey. However, the suffocating darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind like a creeping vignette motivated him to seek solace in the scant fresh air of Dema, though the polluted atmosphere did little to ease his troubled thoughts.

The early afternoon sun beat down oppressively on Clancy as he made his way through the bustling streets of Dema. The glare was blinding, forcing him to shield his eyes with a hand as he navigated through the sea of people going about their daily routines. The rhythm of the city was relentless, with its inhabitants moving with a sense of purpose and determination that seemed foreign to Clancy.

As he wandered through the crowded streets, Clancy couldn't shake the feeling of suffocation that enveloped him. It was as if he were invisible amidst the throngs of people, the only one who seemed to be questioning the monotony of their lives. The shops that lined the streets blurred together in a whirl of colours and noise, each one a reminder of the conformity that seemed to drown him.

Despite his best efforts to blend in, Clancy knew deep down that he was different. The knowledge he had gained, the truths he had uncovered, only reinforced that feeling of alienation. He was an outsider in a world that seemed determined to keep him at arm's length, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit into the larger picture. And as he walked through the busy streets of Dema, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the precipice of something profound and life-changing.

As Clancy approached the dingy alleyway that had become familiar to him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The musty smell of dampness hung heavy in the air, clinging to his skin like a blanket. He glanced cautiously from side to side before quietly slipping into the shadowy confines of the alley.

The dim light from the flickering streetlamp above cast eerie shadows on the cracked concrete floor, guiding Clancy's careful steps as he made his way towards the fourth lamppost. Despite the absence of rain for days, the dampness seemed to linger, seeping into every crevice of the narrow passageway.

With practised precision, Clancy avoided the puddles and debris scattered across the ground, making sure his boots made no sound as he approached his destination. The flickering streetlamp overhead served as a peculiar beacon, its erratic glow drawing him closer to the hidden entrance he sought.

Clancy knelt down and removed the large trash bin that concealed the entrance to his underground passage. With a sense of familiarity, he climbed the rusted ladder to the top rungs, carefully replacing the cover before beginning his descent into the darkness below. Each step down felt like a descent into the unknown, the musty smell growing stronger with each passing moment. And as Clancy disappeared into the depths of the hidden tunnel, the echoing sound of his footsteps reverberated off the damp walls, a reminder of the secrets that lay buried beneath the city streets.

Clancy, with each step echoing in the dimly lit tunnels, had committed to memory the precise number of steps it took to descend to the floor below. The familiarity of the ground meeting him no longer startled him as he hopped down, confident in his movements. With a click of his torch, he illuminated the path ahead and embarked on the long journey towards the central room.

As he walked, a soft hum escaped his lips, a melody of reassurance in the quiet underground. Surrounded by darkness, he felt an overwhelming sense of security, a stark contrast to the constant feeling of being watched that plagued him on the surface in Dema. In the shadows, he found solace, knowing that he was not alone in his desire for freedom, reassured by the presence of others who shared his quest for liberation.

Finally arriving at the large room in which all the tunnels met, Clancy scanned quickly around the room. Everything was as he left it. Except for..

Suddenly, Clancy found himself slammed against the unyielding wall, a swift and powerful arm cutting off his air supply. As he struggled to breathe, his vision blurred from the shock of the attack. His torch slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a resounding crash that shattered the glass. Desperately, he reached out to grab hold of his assailant's arm, his hands trembling with fear. In the darkness, a flaming torch held by his attacker illuminated the room, revealing the face of the stranger for the first time to Clancy.

They were diminutive in stature, their frame appearing almost fragile at first glance, yet emanating a sense of underlying strength. The worry lines etched deeply across their forehead hinted at a life filled with anxiety and hardship, accentuated by their thick black eyebrows furrowed in a perpetual scowl. Piercing brown eyes locked onto his own with an aura of hostility, while their thin lips remained pressed tightly together in a show of resolve.

Although small, they possessed a quiet intensity that commanded attention. A jagged scar, healed over time, stretched across their throat, a lasting reminder of past struggles and battles fought. Clancy couldn't help but notice the similarity in thickness between that scar and the one adorning his own nose, a silent bond forming between them, despite the unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” They growled, pushing harder against Clancy’s oesophagus. Gasping a response, Clancy tried to speak. Only hoarse and intelligible words came out, and his attacker didn’t seem to be letting up. With a final burst of energy, Clancy managed to free his hands and gesture towards the direction they were questioning about. "East... is... Up," he gasped, his eyes pleading for mercy.

Clancy's eyes widened in relief as the stranger finally released the pressure from his throat, allowing him to draw in a deep breath of musty tunnel air. He coughed, still clutching his chest, feeling the fear and panic slowly receding. As he struggled to regain his composure, he managed to straighten up and confront the stranger.

Gasping for air, he asked, "Do you always greet people like that?" The stranger nonchalantly shrugged, the flames dancing around them casting eerie shadows on their face.

“You scared the shit out of me. I think I reacted accordingly.” The stranger replied with a small chuckle. Clancy squinted, trying to make out their features in the dim light, but realised they were not the Torchbearer he had been expecting.

“Are.. are you-”

“A Bandito?” They chuckled, a small smile cracking across their face.

“I wish. But, no. Not yet.”

The figure pivoted on their heel, striding deeper into the main chamber of the tunnels before gently setting the fiery torch into a crackling pile of wood. The inviting warmth beckoned Clancy closer, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He cautiously approached, standing awkwardly in the proximity of the fire.

“What’s your name?” He asked, curious about the stranger sitting opposite him.

“Ave. I’m from Vetomo’s district. You?” They tilted their head to one side, their demeanour softening as they made eye contact.

“Clancy. Keons.” He replied, moving closer and taking a seat by the small bonfire.

“Lucky. Vetomo’s a bitch to deal with.” Ave's bitterness seeped into their tone as they spoke of their Bishop. Clancy felt a pang of unease at the casual curse. It was still taking him a while to adjust to being a rebel.

“How did you find the tunnels? I thought only Banditos knew where this place was.” Clancy inquired, moving closer to Ave and studying their expression intently.

“That’s true, I suppose. But I saw them coming down here once.” Ave replied, gazing into the flames as they prodded at the glowing embers with the end of their torch.

“It was a few years ago, but on my way home from visiting a tutor in Reisdro’s district, I saw the light of a flame. I followed it and watched them disappear into the alleyway. I never got to speak to them, or even see their faces, but that fire..” Ave's voice trailed off momentarily. “It’s what made me wake up.”

Clancy listened, wide eyed. The experience of hearing someone else's narrative was surprisingly invigorating, offering a glimpse into their past and ultimately reassuring him that he was not the only one in this predicament.. Ave's gaze met his own, eyes reflecting a darkness that seemed to mirror his own inner struggles, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“What about you?” Ave asked, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I saw a man get dragged away, shouting about how Vialism was wrong.” His brow furrowed as the memory played through his mind. “I’d always felt like something was wrong, but.. Not as wrong as this.”

Ave nodded as they poked at the fire, causing a shower of embers to dance in the air.

“I understand.”

The silence hung heavy between Clancy and Ave, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Clancy's mind raced, processing the reality of not being alone in his desire for freedom. Finally, there was someone else who shared his dreams of a better life outside of Dema. Ave's voice, once filled with threats, now softened as they spoke, echoing the sentiments Clancy had been mulling over.

“I’ve never met another rebel before.” Ave admitted quietly, their words carrying a weight of novelty and vulnerability.

Clancy turned to look at them, a smile spreading across his face. “Me neither.” He replied, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him for the first time since his failed escape attempt. “It’s nice.”

In that moment, a sense of camaraderie and friendship blossomed between them, breaking through the monotony and drabness of their surroundings. Ave's grin mirrored Clancy's, both revelling in the rare and precious connection they had stumbled upon in the desolate confines of Dema.

“Do you think we can ever truly escape?” They asked, determination sparking in their eyes for just a moment. Clancy hesitated before nodding.

“It won’t be easy.” He scoffed bitterly. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” He admitted with a bitter edge to his voice. His fingers absentmindedly traced the scar that marred his own face, a reminder of his failed attempt at freedom.

Ave pulled down the collar of their shirt, revealing a jagged scar that mirrored Clancy's own. The scar resembled a bolt of lightning, stretching from their neck down towards their shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I know.” Ave said softly, running their fingers over the scar with a mix of sadness and acceptance. They turned back to the fire, the flames dancing in their eyes.

“I worked for months, planning, gathering friends..” The memory seemed to bring a sharp pain to their faces, as they winced and hesitated before speaking.

“I’m sure Keons is more merciful than Vetomo. We got smeared and thrown in cells for weeks. I’ve not seen the others since, and I barely made it out of there myself.” Ave pulled their knees up to their chest, their body language screaming vulnerability and trauma. Clancy tried to offer comfort, extending a hand across the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. Ave didn't take it, but their eyes conveyed gratitude and warmth.

“We’ll get out. I know we will. I promise.” Clancy wasn’t sure if he was swearing this to Ave or himself, but either way, it worked. As Ave locked eyes with him, a glimmer of hope emerged in their gaze, and a faint smile played on their lips.

“You’re a good motivator, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“..Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The remaining hours of the day slipped away swiftly for Clancy, much to his dismay. He found solace in the company of Ave, a kindred spirit that seemed to mirror his own thoughts and emotions. Their conversation flowed easily, providing a temporary escape from the suffocating grasp of Dema that had weighed heavily on Clancy for so long. As the flickering flames of their small bonfire began to fade, casting shadows over their faces, they reluctantly stood up, their connection lingering in the darkness.

"Oh, one second," Ave said, holding up a hand as they crouched down to rummage through their backpack. Clancy, intrigued, tilted his head to the side, observing as Ave pulled out a stack of crumpled notes and a torch. With a sheepish smile, Ave handed him the torch first.

"Consider this my apology for breaking yours. I have more back at home anyway," Ave explained. Clancy took the torch, feeling its weight in his palm, and nodded appreciatively.

“Take these too.” They handed the notes to him. The paper was crumpled and smears of pencil graphite made the writing rather difficult to decipher.

“That's all I know about the Banditos. I also know some people with more information. Others who tried to escape. But, for now, I think you might find this research useful.”

Clancy looked at Ave gratefully, realising the significance of the information they were sharing. With a sense of determination, he tucked the notes into his own backpack, knowing they would be valuable in his quest for answers.

“This is amazing, thank you.”

They returned the grin, swinging their backpack over their shoulder by a single, worn strap.

“I suppose you’re under curfew too? We're running out of time." They extended their hand. “You leave first. I’ll follow behind after a few minutes so no one knows we were here together.”

Clancy shook Ave's hand, acknowledging their clever tactic. "Until next time then."

With that, he turned on his heel and started walking towards the tunnel that would take him back to Reisdro's district. However, he hesitated.

“Will I see you again?” Clancy asked, looking over his shoulder. He could feel a sense of worry and desperation settling in his stomach like a heavy stone. He had just made a friend. He couldn’t lose them. Not so soon.

Ave seemed to understand, nodding.

“I don’t come here often, but if we’re serious about escaping, we need to start planning.” They chewed on their fingernails, humming to themselves as they thought.

“How about the same day next month? I’ll bring the fire.”

Clancy's relief was palpable as he nodded eagerly. "That sounds perfect." As he turned to leave, a smile tugged at his lips and he sent Ave a warm look. “Stay safe.”

With a renewed sense of hope, Clancy walked away, his heart lighter with the promise of future meetings with his newfound friend.

Clancy moved with precision through the dimly lit tunnel, his heart pounding in his chest. The watch on his wrist served as a constant reminder of the impending deadline he faced. Every second that passed only added to the pressure mounting within him.

Emerging into the cool night air, he carefully replaced the wheeled bin cover, silently cursing the rusty screeching noise it made. Pulling his hood over his head, he glanced up at the darkening sky, the last remnants of sunlight casting a dull glow over the city.

The vibrant colours of sunset he had read about in stories and seen in comics were nowhere to be found. Instead, a sombre shade of grey enveloped the streets of Dema, casting a shadow over everything in its wake. Clancy knew that his night was far from peaceful, but he had no choice but to forge ahead, filled with determination to face whatever awaited him beyond the safety of the underground tunnel.

He effortlessly manoeuvred his way through the familiar maze of alleyways and quieter streets, skillfully dodging the chaos of rush hour. The anticipation built within him as he ascended the stairs of his apartment building, his hand twitching with the desire to delve into the secrets that Ave had entrusted to him. At long last, he was on the brink of uncovering the enigmatic truths behind the elusive group that lurked beyond the confines of Dema.

In a flurry of motion, Clancy bolted into his apartment, his heart racing as he swiftly turned the key in the lock, ensuring it was secure before easing his nerves. A sense of urgency filled him as he double-checked the door’s stability, determined to secure his solitude for the evening ahead. Though unlikely, he couldn’t risk any unwanted interruptions from Keons, especially tonight.

Fingers trembling with anticipation, he retrieved the papers from his bag, their crisp edges rustling as he unfolded them with a sense of reverence.

Since childhood, he had been captivated by the tantalising rumours of rebels inhabiting the untamed wilderness of Trench. The mere existence of these outcasts had fueled his curiosity for years, but it was only recently when the idea of joining their ranks had taken hold of his imagination. The thought of stepping into their world stirred something deep within him, beckoning him toward an unknown destiny.

Clancy quietly slipped into his dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light filtering in through the crack in the curtains as the sun set. His eyes swept over the meticulously organised piles of papers and books that littered his desk, a visual representation of the secrets he had already unearthed: a mix of hidden tomes from the back of the library and stolen data from Keons’ office. They were as he left them, and his paranoia settled for a moment.

He kicked off his worn shoes and tossed his jacket aside, baring himself to the task at hand. His fingers brushed against the rough edges of the papers as he lifted them to his face, an air of suspense building within him as he sat at his desk.

The hastily scribbled notes on the sheets were evidence of Ave's frantic efforts to document their covert discussions with the other rebel sympathisers in Dema. Each bullet point seemed to pulsate with significance, hinting at a hidden world of resistance just beyond the walls of their oppressive society. Clancy's heart raced at the thought of joining forces with these mysterious allies, eager to unravel the mysteries they held and share in their collective struggle against tyranny.

The first point on the page hooked Clancy's attention as he sat hunched over his desk. The words "Many were previously citizens of Dema. Others native to Trench" seemed to speak directly to him. He let out a soft, contemplative hum as he looked out of his window at the desolate cityscape outside, shrouded in darkness now the sun was gone.

That made sense. The Banditos, like him, had faced their own battles and struggles. They understood the crippling self-doubt, the temptation of addiction, and the overwhelming sense of isolation that many in Dema felt. Those who hailed from elsewhere in Trench, who had never set foot in the oppressive walls of the city, must have witnessed firsthand the tyranny of the Bishops and the suffocating grip of Vialism on their community.

It made sense why they fought so vehemently against the control of the Bishops, why they risked everything to free themselves and others from their oppressive rule. In that moment, Clancy felt a newfound sense of kinship with the Banditos, a shared understanding of the struggles they faced and the resilience they showed in the face of adversity.

“Yellow tape is positive and signals you are one of them.” The second point seemed obvious at first, but the more Clancy pondered over it, he realised it was not just a marker of alliance, but a bold declaration of resilience and defiance in the face of adversity. In a world drained of colour and life, the vibrant hue symbolises hope, promising a brighter future and a determination to endure whatever challenges lay ahead. Yellow was for the future and promising to both yourself and others that you’ll make it. That you’ll survive whatever you’re going through.

Clancy's eyes focused intently on the unfamiliar phrase before him on the third point: "Sahlo Folina. Cry it out when you need help." He pronounced each syllable with a deliberate precision, engraving the words into his mind just as he had done with the phrase "East Is Up." It stirred something within him, sparking a newfound sense of purpose and motivation. The idea that he could simply utter those two words and be surrounded by supportive friends was a source of immense comfort, a reassuring reminder that he was never truly alone.

“Leader is Torchbearer. A good man. Can be trusted.” Clancy’s eyes widened at the mention of the mysterious figure he had been searching for. The image of the Torchbearer, carefully tucked into the corner of his cluttered research notes, seemed to glow with a reassuring warmth. The notion that this revered leader was known to be a good man, one who could be relied upon, filled Clancy with a mix of relief and determination. When Clancy eventually made it outside the walls, he made a promise to find the Banditos and find the Torchbearer.

“They live in camps on hilltops. Look for the fire.” Clancy couldn't help but be intrigued by their tight-knit community, thriving despite the depressing nature of Dema. Despite the harsh reality of their existence, they found solace in each other, a camaraderie that seemed to radiate warmth and closeness. The more Clancy thought about it, the more he longed for that sense of connection and belonging.

After encountering Ave and briefly experiencing the companionship they offered, the stark contrast of being alone in the suffocating silence of Dema was almost unbearable. The note served as a burning reminder of the human need for company and the profound impact of isolation in such a desolate place.

“Ultimate goal is to free citizens of Dema from Bishop control.” As he read the final bullet-point on the note, a sense of admiration and respect washed over him. The Banditos, with their courageous spirit and fierce loyalty, were willing to risk everything to bring freedom to others. Their selflessness and determination were palpable in every word and action.

Setting aside the notes from Ave, Clancy picked up the stolen photograph of the Banditos, their figures silhouetted atop the backdrop of a cliffside. Each member wore a determined expression, their faces etched with worry lines but their eyes shining with a sense of purpose. Despite the grainy quality of the photo, Clancy could feel the hope and resilience radiating from each rebel, as if their presence transcended the paper and stood before him, ready to fight for a better future.

As Clancy gazed out of his window, a sense of relief washed over him, prompting a deep exhale. Peering over the towering walls of Dema, he could just make out the rolling hills and dense forest of Trench, a sight that brought him comfort. The Banditos knew he was here, and he knew they would help him in his darkest hours of need. In that moment, Clancy found solace in the knowledge that in Trench, he was not alone.

Chapter Text

Months had come and gone since Clancy and Ave first crossed paths. Faithful to their agreement, the pair rendezvoused in the shadowy, labyrinthine tunnels beneath Dema to strategize their escape. Armed with a meticulously crafted map of the underground passages, they diligently plotted their route to freedom.

Meeting with his newfound friend was a double-edged sword for Clancy. While he enjoyed the companionship and camaraderie, a shadow of guilt lingered in the corners of his mind, gnawing at his very bones. The thought of betraying Keons and the other Bishops by joining the rebels haunted him, causing his nightmares to vividly play out scenarios of disappointment and condemnation.

In these dreams, Clancy could see Keons' disapproving gaze, hear his voice filled with disappointment, and feel the weight of his words condemning him to a life of solitude. The image of Keons walking away, muttering words of failure and unworthiness, left Clancy feeling isolated and abandoned. The fear of losing the guidance and support he once had made him awaken in a sweat, gripping his bedsheets in terror as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

Despite wanting to seek reassurance and comfort, Clancy kept his fears hidden, afraid of being seen as weak or cowardly by others. The internal struggle between loyalty and newfound freedom weighed heavily on his heart, causing him to question his own convictions and decisions.

However, on other days, Clancy would awaken with a renewed sense of determination coursing through his veins as he prepared to venture back into the tunnels. His excitement was palpable as he made his way to Reisdro’s district, a noticeable bounce in his step and a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes as he envisioned the promise of a brighter future beyond their confined existence.

Sitting beside Ave by the crackling bonfire, Clancy couldn’t help but ponder if they too felt the tumultuous emotions churning within him. They were both reserved individuals, keeping their past lives above ground shrouded in mystery. Conversation rarely delved into their personal histories in Dema, instead, they focused on the task at hand - planning their daring escape to freedom.

When Ave first proposed the idea of recruiting other like-minded rebels, Clancy's initial reaction was one of apprehension. While he was relieved to know that there were others in the city who shared his desire to break free from the oppressive regime, the thought of involving more people in their cause filled him with a sense of unease. The idea of drawing attention to themselves by forming a larger group seemed perilous.

“Trust me, you’ll like them. They’re just like us.” As Ave tried to reassure him, their words seemed to blend with the crackling flames that surrounded them, casting a flickering light on their faces. Clancy hesitated, biting his lip as he weighed the risks in his mind. Ave's insistence that the newcomers were trustworthy did little to ease his concerns.

“I know, I know.” Clancy murmured, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“They need to learn more; learn what you know about the Bishops and Vialism.” Ave pressed.

“That’s not the part I’m worried about. I’m worried that we’ll be noticed.” He cast out his arms. “Higher numbers means a bigger crowd. A bigger crowd means a bigger risk.” Looking up at Ave, worry etched into every line of his face, Clancy expressed his fears. The notion of standing out in a crowd, with all eyes upon them, was enough to give him pause.

For Clancy, the greater the numbers, the greater the risk.

Ave mulled over his words, their fingers nervously picking at the dry skin on their hands as they tried to articulate their thoughts.

"Well... that might not be a bad thing," Ave said with a sudden realisation, their eyes widening as the idea formed in their mind. Clancy, puzzled by Ave's sudden shift in perspective, tilted his head to one side in confusion.

Ave went on to explain, their voice filled with conviction, "Sure, the risk might be higher. But it means that others will see us. More people will wake up from this.. This shit. They'll join our cause."

Clancy's heart rate quickened as he began to see the bigger picture that Ave was painting. "The Bishops won't have any choice but to face the pain and suffering they've forced on us all. They won't be able to avoid the problem any longer."

An ambitious smile tugged at Clancy's lips as he realised the potential impact of their actions.

“We can gather them at the old auditorium in Lisden’s district. He doesn’t even use it anymore, it’s practically abandoned.” Ave suggested, pulling out a battered map of Dema from their backpack and traced a finger along the street where the auditorium was located. Clancy took note of the location, his heart racing at the thought of what they were planning.

“If it makes you feel better, we can plan with the others rather than dragging them into an escape attempt on day one.” They looked up at Clancy, eyes gleaming.

“Sure.I'll bring my notes and share what I know with the group," Clancy promised, his expression serious. "But we have to be careful. We can't risk anyone betraying us to the Bishops."

The thought of the consequences of their actions sent shivers down Clancy's spine.

Ave enthusiastically nodded in agreement, their eyes bright with determination. "I'll only bring the people I trust. It's not many, but it'll work," they said, their voice filled with conviction.

Clancy let out a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing at their reassurance. "Good. Let's meet in... how about a month? We'll hold the seminar instead of our usual meet-ups," he suggested, a sense of anticipation in his tone.

Ave's grin widened as they turned quickly to rummage in their bag once more. With a sense of excitement, they retrieved a metal hip flask and held it above the flickering flames of the bonfire.

"To educating the people," Ave declared proudly, taking a swig from the flask before offering it to Clancy. He accepted it, his fingers tracing the dented, well-worn surface of the flask.

"To being free," Clancy replied, his smile matching Ave's as he took a gulp of the liquor. The fire crackled and popped in the background, casting a warm glow over their determined faces as they toasted to their shared cause.

- 

The following month, Clancy spent every spare moment preparing. His notes were meticulously arranged, pulled from his trusty, nearly-filled notepad, and carefully transcribed with all the crucial information. While the knowledge flowed effortlessly in his mind, he understood that overwhelming others with the intricacies of the oppressive system they had endured for generations would be a formidable task.

As the meeting date crept closer, Clancy's anxiety intensified. Public speaking was unfamiliar territory for him, and exposing the dangerous truths that could lead to his immediate arrest was a daunting prospect. Once an optimist, Clancy's perspective had shifted after Keons' betrayal, leaving him wary and distrustful of those he encountered. Every interaction was approached with caution, anticipating a potential betrayal that could jeopardise his mission. Though a coping mechanism, Clancy believed that this newfound wariness could ultimately prove beneficial in safeguarding his cause.

- 

The day of the seminar arrived, and Clancy could hardly contain his nerves. Every fibre of his being seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy as he fidgeted endlessly, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios that could unfold.

His backpack felt heavy with the weight of his notes, carefully organised and ready to be presented. But it was the cold, hard steel of his trusty pocket knife that brought him a sense of security. Clancy was no fighter, but he knew that having a small blade tucked away would be better than nothing if things were to take a dangerous turn. As he tightened his boots and prepared to step outside his apartment, Clancy couldn't help but dwell on the skills he hoped to utilise instead of violence. Years of pouring his heart and soul into his songwriting and poetry had honed his ability to use words as weapons, and he was determined to make them his primary defence.

With a final deep breath, Clancy opened the door and began the walk to the seminar location, steeling himself for whatever challenges may come his way.

At their previous meeting, Ave had detailed the process of gaining entry into the dilapidated building. Clancy stood before it now, taking in its decaying facade; shattered windows, leaking ceilings, and a general air of neglect that hung heavily in the air. His eyes scanned the crumbling structure, searching for the elusive entrance his friend had mentioned.

After several moments of searching, Clancy's gaze landed on the rusty fire escape ladder affixed to the outside wall. With a sense of urgency, he quickly made his way over to it, his heart pounding in his chest. Beneath the ladder, he spotted a weathered vent cover, its edges frayed and worn from years of abandonment.

Crouching down, Clancy gritted his teeth as the sharp metal edges of the vent cover scraped against his head. Pushing through the discomfort, he persevered, ultimately managing to wiggle his way through the narrow opening. With a final push, he found himself inside the building, the faint light filtering in through the cracked ceiling above. A sense of accomplishment washed over him as he took in his surroundings, the thrill of the clandestine entry sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

As Clancy ventured deeper into the abandoned building, the sounds of creaking and groaning filled the air, reverberating off the decayed foundations. The dimly lit corridor was cloaked in shadows, with cobwebs weaving a sinister tapestry in the uppermost corners of the walls. Every now and then, a flash of movement caught Clancy's eye, sending a shiver down his spine as he spotted spiders lurking in the dusty corners.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he made his way through the corridor, his trained eyes scanning the floor for any signs of danger. Shattered glass and broken floorboards littered his path, but Clancy navigated them with practised skill, making sure not to make a sound that would give away his presence.

Ave's directions had been clear - the auditorium was at the heart of the building, and the faded, dusty signs that lined the corridors served as his guide. Clancy indeed found this to be the case, navigating the corridor effortlessly.

Finally, after a nerve-wracking journey down the hallway, he stood before the looming double doors adorned with the bold letters ‘Auditorium’. His heart raced with anticipation, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. Though doubts and fears still lingered in his mind, Clancy took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. Tonight, he was not just another face in the crowd - he was a rebel, a voice of change. And as he pushed open the doors, he was determined to educate, inspire, and challenge the minds of all who entered.

Clancy pushed against the wooden doors, the ancient hinges creaking in protest as they swung open. The sudden brightness of torchlights momentarily blinded him, forcing him to squint until his eyes could adjust to the flickering illumination. As his vision cleared, he could make out the shapes of people seated in the darkened auditorium, their faces turned towards him expectantly.

The dimly lit room revealed about a dozen figures scattered throughout the rows of seats, their eyes fixed on Clancy as he stood at the entrance. The unexpected number of people made his heart race and a wave of self-consciousness washed over him, causing his palms to grow clammy and his throat to feel tight. He hadn't anticipated so many witnesses to his entrance, and he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable beneath the intense scrutiny of their gazes.

Ave sat at the edge of a sturdy wooden table, the darkened room casting shadows around them as they clicked off their torch. As they caught sight of Clancy entering the room, recognition sparked in their eyes, and they greeted him with a warm smile before hopping down to approach him.

“Everyone, this is my friend, Clancy.” Placing a reassuring hand on Clancy's shoulder, Ave turned to face the small, curious crowd gathered in front of them. Clancy offered a shy wave and a brief nod of acknowledgment.

“It’s great to meet you all.” He paused, before tugging his backpack off and walking to the table. Clancy took a moment to compose himself before delving into the purpose of their gathering.

“You already know why you’re here. Some of you might be new to all of this. I know I am.” He smiled sheepishly.

“But I’ve been researching the truth, and I’m here to tell you about it.” The crowd remained silent, eyes boring into him as he pulled out his notes.

As Clancy opened his mouth to speak, an unexpected surge of confidence and eloquence washed over him. Each word rolled off his tongue with a practised ease, as if he had rehearsed this speech countless times in front of a mirror.

The hushed murmurs that occasionally rose from the audience quickly dissipated, as they became captivated by Clancy's impassioned delivery. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as he spoke, his voice unwavering and filled with conviction. With a resolute declaration of their impending freedom, he brought his speech to a powerful conclusion.

As Clancy gazed out at the expectant faces before him, he held his breath, waiting for a response. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, the tension palpable as the crowd contemplated his words and weighed their options. And in the stillness of that moment, Clancy's heart raced with anticipation, his every nerve on edge as he awaited their reaction.

Clancy felt his heart sink, watching in horror as one person rose from their seat, their eyes filled with unmistakable disgust. Their lips curled into a sneer as they made their way to the exit, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tense room.

“I came here to learn some honest, useful information,” they spat, their voice dripping with contempt. “Instead, I heard nonsense ramblings about conspiracy theories and treason.” The words hung heavily in the air, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Clancy could feel the weight of their accusation crushing him as they glared back at him before striding towards the door. With one last warning, they turned to him, their voice low and menacing.

“Don’t make life harder for us for no reason,” they growled before slamming the door shut behind them.

Clancy stood frozen in place, his mind racing with doubt and uncertainty. Had he made a mistake by sharing his beliefs with this group? The sound of their angry footsteps fading into the distance only served to deepen his sense of unease. Had he alienated those he had hoped to enlighten, or worse, put himself in danger?

A small cough caught his attention, drawing Clancy's attention away from the podium and towards the rest of the crowd. Several attendees appeared visibly shaken, their expressions mirroring the fear he felt deep in his gut. As he scanned the sea of faces, his eyes settled on a small figure with delicate features and pale hair raised a hand, standing from their seat.

Stammering slightly, Clancy managed to speak, his voice thick with emotion. "Y-yes, go ahead," he said, turning to face the figure. "What’s your name?"

The figure hesitated for a moment before answering. "I go by Azrael," they said, their voice carrying an unexpected weight that reverberated around the room. "I don’t want to use my name from before I woke up. That life is gone."

Clancy couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for Azrael's bravery as they continued to speak. "You said you’d escaped before. What was it like?" curiosity sparked in their eyes, and Clancy noticed the way they fidgeted with the Vialist rosary around their neck, using it as a distraction for their restless hands rather than a symbol of their faith.

“It was.. Unlike anything I’d ever seen before.” He closed his eyes, momentarily teleported back to the few, short seconds he had spent outside Dema’s walls.

“The air was crisp, pure, and full of life. The grass was green; the greenest thing you’ve ever seen, and it was soft. The sun was warm; actually warm, not in the way it feels in the city.” Clancy couldn’t resist the wistful smile that grew on his face. “It made me feel alive.”

Azrael listened intently, captivated by Clancy's description. “It sounds wonderful. "I want to feel that kind of happiness, that kind of freedom.” Their resolve was palpable, a determination that burned bright in their gaze. “I’m with you.”

Another figure rose to their feet, looking down at Clancy. “I’m with you too.”

With a gentle, yet confident turn, Clancy faced them, a reassuring smile playing on his lips as he acknowledged their presence.

“What’s your name?” It felt odd to ask this to each person in the room, but Clancy wanted to emphasise that he recognised them as individuals. He recognised their bravery and courage to attend this secret meeting, and he was glad that they were here.

“Thorne. I’m from Sacarver’s district.” The person placed their hands on the railing in front of their seat, leaning forwards slightly.

“What’s your plan for getting us out of here?”

With memories of late-night strategy sessions with Ave flashing before his eyes, Clancy's mind raced with the possibilities, knowing that their escape hinged on the strength of their united plan.

“The crack in the wall, where I originally escaped through, is much too focused. We wouldn’t get through there in time; it would be a disaster.” he mused, his footsteps echoing as he paced around the table.

“The tunnels are our only option, but I never discovered the breach location.” Clancy admitted, meeting the gazes of those around him.

“Though, with enough of us down there, we’re bound to find it.”

Ave nodded in agreement, and a subdued murmur of approval rippled through the gathering crowd.

Clancy checked his watch, startled by how quickly time had slipped away. "We'll meet here again in two days," he announced, urging everyone to come prepared with their best ideas. As he gathered his notes and prepared to leave, he couldn't help but notice the diverse group of individuals in the room. In their eyes, a mix of resilience and concern swirled together. Clancy felt a sudden pang of frustration and anger at what the Bishops had done to these people.

With a sudden burst of emotion, he raised his fist and addressed the crowd, declaring, "Remember, Dema and the Bishops do not control us. We are banditos!" To his surprise, the crowd echoed his sentiment, raising their fists in solidarity.

“We are banditos!”

Chapter Text

"Come on.." Clancy groaned softly, his voice muffled by the pillow pressed against his face. It had been a restless couple of days since the initial meeting of the clandestine group of rebels hidden within the oppressive walls of Dema. They had dispersed with the promise of reconvening in the abandoned auditorium in just two short days. Now that the agonisingly long time had passed, Clancy anxiously awaited the cover of night to sneak out of his cramped apartment and rendezvous with his fellow revolutionaries once more.

As Clancy lifted his head, the weight of exhaustion tugging at his neck, he turned his gaze towards the window. The oppressive midday sun hung in the sky like a relentless tormentor, casting harsh light into the room. With a low grumble, Clancy laid his cheek back onto the stale pillow, feeling the weight of impending stress bearing down on him.

He had planned to take a nap in preparation for the challenging days ahead, hoping to be refreshed and alert. However, as he lay there, the promise of sleep seemed to slip further and further away, evading his grasp like a wily ghost. Frustration welled up within him, mingling with the heavy lethargy that weighed down his limbs. The anticipation of the restless nights to come only added to his sense of unease.

The mattress he laid on was tattered, a faded shade of grey that sagged beneath his weight, offering little support or comfort. The thin sheets draped over his form provided meagre protection against the chilly air, failing to keep him warm as he lay there. The pillow beneath his head felt hard and unyielding, more akin to a solid brick of concrete than a soft, plush cushion. Each breath he took seemed to reverberate around the sparse room, the absence of any furnishings making his living space feel barren and unwelcoming.

"I'm going to stare at the ceiling," Clancy murmured to himself, his voice a mere whisper in the quiet room. He shifted onto his back, his gaze fixed on the blank expanse above him. "And I'm going to nap," he added, a touch of determination in his tone as he closed his eyes. Frustration tinged his words, as if he could force himself into sleep with sheer willpower alone.

Placing his hands gently on his stomach, Clancy concentrated on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the steady flow of air in and out of his lungs. He sought comfort in the familiar pattern, hoping the soothing movements would coax him into a peaceful slumber.

It felt like forever had passed when Clancy opened his eyes again. Disappointment flooded through him as he took in the same dull, grey surroundings he'd grown tired of. With a groan of frustration, he pushed himself upright, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His movements were sluggish as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, each step feeling heavier than the last. But as he made his way towards his desk, a sharp pain shot through his wrists, causing him to recoil in shock. Looking down, he saw the glint of cold, unforgiving metal encasing his wrists in tight shackles.

His heart pounding, Clancy's eyes darted back to the desk, only to find an empty space where his notes once lay. Panic surged through him as he realised they were nowhere to be found. His notes were gone.

Hurriedly pushing himself forward, Clancy struggled against the oppressive burden of the shackles, each step feeling like a battle against the pull of gravity. The clinking of the heavy chains echoed in the empty room as he finally reached his desk, his hands frantically searching through each drawer in a desperate attempt to find what he was looking for. With each drawer that yielded nothing, a wave of panic swept over him, his heart hammering in his chest and his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

Just as a sense of dread began to consume him, the ominous creak of the door opening behind him shattered the silence, sending a chill down his spine.

"Looking for these?" The cloaked figure spoke with a warm, almost mischievous tone that carried a hint of amusement. Clancy, intrigued and slightly wary, turned towards the man, his eyes narrowing. He was a Bishop; the red robes and darkened veil told him that much. But try as he might, the man's face remained a mystery, shifting and blurring in an unsettling manner. His voice, deep and enigmatic, evoked a sense of familiarity that eluded Clancy, leaving him unable to assign a name to this enigmatic figure.

As if his thoughts had summoned a response, the figure spoke once more, their voice reverberating through the room with a haunting chill. "You may not recognise me now, but you will come to know me. And sooner than you think."

The Bishop's words resonated through the air as they took a deliberate step forward, causing Clancy to involuntarily shrink back in fear. It all clicked in Clancy's mind as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place - he was standing face to face with Nico.

"Now, about these notes," Nico said with a sinister smile, his eyes cold and calculating as he turned to the pile of papers clenched in his hand like a vice grip.

Clancy's heart raced in fear as he watched in horror, too petrified to move or speak. Blue flames began to sprout from Nico's hand, dancing greedily over the pages and consuming them mercilessly. Years of hard work and research were being swallowed by the fire, the culmination of all his efforts reduced to ash before his very eyes.

A sense of helplessness washed over Clancy, leaving him unable to do anything but stand frozen as his world crumbled around him. No words could form in his throat, only shallow gasps escaping as a panic attack loomed on the horizon.

Nico let go of the smouldering papers, their charred remnants now a bleak, ashy heap on the cold, stone floor. The blue glow of the flames cast an eerie light across his face as he turned to face Clancy, his movements mechanical and devoid of emotion. It was a haunting sight, reminiscent of the vultures that had circled above him in the desolate Necropolis.

Drawing closer, Nico's expression remained stoic as he reached out and grasped Clancy's shoulder with a firm grip. A sharp cry of pain escaped Clancy's lips as he felt the searing heat of blue flames licking at his shirt and scorching the skin beneath. Despite the agony of his burns, Nico seemed unfazed, his gaze fixed on Clancy with a chilling intensity. It was as if he were completely detached from the suffering he was causing, lost in his own world of dark purpose.

"Now, you will never escape," he hissed, his voice like gravel scraping against Clancy's eardrums. The words echoed in Clancy's mind, sending shivers down his spine. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his shoulder, Clancy mustered every ounce of determination he had, facing the Bishop with a defiant glare.

"Yes, I will," Clancy retorted, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and defiance. "Me and the other rebels will break free from your grasp. Just watch." Spitting out his words with fierce resolve, Clancy locked eyes with the shadowy, ever-shifting faces hidden beneath Nico's veil. The Bishop leaned back, throwing his head back in a sinister laugh that reverberated through the building, causing the walls to shake.

"What rebels?" Nico's laughter finally subsided as he tightened his grip on Clancy's shoulder, spinning him around to face the window. "There are no rebels in Dema. Not anymore," Nico stated with a stern expression. Clancy struggled to comprehend the Bishop's words before his eyes were drawn to a chilling scene outside the window.

Neon Gravestones lined the streets in rows, their bright neon lights flickering and casting an eerie blue glow on Clancy's face. Overwhelmed with emotion, Clancy shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "No.. no, they can't.. You can't.." he whispered in disbelief.

Nico's face loomed menacingly over Clancy, his eyes glinting with malice as a sinister smile stretched across his lips, causing deep wrinkles to form around his eyes. He leaned in so close that Clancy could feel hot breath on his skin. With a cruel grip on Clancy's cheek, he forced his face towards the eerie glow of the Neon Gravestones, his tight hold preventing Clancy from turning away. The air was heavy with a sense of impending doom as Nico's words echoed ominously in the darkened alleyway, leaving Clancy frozen in fear.

“Just watch.”

-

Clancy's body shot upwards in a sudden burst of panic, his movements frantic as he scrambled to the farthest corner of his room. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his heart pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst. Pulling his knees close to his chest for some semblance of comfort, his eyes darted around the room wide with fear.

The afternoon sun had shifted position, casting long shadows across the room. From his corner, Clancy could see that the once-glowing blue lights outside his window had disappeared, leaving Dema in its bleak, colourless state once more.

His hands trembled uncontrollably, the violent shakes reverberating through his entire body. Clancy instinctively clasped them tightly against his chest, willing the tremors to cease. The searing pain in his shoulder, a residual effect from the injuries dream-Nico had suffered, throbbed relentlessly as he tentatively probed the skin, only to find it unblemished by any blisters or scars.

As his racing heart gradually slowed its frantic tempo, Clancy came to the sobering realisation that it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. Yet, the terror he had experienced felt all too real, leaving an unsettling imprint on his psyche. The grip of the panic attack gradually loosened its hold on his body, allowing him to release a shaky exhale of relief.

Nightmares had become an all too familiar occurrence for Clancy, their frequency becoming increasingly concerning. He didn’t want to think about why.

-

The evening began with a sense of calm as Clancy, still recovering from a restless nightmare, meticulously reviewed his research notes and packed his backpack with essential supplies. Making sure no prying eyes were watching, he quietly slipped out into the night, his footsteps barely making a sound on the deserted street.

As he followed the familiar path towards the abandoned auditorium, a sense of unease crept over him as he entered Lisden's district. The air seemed charged with an otherworldly energy, a palpable shift in atmosphere that hinted at the enigmatic power of the Bishops.

As Clancy navigated through the jagged, derelict hole in the wall of the auditorium, feeling the sharp edges scrape against his skin, he pushed himself forward with a newfound resolve. The haunting memories of his recent nightmare only fueled his determination to escape Dema and break free from the grip of its malevolent influence.

Upon swinging open the heavy door to the auditorium, a sense of relief washed over Clancy as he was met with the familiar faces of his fellow rebels. Ave greeted him with a warm wave, engrossed in conversation with another member of the group. The tension that had once permeated their clandestine meetings had dissipated, replaced with an air of calm and camaraderie.

“Good evening. I’m glad you all came back.” Clancy's voice filled the space with a sense of gratitude. With a gentle smile, he set his weathered bag down on the sturdy wooden table at the front of the room, the worn leather creaking softly in the quiet. The eager faces of the assembled group turned towards him, their eyes alight with curiosity and hope.

Clancy could see the familiar expressions of Azrael and Thorne among the crowd, their shoulders bumping in a camaraderie that spoke of shared experiences and a sense of unity. The room seemed to buzz with energy as they waited for Clancy to unveil his plan, each person leaning in closer, eager to hear his next words.

It was a moment of connection and understanding, a rare moment of unity that brought them all together in a common purpose.

Clancy's gaze swept over the group, his expression fierce yet resolute. "On the day of the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified, we make our move. We slip through the shadows, follow the tunnels, and emerge on the outside of Dema. It'll be risky, but it's our only chance of escape." Pulling out a map of the city from his bag, placing it on the table, and smoothing out the creases, he circled a finger around Reisdro’s district.

“Ave and myself discovered these tunnels beneath Reisdro’s district. They’re located in an alleyway, the entrance hidden by a wheeled bin and a manhole.”

“We believe the Banditos discovered this system of tunnels.” Ave spoke up, walking to Clancy’s side and emphasising his words.

“They have a sort-of meeting room down there. If they could get in, that means we can get out.”

With a shared nod of agreement, the group turned their attention back to the map, the path to freedom laid out before them in faded ink and hidden tunnels. Their hearts beat as one, a silent oath of defiance echoing in the chamber as they prepared for their daring escape from Dema.

In the midst of the bustling crowd, a lone figure tentatively raised a hand, catching Clancy's attention. As he turned to face the person, a sense of concern laced their words.

"You said you knew the tunnels well, but didn't find the way out," she began, her voice tinged with wary curiosity. "How do you know we won't just get lost down there?"

Clancy paused, his mind racing to formulate a response. Before he could speak, the woman interjected.

“I’m Sloane, by the way.”

Grateful for her name, Clancy acknowledged her with a nod. "We don't know the breach location for sure," he admitted. "But with enough of us working together, I believe we'll be able to navigate the tunnels and locate it without difficulty."

"What about the Watchers?" Another voice piped up, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the group. It was a platinum-blonde woman, her voice laced with worry as she raised the question. Clancy's eyes followed her arm down to where a small, nervous-looking child stood at her side.

“Mo Lennox.” The woman introduced herself, her gaze shifting between Clancy and the rest of the group.

"The Watchers guard the walls day and night. I tracked them once, when Chantelle was small.” She cast a loving glance down at her daughter before her expression hardened once more. "They never leave their posts until they have been completely replaced. There is no way we can avoid being seen."

Mo's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of their predicament settling over the group like a thick fog.

Clancy nervously chewed on his lip, his brows furrowed in concentration as he processed the new information that had just been revealed to him.

“Well, I think it’s best if we are seen.” He finally spoke, his voice strong but tinged with uncertainty as he eyed Mo's intense, unwavering gaze that seemed to penetrate his very soul.

“Hear me out.” Taking a deep breath, he gestured towards the intricately drawn map spread out before them."The Watchers are watching our every move, and they will alert the Bishops if they see anyone trying to escape, including during the Annual Assembly. However, with the large number of us gathered here, it would be nearly impossible for the Bishops to capture all of us at once. Yes, it's a risk, but it also means there's a greater chance that some of us can slip through and make our escape." He turned his gaze back to the small, huddled group in front of him.

“I want so badly to feel the freedom I felt when I stepped outside of those walls. Even if it were for only a moment. And I’d give anything for you all to feel it too.” Clancy's throat tightened as he carefully considered his next words.

"I am prepared to risk my own reputation and freedom in order to grant you all that chance. I am willing to make that sacrifice without hesitation." His solemn declaration reverberated through the room, the weight of his words hanging in the air as he awaited a response.

It took a tense moment before the silence was broken by Mo's determined voice. She held Chantelle close, her eyes locked on Clancy with a fierce determination. "I would face death itself if it meant my daughter could escape this wretched place," she declared, her grip on the child tightening. Chantelle's eyes were wide with innocence as she watched the scene unfold before her.

As Mo spoke, a ripple of solidarity spread through the crowd. One by one, the others raised their hands in agreement, their resolve firm and unwavering.

“I will be smeared in order for you all to leave.” Azrael smiled bravely.

“And me.” Thorne puffed out their chest. Chantelle's infectious laughter filled the air as Thorne's bold declaration sparked a sense of unity among them all.

Sloane nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with determination, joined by every member of the small group.

Ave's approving nod towards Clancy spurred a swell of pride in his chest, a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose binding them all together in the face of adversity. Their collective resolve shone brightly in the dim light, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of their circumstances.

His eyes met each of the faces before him, their expressions a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll gather in Reisdro’s district at night, during the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified. If the Watchers see us, we’ll push on through. We’ll make our way to the tunnels and escape Dema once and for all.” As Clancy spoke, a sense of hope and purpose filled the air. The group before him, composed of courageous souls willing to risk everything for their freedom, stood as a unified front.

"Pack your bags," Clancy continued, his voice steady and resolute. "We're not just escaping Dema, we're claiming our independence. Soon, we will write our own destinies and journey towards a new beginning. Together, we will be free."

Chapter Text

As the sun slowly descended behind the distant mountains, its warm rays bathed the continent of Trench in a soft, golden light. The long shadows it cast stretched across the lush, green landscape, adding a surreal, orange hue to everything it touched.

At the southern edge of the landmass stood Dema, a massive and imposing structure that loomed over the surrounding countryside like a foreboding sentinel. Its dark, stone walls and sharp towers contrasted starkly against the vibrant colours of the foliage, creating an eerie and mysterious atmosphere.

Despite the tranquillity of the streets within the walls of Dema, there was a palpable tension in the air. The lack of activity belied the storm that was brewing within the hearts and minds of its citizens. The quiet was merely a facade, masking the unrest and unease that simmered just beneath the surface.

Clancy's heart raced as he prepared to leave his apartment. He double-checked that his essentials were packed and secured before shouldering the bag.

The once familiar sight of his apartment now seemed foreign and unwelcoming. The walls were bare, the air was cold, and there was a sense of emptiness in the dimly lit space. Clancy hesitated for a moment before finally turning the doorknob.

As he made his way to the door, memories flooded his mind. The notes of his research, painstakingly collected over months, now hidden inside his mattress for safekeeping. He had torn a hole in the fabric, carefully stashed the papers between the springs, and sewn it back up in a hurry. It was his insurance policy, a last resort in case everything went wrong.

With a deep breath, Clancy stepped out into the unknown, leaving behind the only life he had ever known in search of a future free from danger and uncertainty.

Lingering in his doorway, Clancy cast his eyes briefly over his ‘home’, before closing the door behind him. Each step he took down the well-worn path filled him with a newfound determination. As he mentally rehearsed the intricate details of his plan, his mind conjured up images of the diverse group of rebels he had assembled. Thorne, Sloane, Mo and Chantelle, Azrael, Ave, the others.

With their faces blazing in his mind, Clancy felt a surge of energy course through him, propelling him forward towards their shared goal.

As Clancy stepped into the desolate streets of Reisdro's district, a sense of unease crept over him, causing him to tighten his grip on his backpack straps. Each breath felt heavy with worry and anticipation, a gnawing fear threatening to consume him. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, urging him to turn back and retreat to the safety of home.

But with a determined shake of his head, he pushed those faint-hearted thoughts aside. He had come too far to succumb to fear now. His resolve solidified as he reminded himself of the desperate souls counting on him. Clancy vowed to stand strong and steadfast, refusing to abandon those who relied on him in their time of need.

Arriving at the meeting point, Clancy's nerves were finally eased as he gazed upon the small crowd of rebels he had grown to know and trust. Their faces mirrored his own anxious expression, each one clutching their bags tightly as they prepared for what lay ahead.

Mo stood beside Chantelle, her grip firm on the little girl's hand as she wore a determined gleam in her eyes. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as Chantelle waved excitedly, the child dressed in practical cargo trousers and a warm anorak.

Azrael and Thorne stood together, their intertwined hands a silent display of solidarity and mutual support. Sloane, meanwhile, stood with the rest of the group, quietly going over the plan as they prepared for the mission ahead.

At the forefront of the group stood Ave, a sense of anticipation radiating from them as they held an unlit torch in one hand. Giving Clancy a reassuring grin, they reached out to pat his shoulder, silently offering their support and encouragement for what was to come.

"It's time," Ave whispered, their voice barely above a breath as they made sure only their group could hear. “The Bishops are attending the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified, which gives us the time we need.”

Clancy listened to them speak, nodded in agreement as he addressed the small but eager crowd.

“We’ll enter into the tunnels and find our way out. We’re getting out of here tonight.” The group stood taller, their expressions resolute with determination as they prepared to make their move.

The moon rose slowly in the sky, casting a ghostly glow upon the faces of the rebels as they followed Clancy towards the ominous alleyway. The dim lamplight flickered, marking the entrance they sought. Shoving the bin aside and removing the manhole cover, he gestured for Ave to go first. Blinking gratefully, they began the familiar climb down the ladder into the tunnels.

Once they reached the bottom, Ave lit their torch, flames engulfing the stake of wood and illuminating the darkness below.

As they reached the bottom, Ave ignited the torch, bathing the tunnel in a warm, flickering light that danced off the stone walls. "Sloane, it's your turn," Clancy urged as he helped her onto the ladder, keeping a watchful eye as she followed Ave into the depths of the underground passageways.

The rest of the rebels moved quickly, with Chantelle being carried by Mo. Clancy had offered to help the child down, but Mo simply gave him a protective look before taking Chantelle herself. Clancy couldn’t help but admire the mother’s ferocity.

As the last of the rebels descended the ladder, Clancy closed the manhole cover above him, sealing off their escape route. With a deep breath, he began his descent into the dark and musty tunnels, knowing that their mission was far from over.

Once his boots had landed on the damp concrete floor, he confidently led the way forward alongside Ave. The subtle clinks of their footsteps echoed through the desolate labyrinth, creating an eerie atmosphere that sent chills down the spines of the rebel group following closely behind.

"We'll start with the main room first, and then we'll search for the breach location," he announced, his commanding voice reverberating off the walls, filling the underground passages with a sense of urgency.

Each rebel's unease was palpable, a tangible presence in the dimly lit tunnels. The suffocating darkness was punctuated by scattered trash and shards of shattered glass.

The occasional droplets of moisture dripped from the ceiling, creating a haunting rhythm that resonated throughout the underground maze. The faint squeaks of nearby rat colonies added an extra layer of unease, serving as a constant reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Beginning the familiar walk, Clancy confidently stepped forward, navigating the intricate twists and turns of the dark pathways with ease – every step deliberate and sure. The small group followed closely behind, their hushed footsteps barely audible over the echoing silence of the underground passage. Not a word was spoken among them, all keenly aware of the importance of maintaining their secrecy.

Even Ave, known for their quick wit and sarcastic remarks, remained eerily silent, their expression tense and focused. The only source of light was a flickering torch held tightly in their hand, casting a warm, amber glow that illuminated the faces of the rebels as they made their way through the shadows.

Clancy let out a quick exhale of relief as he finally arrived in the central room, the heart of the labyrinthine tunnels. Glancing back at his group of rebels, he explained, "This is the main area. The tunnels all lead here, and this is where the Banditos used to gather."

The rebels gazed in awe at the graffiti-covered walls, their eyes widening at the sight of the infamous yellow markings they had only heard mentioned in hushed tones.

Ave reached into their pocket and pulled out a circular object, presenting it to Clancy with a victorious smile. "We may not be out yet, but making it this far definitely makes us Banditos," Ave declared, placing the roll of yellow tape into Clancy's hands.

A surge of determination washed over him as he realised it was time to take the next step in their rebellion.

Carefully tearing the strips of yellow tape from the roll, he delicately adhered them to his shoulders. The vibrant hue contrasted sharply against the dark green of his coat, creating a striking visual representation of his allegiance. Pride swelled within him as he admired the way the tape added a touch of defiance to his appearance.

Turning his attention to Ave, he repeated the process with meticulous care, ensuring that each strip of tape was perfectly aligned on their shoulders. Moving on to the rest of the rebels gathered around him, he repeated the process, adorning each member with the symbolic tape.

As he surveyed his comrades, a sense of unity washed over him. The tape on their clothing served as a unifying symbol of their shared cause, a visual reminder of the bond they shared. Emotions of pride, determination, and excitement shone brightly in his eyes as he stood at the front of the group, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with his newfound allies by his side.

Clancy's pulse quickened as he parted his lips to speak, only to be interrupted by the sharp sound of shattered glass beneath a heavy foot. The deafening silence was fractured, sending a chill down his spine as he turned to face the entrance of the tunnel from which they had emerged.

The darkness seemed to pulse with unseen movement, as eerie shadows of unknown assailants crept closer, casting long, menacing silhouettes on the damp walls. Fear gripped Clancy's heart like a vice, his mind racing with dread as the realisation dawned upon him that they had been discovered.

In a state of near panic, he barked out a desperate command, "Run!" His voice no longer soft and cautious, but urgent and wild with fear. The game was up, their presence had been detected, and the imminent threat of capture loomed over them like a dark cloud.

Their only chance now was to flee, to escape the clutches of their pursuers before it was too late.

As if on cue, guards began to filter into the room. Their heavily armoured presence was intimidating, with visors obscuring their faces and stern, gloved hands poised for action. The emblem of the notorious 'United Vialists' blazed on their chests glowed in the darkness. Clancy's blood ran cold as a wave of terror washed over him.

The guards wasted no time in subduing the rebels, roughly grabbing them and dragging them away despite their frantic protests.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Sloane made a dash for one of the tunnels, only to be violently restrained and thrown to the ground by a relentless guard.

Determined to resist, Azrael valiantly fought back, landing blows on the guard and attempting to free Sloane. However, their efforts were swiftly halted as another guard ran over and cracked his elbow over their temple, stunning them. Sloane was grabbed again by the original guard, and both rebels were incapacitated.

Mo grabbed Chantelle and hoisted her effortlessly onto her hip, the urgency evident in her movements as she sprinted alongside Ave and Clancy. Thorne attempted to follow, but his path was blocked by a sudden swarm of guards emerging ominously from the shadows. Clancy could hear their scream reverberate down the corridors as the four rebels fled. Adrenaline surged through his veins, propelling him forward as his legs powered through the darkness.

They navigated through mysterious, uncharted tunnels, relying solely on the flickering light of Ave's torch to illuminate their path.

Mo reached out to gently shush Chantelle’s tear-filled cries, her small body trembling in fear at the violence and chaos of the ambush surrounding them. Clancy, trying to maintain a facade of calm for the young girl, forced a shaky smile, though the terror in his eyes gave him away.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost-”

“There!” Dropping the fiery torch, Ave pointed ahead, drawing their attention to the shimmering moonlight that illuminated the dark tunnels up ahead. Clancy’s eyes widened in realisation. They had found the exit.

In a fleeting instant, a glimmer of hope cascaded over them before being abruptly extinguished. The sound of pounding footsteps echoed through the narrow tunnels as four guards swiftly emerged from around the corner, their intense determination evident as they sprinted towards the fleeing rebels with unparalleled speed.

The surge of adrenaline urged Clancy forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he set his sights on the exit of the labyrinthine tunnels. The tantalising vision of lush green grass, long yearned for and finally within reach, beckoned to him under the vibrant indigo canopy of the night sky. The surreal beauty of the scene spurred him on, fueling his resolve to break free from the confines of captivity.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling screech pierced the air beside him, sending a wave of horror through his stomach. Mo was seized by one of the guards, her body crashing to the unforgiving concrete floor with a sickening thud. As she fell, Chantelle slipped from her grasp, tumbling onto the hard ground and crying out in pain, her knees scraped raw and oozing red droplets.

Mo struggled to lift her head, a small stream of blood trickling down her pale face. Desperation etched in her eyes, she reached out for Chantelle, but her arms fell short as the child was scooped up by another guard. Chantelle's cries grew more desperate, her voice muffled by the gloved hand that clamped over her mouth.

Gritting her teeth, Mo fought against the guard holding her legs, her nails clawing at the one who had taken her precious child. The fear and determination in her eyes burned bright as she refused to let them take Chantelle without a fight.

Clancy felt his heart wrench as he watched his friends being overtaken and captured with brutal force. The overwhelming urge to go back and help consumed him, causing his pace to slow. Ave's harsh tug at his shoulder urged him to keep running, but the tears welling in their eyes mirrored his own growing despair.

“We have to keep going. We promised.” Ave pleaded, as if trying to convince themselves more than Clancy.

Clancy could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him. Swallowing a thick lump of emotion in his throat, he forced himself to push through the heartbreak and continue on, knowing that they had no other choice but to keep going.

The two rebels emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, blinking in the sudden brightness of the moonlight that bathed the grassy fields surrounding the city of Dema. Clancy stumbled slightly, instinctively shielding his eyes as the cool wind whipped through his hair and filled his lungs with sweet, untainted air.

“Ave, we did it!” The exhilaration of their escape surged through him, and he couldn't help but cry out in joy, turning to share his triumph with his companion.

But his elation turned to dread as he saw Ave on the ground, clawing desperately at the earth as they were dragged back into the tunnel by two guards. Tears glistened on Ave's cheeks, a heartbreaking display of vulnerability from the typically stoic rebel.

“Clancy, go! Be free! For us!” They shouted to him, their voice cracking with a swirling mix of sorrow and pride. They smiled, giving him one last look before being enveloped by the shadows again.

Clancy's heart raced with a sense of urgency as he struggled against the overwhelming desire to turn back. He knew he had to keep running, for the sake of Ave and the rebels who had entrusted him with this mission.

Tears welled in his eyes as he hesitated for just a moment before finally turning away. With a deep breath, Clancy's muscles tensed and he began to sprint into the untamed wilderness of Trench.

Chapter Text

It took three days for Clancy to stop moving. He would run, forage for food, and run again until his weary legs could no longer bear his weight. Perpetually haunted by the unshakeable belief that he was being hunted, a crippling paranoia gnawed at his every nerve.

Yet, the rejuvenating breeze of Trench and the untamed splendour of its natural surroundings provided a glimmer of solace, driving Clancy to persevere despite his relentless fears.

On the first day of his newfound freedom, Clancy decided to take a break as the sun began to rise. Despite being a few miles away from Dema, the oppressive presence of the Bishops’ towers still cast a shadow over him.

Finding a solitary rock to lean against, Clancy relished the feeling of the sun's warmth on his face as it slowly made its way up over the hills. The moment was both surreal and exhilarating, as he realised that he was no longer bound by the constraints of Dema. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to savour the moment and bask in the realisation that he was finally free.

The day pressed on in a whirlwind of excitement and rush of energy. Clancy's heart raced as he ventured further into the uncharted continent of Trench, his eyes widening in wonder at the sights unfolding before him.

Initially, he emerged onto a vast expanse of stony plains, the rugged terrain beneath his feet uneven and challenging. Despite the fatigue setting in his legs, Clancy pushed on, determined to continue his exploration. With each stumble and misstep, he found himself captivated by the raw, untamed beauty of the rocks beneath his boots and the crystal-clear streams trickling through the landscape. To anyone else, it was mundane. To Clancy, it was everything.

He would occasionally glance backwards at the city in the distance, uncomfortable with how close it still seemed.

As the sun dipped below the horizon on his inaugural evening away from the confines of Dema, Clancy's eyes were drawn to the changing landscape. The once-minuscule rocks now loomed larger, their jagged edges illuminated by the fading light. Intrigued, he stumbled upon a grouping of immense boulders, their imposing presence beckoning him to seek shelter behind their sturdy forms.

Taking refuge amongst the towering rocks, Clancy marvelled at their unique features. The rocks were not simply grey and lifeless; intricate veins of pure white snaked through their surfaces like intricate paintings, reminiscent of flowing rivers frozen in time. With a sense of wonder, Clancy trailed his fingertips along the cool, rough texture of the rocks, leaning in closer to examine the clusters of shimmering, semi-transparent crystals that dotted their rugged exteriors.

For the first time in his existence, Clancy revelled in the freedom of being hidden from the watchful gaze of Dema, surrounded by the untamed beauty of the natural world.

He found a comfortable spot nestled between the towering boulders, feeling their firm surface against his back as he settled in. As the last traces of daylight faded, the sky transformed from a fiery amber hue to a deep, velvety blue canvas. Each moment was like a painting coming to life as the first twinkling stars appeared, one by one, in the vast expanse above.

Clancy couldn't help but release a gasp of awe at the sight before him. In Dema, the artificial glow of streetlamps drowned out the beauty of the night sky. But here, in the untamed wilderness of Trench, he was finally able to witness the true magnificence of the stars.

Overwhelmed by the stunning display above him, he lost track of time as he counted each individual star that dotted the sky. Their soft, ethereal glow seemed to light up the darkness around him, offering a sense of comfort and tranquillity in the midst of the barren landscape. The rustling of the wind through the rocks and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures added to the enchanting atmosphere, making him feel truly at peace in this solitary moment of wonder.

Clancy slowly opened his eyes, the first light of dawn filtering through the trees around him. He let out a soft groan as he realised he must have dozed off while admiring the stars. His head throbbed from resting against the hard rock beneath him, and his body felt stiff and cold from the chilly night air. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Clancy rubbed his aching muscles and scanned the area for any signs of danger. With a wary glance towards Dema, he saw no one approaching on the horizon, and a sense of relief washed over him.

As he rose to his feet, Clancy stretched his limbs and adjusted his backpack, making sure everything was secure. Tying his boots tightly, he took a deep breath and set off once more, determined to continue on his journey.

On the second day in Trench, he stumbled upon a hidden treasure - a majestic forest. From his window in Dema, he had only caught glimpses of the sprawling woodland canopies, but nothing could prepare him for the captivating density of trees that surrounded him now. As he left the barren rocky plains behind and entered the lush embrace of the forest, a sense of surreal wonder washed over him, enveloping him in a dreamlike trance.

As Clancy ventured deeper into the woodland, he discovered that each step was a struggle against the unforgiving terrain. His sturdy boots became ensnared in the twisted roots and creeping vines that seemed to lay in wait beneath the forest floor, causing him to stumble and trip with each stride. The overgrown nettles brushed against his hands, leaving stinging welts in their wake, while low-hanging branches mercilessly whipped across his face, leaving a trail of scratches in their path.

Despite the myriad of challenges that the woodland presented, Clancy couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and awe at the vibrant life that thrived within its depths. The chorus of chirping birds, the rustle of scurrying animals, and the dance of sunlight filtering through the canopy filled him with a sense of profound appreciation for the beauty of nature. In the midst of his struggles, Clancy found solace in the living, breathing world around him, a testament to the resilience and wonder of the natural world.

The air was alive with the sounds of birds in flight, their wings beating rhythmically as they soared overhead. Feathers floated down like tiny pieces of art, decorating the forest floor with their delicate beauty. Intrigued, Clancy reached down to pick up one of the feathers, marvelling at its silken softness as he turned it over in his hand.

The symphony of chirps and songs from the birds filled the air, creating a cacophony of nature's music that seemed to stretch for miles. Clancy closed his eyes, soaking in the peaceful melody as he committed each unique tune to memory.

Taking a break from his trek through the forest, Clancy observed the orderly march of ants making their way across the trail, each one following the lead of the group with precision and purpose. Butterflies fluttered around the colourful daisies, their vibrant wings shimmering in the sunlight like living works of art. The sheer brilliance of the colours took Clancy's breath away, making him feel as though he had stepped into a painting come to life.

As he sat and observed, bees buzzed past his ears, their gentle hum becoming a comforting background noise that reminded him of the vibrant life all around him. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty and wonder of nature, Clancy felt a deep sense of peace and connection to the world around him.

As he ambled through the forest, the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense foliage above, he found himself immersed in the subtle melodies of nature. Every so often, his keen eye caught glimpses of woodland creatures going about their daily routines in the thicket. Graceful deer grazed peacefully on the tender grass, their delicate ears swivelling in his direction as they detected his presence. With a start, they would bound away with elegant leaps, disappearing into the shadows.

Meanwhile, energetic squirrels darted across Clancy’s path, agilely navigating fallen branches and scampering up towering trees. From their lofty perches in the canopy, they observed him with curious, beady eyes, blending seamlessly into the lush surroundings. The forest seemed to pulsate with life, each creature contributing to the intricate tapestry of the vibrant ecosystem around him.

The forest was alive with vibrant bursts of yellow flowers that seemed to beckon to Clancy from all directions. Their delicate petals fluttered in the breeze, creating a striking contrast against the backdrop of lush greenery. The sight of these flowers filled him with a sense of awe and inspiration, as he marvelled at their beauty.

The yellow hue of the flowers perfectly complemented the bandito tape draped over his shoulders, creating a harmonious blend of colours that seemed to embody strength and determination. As he gazed upon the flowers, Clancy couldn't help but be struck by a surge of motivation and purpose, fueling his resolve for the journey ahead.

Unable to resist their allure, Clancy carefully plucked a few of the flowers, their sweet fragrance lingering in the air as he tucked them gently into his backpack.

As the fiery ball of the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Clancy stumbled upon a serene clearing nestled within the embrace of towering trees. The ground, a soft carpet of moss and clover, beckoned him to rest his weary body. Surrendering to its invitation, he gingerly lowered himself onto the lush bed, feeling the coolness soothing his aching muscles.

As the adrenaline that had fueled his escape slowly dissipated, Clancy became acutely aware of the toll his journey had taken on his body. His hands bore the angry red marks of blisters from grasping thorns and stinging nettles, a testament to the harsh terrain he traversed. His legs throbbed with each breath, exhausted from bearing the weight of his weary form for days on end. His head pounded with the overwhelming vibrancy of colours in the wilds of Trench, a stark contrast to the dull monotony of his previous existence.

But the most pressing reminder of his physical state came from his protesting stomach, its relentless growling a stark reminder of his dwindling supplies. While he had managed to keep himself hydrated by replenishing his water flask from the crystal-clear streams he encountered, the meagre rations he had brought were proving insufficient in sustaining him.

With a resolve born of desperation, Clancy made a silent vow to hunt for sustenance come daylight. Soothing thoughts of a hearty meal danced through his mind as he drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber, the weight of his exhaustion finally claiming him.

On the third day, Clancy was rudely awakened by a wet nose smearing his face, sending a jolt of coldness through his body. Blinking open one eye, he was met with the surprised gaze of a fox mere inches away.

Panic shot through him as he let out a cry of alarm, causing the fox to flee in a swift blur of orange into the overgrowth. Clancy scrambled back in the clearing, heart racing as he tried to gather his senses and calm his nerves after the startling encounter.

Despite the startling beginning to his day, Clancy’s resolve remained unshaken. With each step he took, the gnawing ache in his feet and legs seemed to fade into the background noise of the forest, pushing him forward towards the edge of the dense woodland.

His determination was palpable, a fierce glint in his eye as he emerged from the shadows and approached the rushing river. The promise he made to himself to catch his own meal echoed in his mind, urging him closer to the water's edge.

As he dropped his heavy bag on the soft riverbank, Clancy's stomach rumbled loudly, demanding attention. With a begrudging sigh, he settled down by the water's edge, the surface mirroring the vibrant hues of the sky above, and scanned the river for signs of life.

To his surprise, Clancy peered into the crystal-clear water and caught sight of a school of medium-sized fish gracefully gliding past, their scales glittering like precious gemstones in the bright sunlight. His lips curved into a delighted grin as he turned his attention back to his bag, his heart pounding with excitement.

Drawing upon the knowledge he had meticulously gathered during countless moons of research, Clancy carefully extracted a slender reel of string, followed by a crudely fashioned bait hook. Although it wasn't the most refined setup, he knew it would suffice for the task at hand.

As the morning sun filtered through the thick canopy above, Clancy's hands deftly collected fallen branches and twigs, carefully arranging them into a neat pile by the sparkling riverbank. Once satisfied with his collection, he reached into his pack and retrieved a small box of matches, skillfully striking one against the rough surface to ignite a small, flickering flame.

With the fire crackling merrily beside him, Clancy fashioned a makeshift fishing rod by attaching a length of string and bait to a sturdy branch he had found. He cast his line into the crystal-clear water, hopeful for a catch to satisfy his hunger.

Finding a moment of respite, he leaned back against a fallen tree, taking in the serene beauty of his surroundings. Despite being alone in this unfamiliar wilderness, a sense of peace washed over him. The memories of Dema still lingered in his mind, but the soothing sounds of the river and the warmth of the fire against his skin helped to ease his anxieties and quiet his restless thoughts. In this moment, surrounded by nature's beauty, Clancy felt a profound sense of safety and contentment.

Clancy lost all sense of time as he sat by the river, letting the crackling of the fire lull him into a sense of brief relaxation. The warmth of the flames seeped into his weary body, melting away the stiffness in his bones and offering a much-needed respite for his tired muscles.

But just as he began to relax, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck, and he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. With a sudden sense of unease, Clancy reluctantly opened one eye, the smoke from the fire making his vision hazy. Through the blurry veil, he could have sworn he saw a shadowy figure darting into the cover of the bushes on the opposite side of the river.

Before he could react, however, the makeshift fishing rod began to bob and bend. With a sense of urgency, he reached out to grasp the string and pulled it out of the river with a swift motion. A small, sleek grey fish flopped onto the riverbank, convulsing for air.

In his delight at catching a meal, Clancy was momentarily distracted from the mysterious figure lurking nearby. Casting a quick glance towards the bushes, he felt a mixture of relief and unease as he saw no one there. A prickling sense of anxiety crept over his skin, but hunger gnawed at his belly, reminding him of his need for sustenance. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the river, picking up the fish and setting to work on preparing a makeshift spit for cooking.

After savouring the last bite of his meal, a surge of vitality pulsed through Clancy's veins. With a sense of purpose, he gathered his belongings, extinguished the dwindling fire, and respectfully buried the bony remains of his feast. Embarking on his journey once more, Clancy strode forward amidst a landscape unlike anything he had ever encountered before.

As the trees gradually dwindled in number, towering emerald cliffs loomed overhead, casting a shadow over the rugged terrain beneath his feet. Although the rocky route presented a challenge, Clancy was too captivated by the mesmerising scenery surrounding him to be deterred.

The sprawling expanse of lush, verdant flora seemed to stretch endlessly before him, each plant and flower more vibrant and exotic than the last. The familiar sight of yellow flowers dotted the landscape, their radiant petals peeking out from every crevice and cranny, adding a touch of colour to the rugged, untamed wilderness. Clancy couldn't help but marvel at the resilience and beauty of nature, as he continued on his path.

The haunting image of the mysterious figure lingering on the riverside had firmly planted itself in Clancy's mind, creating a sense of unease that seemed to slither up his spine like a sinister serpent. Paranoia shadowed his every move, causing his eyes to constantly flicker from one spot to the next, always on the lookout for any sign of the elusive stranger.

Each time he spotted a man-shaped rock formation or an oddly tall bush peering down over the valley, his heart would skip a beat, sending a shiver of fear coursing through his veins.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, its fading light painted the landscape in a warm, golden glow. The shadows grew longer, stretching across the vast biome like dark fingers reaching out to wrap everything in a blanket of darkness. Clancy couldn't help but yawn, his weary body yearning for rest after a long day of hiking.

In the distance, a small cave beckoned to him, its entrance a dark portal amidst the rugged cliffs. Intrigued, Clancy picked up his pace, eager to find shelter for the night. Stepping inside, he was greeted by a surprisingly cosy sight. The walls were adorned with patches of vibrant green moss and lichen, adding a splash of colour to the otherwise dull palette of rock and dirt.

The cave floor, worn smooth by the passage of time and animals, was surprisingly flat, with only a few shallow dips marking the ebb and flow of water over the years. It wasn't the most comfortable place to lay his head, but Clancy was grateful for the refuge it provided.

Using the last rays of sunshine as a light source, Clancy reached into his worn leather bag and pulled out his tattered notepad. The pencil, smooth and familiar in his hand, found its place nestled between his fingers as he chewed absently on the end. Fatigue etched lines into his face as he surveyed the world around him, the last remnants of daylight illuminating the rugged terrain.

With a deep breath, he pressed the pencil to the paper, the faint scratching of graphite filling the stillness of the evening. His weary eyes scanned over his own words, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over him as he began to write.

“I’ve made it out.”

Chapter Text

It had been over a week and a half since Clancy had managed to slip away from the confines of Dema. The passage of time was marked by the tally of scratches etched onto the rough stone walls of the cave where he sought refuge. The days were blending together, a monotonous blur of survival and solitude.

After finally breaking free from the suffocating grip of the city, Clancy found himself in a rugged and unforgiving landscape. Massive cliffs loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the rocky terrain that stretched out before him. He knew he needed to rest, to give his weary body a chance to recuperate.

Having never ventured far from the tightly packed streets of Dema, Clancy was unaccustomed to the physical demands of traversing the vast expanse of Trench. His muscles screamed in protest, longing for relief from the constant strain of walking for days on end. The weight of his backpack bore down on his shoulders, rubbing them raw and adding to the discomfort that plagued him at every step.

Clancy was beginning to establish a somewhat successful routine in his new surroundings. The outside world still felt unfamiliar to him, but he was slowly adapting and discovering more about what Trench had to offer.

One day, while exploring, he stumbled upon another river nearby. Intrigued, he decided to spend most of his daylight hours fishing along its banks. His makeshift fishing rod, constructed from a combination of branches and bands of yellow tape, may have been flimsy, but it was getting the job done. Despite growing tired of the taste of fish, Clancy found himself forcing down each catch, as his stomach growled for sustenance.

The enigmatic presence that had been haunting him in recent days continued to materialize unexpectedly. Clancy would catch glimpses of a shadowy figure in the shimmering reflection of the river, or witness a mysterious silhouette darting along the cliff's edge above him.

He didn’t know what to think. Were there other people out here? Were they banditos? Or was he simply hallucinating? Either way, Clancy decided he was safer in his temporary shelter, huddled with his notepad and writings for company.

A burning desire to discover Banditos and the Torchbearer gnawed at him, but the thought of encountering a rogue faction or Dema's guards filled him with dread. The possibility of facing unknown dangers kept him rooted in place, enveloped in a cocoon of uncertainty and apprehension.

The first light of dawn seeped through the cracks of the cave, casting a warm glow on Clancy's weathered face as he slowly stirred awake. The sun's rays danced across his eyelids, coaxing him from his dreams and into the reality of another day. With a tired sigh, he shifted his weight and pushed himself upright, feeling the familiar ache that seemed to have taken up residence in his muscles.

Despite the ruggedness of his surroundings, Clancy had managed to cultivate a sense of comfort within the confines of the cave. Patches of soft moss and vibrant wildflowers now adorned the rocky floor, creating a makeshift bed that offered some respite from the hard ground beneath. It was a humble sanctuary, but one that provided a small measure of solace in the midst of his harsh existence.

His belongings were carefully stowed away in the far corner, shielded from prying eyes and the harsh elements that lurked beyond the cave's entrance. Clancy's pack was a lifeline, filled with tools and supplies that were essential to his survival in this unforgiving wilderness. He couldn't afford to lose it, not when his very existence depended on its contents.

Getting to his feet, he reached for his water bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he tipped it back, feeling the cool liquid wash over his dry throat, the purity of the stream's water a welcome respite from the tainted taste of Dema's supply. The crisp, refreshing flavour rejuvenated his senses, a stark contrast to the metallic undertones that lingered in his memory from the city's oppressive grip.

Surveying his surroundings, Clancy couldn't help but be mesmerised by the stark contrast between Trench's natural beauty and Dema's cold, concrete grasp. The lush, untamed wilderness of Trench stood in stark defiance against the rigid, soulless structures of Dema, a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil that Clancy had been grappling with.

The realisation of just how different these two worlds were hit him harder than he expected, stirring emotions that had long been suppressed.

Emerging from the dim confines of the small cave, Clancy carefully made his way up the rugged, uneven wall next to his makeshift shelter. With every step, his hands and feet found purchase on the rough, jutting rocks, guiding him upwards to the top of the cliff. Finally reaching a flat boulder that protruded from the cliff face, he settled down, perched precariously on the edge with his legs dangling over the sheer drop below.

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a soft, golden glow, Clancy let out a quiet sigh of contentment. The sun's rays danced across his face, warming his skin and painting the world around him in hues of pink and amber. It was a sight that never failed to fill him with awe and gratitude.

For the past few days, this had become Clancy's morning ritual. While others may have overlooked the beauty of the sunrise in their daily rush, Clancy took the time to savour every moment of it. Coming from a place where the sun often seemed harsh and colourless, the vibrancy of the morning light was a welcome gift that he cherished with all his heart.

The sky above Clancy’s head was painted a soft, delicate shade of yellow as the sun began its slow ascent, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The tufts of grass and patches of moss surrounding him were coated in a thin layer of dew, glistening in the morning light and dampening his fingertips, sending a chill down his spine.

Above him, a flock of birds soared gracefully through the sky, their wings beating in unison as they journeyed towards the distant horizon. Clancy couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing as he watched them, wishing for the sense of belonging and unity that they seemed to embody.

As the days passed, the weight of loneliness settled deep within his bones, aching with the absence of his fellow rebels. The quiet solitude of the wilderness, once a source of freedom and exhilaration, now felt oppressive and suffocating. His heart longed for the comfort of familiar faces and the camaraderie of his companions, now lost to the clutches of capture. The once vibrant colours of the wildflowers and towering cliffs seemed muted and dull without someone to share in their beauty with.

His nights were spent huddled around a flickering campfire, the crackling flames offering little solace in the vast expanse of darkness that surrounded him. The whispering wind seemed to taunt him, carrying the distant echoes of his comrades' voices that he feared he may never hear again.

With each passing day, his yearning for companionship grew stronger, a desperate ache in his chest that threatened to consume him. The loneliness weighed heavy on his soul, a burden he was forced to carry alone in the midst of this unforgiving wilderness.

With a furrowed brow, Clancy gracefully descended from the imposing rock, his movements a blend of grace and determination as he slid down the sinuous slope of the cliff. He entered his cave, where he swiftly retrieved his well-worn notepad and trusty pencil, tucking them securely into the pocket of his weathered jacket. With a sense of purpose, he started off towards the nearby river, his steps measured and deliberate.

The river was just a short distance away, but reaching it meant trudging through the rugged valley for a bit. Clancy had grown accustomed to the unique formations of boulders that littered the path, using them as markers to navigate the terrain. He could easily pinpoint his location by recognizing certain patches of colourful flowers and lush flora.

As he made his way through the shallow streams of frigid water, Clancy couldn't help but admire his reflection rippling with each step. The fluorescent yellow tape draped over his shoulders only added to the surreal scene, casting a bright glow around his silhouette.

Without warning, the reflection in the water began to dance and ripple like a mirage. Clancy's curiosity peaked as he tilted his head towards the cliff looming above him. His brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes widening in disbelief as he spotted a dark figure perched atop the rocky hill.

The man stood defiantly against the blinding sun, casting a haunting silhouette that sent shivers down Clancy's spine. Despite the shadow that cloaked his features, Clancy could discern the glint of yellow stripes emblazoned across the stranger's chest.

He was facing the Torchbearer.

Before Clancy could even process what he was seeing, more Banditos began to appear. The figures stepped out of the shadows, their silhouettes looming ominously over him. He tried to count them, but they seemed to multiply before his very eyes. Their presence made him feel small and vulnerable against the backdrop of the rocky landscape.

Their faces remained hidden in the darkness, leaving Clancy to wonder about their intentions. Were they friend or foe? The uncertainty gnawed at him, casting a shadow of doubt over his initial excitement at finally encountering the Banditos.

With each step he took, the tension in the air grew thicker, weighing heavily on him. The sense of foreboding that washed over him was undeniable, a warning that whispered of danger lurking just beneath the surface.

As if orchestrated by some unseen force, the Banditos swiftly pivoted to focus their attention on a distant spectacle. Clancy instinctively turned in tandem with them, his curiosity piqued.

In the distance, a horse careened towards him, its powerful hooves effortlessly navigating the treacherous terrain of the ravine.

The rider was an imposing figure, and Clancy felt a mix of emotions stirring his stomach as he recognised the deep, red cloak.

His muscles tensed with an overwhelming mixture of dread and a strange sense of security as he stood before the approaching Bishop. Clancy's heart raced in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he grappled with conflicting emotions. The harsh terrain of Trench loomed around him, a cruel reminder of the unforgiving nature of this world.

His stomach growled with hunger, his body weary from the endless journey on aching legs and tired arms. The throbbing pain in his head seemed to match the pounding of his racing heart as he gazed up at the sky, feeling small and insignificant in the vast expanse of this cruel and mysterious land.

Despite a nagging sense of shame for his cowardice, Clancy couldn't shake the fear that gripped him. He couldn’t do this alone.

The rhythmic clatter of horseshoes drew closer, slowing to a trot before stopping completely. Clancy's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting the Bishop who stood before him. Through the thin, darkened veil that shrouded his face, Clancy was taken aback by the sight of the unfamiliar, wrinkled features that peered back at him. He had been anticipating Keons, but instead found himself facing a stranger.

The Bishop gracefully dismounted from his majestic steed, paying no mind to the horse's snort as he approached Clancy with an ethereal air. His feet seemed to barely touch the pebbles and rocks beneath him as he glided closer, hands outstretched with a sense of divine purpose.

Clancy felt a wave of warmth and security envelop him, like the gentle caress of an ocean wave. Dark smudges marred his neck where the Bishop's fingertips smeared him, and as their eyes met, Clancy felt as though the Bishop could see into the depths of his soul.

“You have been saved, child.” Nico spoke in a gruff and demanding tone, his voice lacking the comforting warmth of Keon's. It was as if he was speaking to a disobedient child rather than a devotee in need of reassurance.

Clancy could only respond with a faint hum, his thoughts clouded and his movements sluggish.

“You will follow me back to Dema. You will return home.” Nico commanded, his words heavy with authority as he turned and strode towards the waiting white horse.

As if under a spell, Clancy found himself trailing behind Nico, his legs moving of their own accord. Even when Nico mounted the horse and urged it into motion, Clancy followed obediently, unable to resist the invisible force that seemed to control him.

As Clancy followed Nico, a hazy fog seemed to envelop his mind, clouding his thoughts. Deep within his heart, a longing for the sense of belonging and security he had experienced in Dema tugged at him. It suddenly became clear to him that he belonged there, among the others he had nearly convinced to escape with him. The idea of trying to survive alone out in the unknown world seemed daunting and impossible.

A heaviness settled in his head, causing his neck to strain under the weight. His chin dropped down as if pulled by gravity, and his eyes followed the steady, rhythmic flow of the clear streams below his boots. The sound of rushing water echoed in his ears, reminding him of the peace and serenity he had found in Dema.

A vivid patch of golden sunflowers sprung up from the earth in a mesmerising display as Clancy trailed behind Nico. The brilliant hues of the flowers captivated him, etching themselves into his memory as he paused to appreciate their beauty.

It wasn't until a moment later that his mind registered the significance of the colour yellow, the intensity of it searing into his consciousness as he blinked rapidly in surprise.

Clancy strained his neck, pushing his head up towards the figures perched ominously on the towering cliffs above. The Banditos, their gazes locked on him, sent an inexplicable wave of emotion down his spine.

Their eyes, piercing and intense, seemed to bore into his very soul as they observed his every move. With a swift movement, they delved into the depths of their jumpsuit pockets, withdrawing vibrant yellow petals in handfuls.

Clancy's breath caught in his throat as he observed the petals drifting down from the heights above, covering him in a delicate blanket that fluttered gently in the wind. The sight was both mesmerising and eerie, leaving him with a sense of foreboding as he stood below, enveloped in a shower of petals.

The petals scattered around Clancy in a riot of colour, each one a vibrant and bright display of nature's beauty. He reached out a hand to catch one, marvelling at the softness under his fingers. Suddenly, a sharp whinny from the horse in front of him jerked his attention upward. Nico's horse was in a state of panic, its eyes wide and wild with fear.

The Bishop's harsh voice echoed in the air as he muttered gruff words, his hands tugging at the reins and mane of the spooked animal in a desperate attempt to calm it down.

A sudden clarity washed over Clancy, dispelling the fog that clouded his thoughts. A sense of dread crept into his chest, his heart pounding with a mixture of determination and fear. The Banditos had created a diversion. This was his chance to escape.

As he turned sharply on his heel, Clancy's fingers released their grip on the fragile petal, letting it flutter to the ground behind him. With a surge of determination, his muscles tensed, propelling him forward with a newfound burst of energy.

Every fibre of his being seemed to hum with vitality as he sprinted across the rugged terrain. His heavy boots crashed through icy streams, the frigid spray splashing against his flushed cheeks. Gasping for breath, he weaved effortlessly between looming boulders, his agile movements defying gravity as he leapt over gaping ditches.

In that moment, Clancy discovered a hidden wellspring of nimbleness and strength within himself, propelling him forward with a sense of fluidity and power he had never experienced before.

Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, Clancy’s heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of Nico hot on his heels. The majestic horse thundered towards him with a determined stride, its hooves kicking up dust as it closed in. The fear of being caught and returned to captivity fueled Clancy's determination, pushing him to ignore the burning pain in his legs and the sharp twinges in his ankles with each faltering step.

Clancy's lungs burned as he pushed himself to run harder and faster, the relentless pursuit by Nico fueling his adrenaline. The pounding of his heart reverberated in his ears as he pushed himself to his physical limits. It seemed like an eternity before his legs finally gave out beneath him, buckling under the weight of exhaustion.

Defeated and out of breath, Clancy turned to face Nico, his eyes widening as he saw the startled expression on the horse's face. The vibrant yellow petals scattered around the valley had spooked Nico’s steed once again, sending it into a frenzy.

In a desperate bid to evade capture, Clancy mustered the last of his strength and dragged his weary body behind a large boulder, seeking refuge in its shadow. With a flicker of hope, he hoped that Nico would lose track of him amidst the vast expanse of Trench.

The wilderness stretched endlessly before him, offering countless hiding spots and possibilities of escape. Clancy knew he had to stay hidden, for his survival depended on it. With bated breath, he waited, hoping against hope that Nico's pursuit would soon come to an end.

In the distance, he could see as Nico, his eyes ablaze with hostility as he shot a menacing glare in Clancy's direction. The sound of hooves pounding against the earth filled the air as the horse abruptly turned and galloped furiously back towards Dema. A sense of overwhelming relief washed over Clancy, causing him to let out an involuntary sigh as his body slouched against the cool, damp moss covering the boulders he had been leaning on.

His vision was clouded with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and each breath felt like a battle for oxygen. As the edges of his sight began to blur into a vignette, Clancy barely managed to catch a glimpse of the Banditos retreating from the cliffs before darkness consumed him, driving him into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

As Clancy slowly stirred from his slumber, his eyelids fluttered open tentatively, only to be met with a blinding flash of the evening sun that seared through his skull, igniting a sharp, throbbing pain. With a pained groan, he struggled to muster the strength to even shift his position against the rock.

The fog of unconsciousness that had enveloped him must have lingered well into the evening, a result of the potent mixture of Nico's smearing and the terror-induced adrenaline that had pulsed through him as he fled from the clutches of the Bishop. Every muscle in his body felt utterly drained, as if every ounce of energy had been sapped from his very core.

An agonising hour passed before Clancy finally mustered up the strength to stir. Wracked with discomfort, his stomach churned violently while an unrelenting thirst left his throat parched and sore.

With great effort, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, his eyes scanning the jagged valley surrounding him. Not a single rock formation looked familiar, leading him to the disheartening realisation that he had unknowingly fled far from the safety of his temporary shelter.

As Clancy's mind grasped the gravity of the situation, a wave of panic washed over him. He brought his hands to his head, feeling the tremors running through his body, sweaty palms pressed against his clammy skin. His backpack, containing all his essentials for survival, remained abandoned in the dark confines of the cave.

With a sinking feeling in his chest, he turned his gaze back to the path he had hastily fled from, knowing that returning there was now impossible. The thought of the Bishop finding him sent shivers down his spine, and he shrunk back behind the protective shelter of the boulder, his heart pounding in his ears.

Swallowing down a mournful sigh, Clancy felt a heavy weight settle in his chest at the loss of his equipment. He nervously wrung his scarred and red hands, the throbbing pain a constant reminder of the numerous times he had stumbled while fleeing from Nico. His knees were scuffed and bloody, dark patches staining through his torn trousers.

The yellow tape on his jacket shoulders had started to peel off, a visual representation of Clancy's inner turmoil about where he belonged.

Clancy's heart pounded as he realised he couldn't retreat to his campsite. With a heavy heart, he knew he couldn't break free from Nico's hypnotic hold without the help of the Banditos, and they were gone now. Gathering his courage, Clancy stood up, his muscles aching from the ordeal.

Surveying the landscape ahead, he spotted a cluster of trees in the distance. Squinting against the harsh sunlight, he could make out the promise of safety in the lush woodland. With a determination fueled by desperation, he took a cautious step forward, his weary legs carrying him closer to the refuge that beckoned in the distance.

The sky was a blanket of darkness as Clancy stumbled into the dense forest, a heavy fog of fatigue clinging to his every step. Despite being unconscious for most of the day, his body still felt drained and weary. His eyelids drooped heavily, desperate to close and give in to the exhaustion that threatened to consume him. His hands hung listlessly at his sides.

The once vibrant excitement of exploring Trench had now been replaced with a sense of dread with each passing obstacle. The looming trees seemed to close in on him, casting eerie shadows that danced along the forest floor. Every rock, every fallen branch, felt like a sinister challenge to overcome. And when he stumbled upon a wide river blocking his path, Clancy's resolve crumbled. He sank to his knees, defeated and utterly depleted, the daunting task of crossing the river feeling insurmountable in his current state.

Surveying his surroundings, Clancy's eyes landed on a majestic tree, its branches hanging low as if welcoming him. The tree's trunk was massive and twisted with years of growth, giving it a sense of ancient wisdom. Lush rounded leaves adorned the branches, providing shade for scattered acorns and delicate flowers, showcasing the tree's vitality.

Clancy made his way towards the tree, climbing up onto one of the sturdy lower branches. He laid down on his back, feeling the rough bark beneath him. It didn't take long before he drifted off to sleep, cradled by the embrace of the ancient tree.

As the days stretched on, they all seemed to blend together for Clancy, moving past in a hazy blur of exhaustion and confusion. The once flowing river, which had once provided him with sustenance and a sense of renewal, now seemed like an insurmountable barrier. Every time he mustered up the will to try and cross it, he would end up defeated, slipping on slimy rocks covered in algae and submerging himself in its icy depths.

The few times he did attempt to cross, the water's chill crept into his bones, leaving him feeling numb and drained. Clancy grew tired of constantly wet clothes that clung to his skin, too exhausted to keep wringing them out. Eventually, he gave up trying altogether.

Stripped of his gear, Clancy faced the realisation that his ability to fish, a skill once relied upon with confidence, was now rendered useless.

Despite the initial twinge of satisfaction in knowing he wouldn't have to consume the nauseating taste of fish any longer, a sense of unease crept in as he understood the urgent need to secure alternative sources of food.

The sun had long since set as Clancy resorted to hunting in the darkness of the woods. With determination etched into his furrowed brow, he crafted a makeshift spear with trembling hands, using only a sturdy stick and sharp stones. The anticipation built as he crouched in silence, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the perfect moment.

Eventually, the sound of rustling leaves heralded the arrival of a deer, its elegant form illuminated by moonlight as it grazed by the riverbank.

The hunger gnawed at Clancy's empty stomach, his senses sharpened by desperation as he made his move. With a sudden burst of energy, he lunged towards the unsuspecting deer, but it proved too quick for him.

As the majestic creature disappeared into the darkness, leaving Clancy panting and defeated, a wave of frustration and despair washed over him. In a desperate outburst of emotion, he snapped the spear in half with a loud crack, flinging the pieces into the swiftly flowing river

Foraging had now become Clancy's daily routine, a task laced with difficulty. Despite having pored over countless books detailing the difference between nutritious berries and poisonous ones, his mind was a chaotic mess of swirling emotions and uncertainty.

One night, consumed by ravenous hunger, Clancy impulsively plucked a handful of dusty-blue berries from a nearby bush and forced himself to eat them. To his relief, they turned out to be a safe variety, but his mental state was so turbulent that he found himself indifferent to the possibility of ingesting harmful fruit. It should have frightened him to think this way, but it didn’t.

In the darkness of night, he sought refuge at the foot of a towering tree, its branches stretching out like protective arms above him. His tense gaze darted nervously through the dense woodland, heart pounding with each rustle of leaves and distant howl of unseen beasts. The familiar expanse of Trench, once a comforting fortress, now felt like a trap closing in on him.

Sleep eluded him as fear gnawed at his senses, his every instinct warning of lurking danger. The vastness of the wilderness offered no solace, only amplifying his sense of vulnerability. Every sound, every shadow seemed to whisper of approaching threats, forcing him to stay alert and watchful in the lonely night. The once familiar refuge had transformed into a labyrinth of shadows, where even the wind seemed to carry the echoes of his fears. Once a predator, he was now prey.

The sun had just begun to rise when it happened. Clancy awoke from yet another sleepless night, feeling the weight of exhaustion in his bones. He gazed into the rippling surface of the river, his reflection staring back at him. The faint black marks left by Nico's cruel hand were slowly fading, but Clancy's fingertips were stained and raw from his futile attempts to scrub them away.

Dark circles hung heavy beneath his tired eyes, a stark reminder of the nights spent tossing and turning. His scars, once raw and red, now scabbed over, but the sting of irritation lingered, a constant reminder of past pain. Overall, Clancy looked like a man worn down by the weight of his own struggles.

Without warning, the sound of rustling leaves in the bush behind Clancy jolted him into immediate alertness. His heart racing and eyes widening in panic, he braced himself for a potential threat - perhaps a fox or a badger lurking in the underbrush, ready to pounce. However, as he turned around swiftly, his gaze fell upon something entirely unexpected: a familiar, dark red robe swaying gently in the breeze.

Catching his breath, Clancy followed the robe upward, his chest tightening as he locked eyes with Keons. The Bishop's expression was a mixture of relief and warmth, his eyes radiating a sense of familiarity and welcome that instantly put Clancy at ease.

Clancy rose to his feet with an agonising slowness, his eyes filled with doubt as he stood facing his Bishop. A feeling of incredulity washed over him, as if he were in a dream-like state. With shaky determination, he cautiously took a hesitant step forward, unsure if what he was seeing was real.

Keons' eyes blinked in response, his weathered face breaking into a gentle smile that seemed to dispel any lingering doubts. The creases of his face seemed to curl upwards in warmth as he extended his arms towards Clancy, a gesture of comfort and reassurance.

As the Bishop's arms welcomed him, a rush of emotions flooded through Clancy, reminiscent of a bygone era. Overcome with emotion, he stumbled towards Keons, collapsing into his outstretched arms. Involuntary sobs erupted from his chest, echoing in the space between them.

The sound of Keons' soft humming filled the air as he enveloped Clancy in a protective embrace, providing solace and strength in a moment of vulnerability. The weight of Clancy's sorrow seemed to lessen in the Bishop's arms, as if they were a refuge from a storm.

Tears streamed down Clancy's face, his voice shaking as he spoke. "I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never thought this would be so hard. I never should have left." He sobbed, looking up at Keons with blurred vision, desperately trying to make out his features. With a broken heart, he buried his face into the Bishop's arm, seeking forgiveness.

Keons held him close, enveloping Clancy in a warm embrace that instantly brought comfort and security to the troubled rebel. He gently rubbed Clancy's back, a familiar gesture that had always brought reassurance and calm in times of distress.

Clancy felt the warm, gentle touch of Keon's hand as it carefully cupped his chin, gently tilting his head upward to meet his gaze. He blinked, feeling the weight of his emotions spill over as tears streamed down his cheeks. Keon's kind smile and sparkling eyes filled with relief brought a sense of peace to Clancy's troubled heart.

"Clancy, child, let's go home," Keon's voice resonated through Clancy's very soul, wrapping him in comfort and understanding. Without hesitation, Clancy gave a slow, grateful nod.

“I can’t survive out here. I regret leaving Dema. I can’t do it. I’m so sorry.” Clancy's lament was suffused with a deep sense of regret and despair as he uttered his heart-wrenching words. Tears streamed down his face as Keons gently led him through the thick foliage, his grip firm yet comforting. The weight of his decision to leave Dema hung heavily on his shoulders, the realisation of his mistake cutting him to the core.

“I understand. You must be exhausted, my son.” As Clancy struggled to catch his breath amidst his sobs, the Bishop's soothing words offered a balm to his wounded soul. Unlike the harshness he had come to expect from Nico, the Bishop's tone was gentle and understanding, his empathy a stark contrast to the unforgiving wilderness that surrounded them.

“Dema is still your home. You aren’t built for a life out here in the unpredictable wilderness.”

With a heavy heart, Clancy nodded in agreement, acknowledging the truth in the Bishop's words.

Keons expertly navigated through the dense woodland, guiding Clancy through the intricate maze of trees with fluidity and grace. As they emerged from the shadows, a magnificent brown horse stood waiting, its flank adorned with speckles of white. The horse greeted them with a cheerful whinny, exuding an air of loyalty and tranquillity.

Clancy gazed up at the majestic creature, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Turning to Keons, he found solace in his steady presence. With a reassuring gesture, the Bishop directed Clancy towards the saddle perched upon the horse's back. Without hesitation, Clancy mounted the horse, ready to embark on the journey ahead.

The journey back to Dema was a haze of motion and sound. Clancy's eyelids drooped heavily as he drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind unable to process the reality of leaving behind the world he had once yearned for.

Keons sat in front of him, his demeanour quiet and focused, his only movements to offer Clancy water throughout the trip. The liquid slipped down Clancy's parched throat, the metallic tang barely registering as he swallowed it down, lost in his own thoughts and memories.

Conflicting emotions swirled within Clancy's core, stirring up a tumultuous whirlwind of feelings as they neared the imposing walls of Dema. The concrete barriers loomed over him, casting shadows of both comfort and fear in equal measure. Frustration and uncertainty gnawed at his insides, torn between the desperate desire to escape and the overwhelming guilt and shame that flooded his being as he willingly returned to the city he had once fought to break free from.

As Keons guided the horse to a steady walk, the sound of hooves reverberated through the desolate, colourless streets of Dema. Each step closer to the centre of the city only amplified the internal turmoil raging within Clancy. Instead of guiding him back to his previous confinement, Keons came to a halt outside an unfamiliar building

"This will be your new living quarters," Keons explained, his voice carrying a mix of authority and reassurance as he dismounted the horse and extended a hand to help Clancy down. Clancy's gaze travelled up the imposing facade of the apartment building in front of him, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over him. Turning to his Bishop for guidance, he found himself at a loss for words, his throat tight with emotion.

"This building offers enhanced surveillance and security," Keons continued, now standing in front of Clancy with a firm grip on his shoulders. "We will be able to monitor you more closely here, ensuring your safety and well-being." The weight of Keons' hands on his shoulders spoke volumes, conveying both a sense of protection and an undeniable sense of control.

“It is in your best interest to stay here. You will be safer.” The Bishop spoke earnestly, and Clancy, feeling defeated and drained, couldn't summon the energy to argue. Keons, sensing his hesitation, reached into his pocket and pulled out a key with a room number on it. He pressed it into Clancy's hand, a silent signal of the importance of staying put.

With a reluctant nod, Clancy turned his gaze back towards the looming building before him. A sense of unease crept through his body, but he knew deep down that he had no other option but to obey.

He had returned to Dema willingly, and now he would deal with the consequences.

Chapter Text

The weeks that followed Clancy's return to Dema were a whirlwind of confusion and disorientation. At first, everything seemed to blend together in a hazy blur, but as time passed, his thoughts and motivations slowly began to come into focus.

While he thrived in the strict routine and perceived safety within the walls of the city, Clancy couldn't shake the pull of the untamed wilderness and volatile landscape of Trench. His mind frequently wandered to memories of the vast hills and dense forests he had roamed during his brief escape.

Often, he would find himself drawn to the window, instinctively searching for a glimpse of the rugged terrain that now felt like a distant dream. The stark contrast between the controlled environment of Dema and the raw beauty of Trench weighed heavily on his mind, leaving him torn between two worlds.

Clancy's new apartment was a cramped, dreary space with minimal furniture - just a bed and a desk. The harsh, unforgiving concrete walls seemed to trap the cold within, making it feel more like a desolate prison cell than a home.

As he settled in, Clancy carefully removed the crumpled, decaying yellow flowers from his jacket pockets. Placing them in the compartment of the creaky, chipped wooden desk, he felt a glimmer of hope stir within him. These flowers, a small reminder of the beauty beyond these walls, served as his secret sanctuary.

Despite being allowed to leave the apartment, Clancy knew his every move was watched by the guards stationed at the building's entrance. The threat of the Bishops loomed over him like a dark cloud. One misstep, and his carefully constructed facade of compliance would shatter. The flowers served as a silent reminder of the delicate balance he was forced to maintain in this place of confinement.

The days felt interminable, each one dragging on tirelessly as Clancy sought solace in the melodies he crafted. Hours stretched to eternity as he poured his soul into penning new songs, burying hidden meanings within cryptic lyrics. With each stroke of the pen, he delved deeper into his emotions, weaving tales of the Banditos, recounting his capture, and delving into the enigmatic philosophy of Vialism.

As the months passed, he fervently composed, each word a testament to his inner turmoil and the longing for escape from the oppressive walls of Dema. In the quiet of his cell, he dared to dream that someday, someone brave enough would hear his music and follow the call to freedom.

Tonight, in the glow of flickering neon, the esteemed Bishops stood tall and regal as they conducted a sacred ceremony before a mesmerised audience of dedicated Vialists. Clancy was expected to attend, but a deep unease gnawed at his gut, holding him captive within the confines of his dimly lit apartment. Despite the pull of tradition and obligation, he remained rooted to his spot, unable to bring himself to join.

Instead, he found solace in the silence of his room, reclining on his bed and gazing blankly at the blank expanse of his ceiling. His mind drifted, seeking refuge in the realms of his dreams and memories of the mysterious land of Trench.

The familiarity and security of the bustling city had always been his anchor, but the taste of freedom he had savoured had stirred a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty and longing.

Abruptly, a piercing shout erupted from outside Clancy's window, jolting him out of his drowsy state. As he wrenched his head from the musty pillow, he blinked groggily at the cloudy glass. Slowly, he focused and squinted as a soft orange glow began to dance across the dreary buildings outside.

His heart quickened as he watched in awe, his eyes widening in disbelief as he scrambled to the window, eager to catch a glimpse of the rare burst of colour in the usually monochromatic world of Dema. Something extraordinary must be happening to light up the darkened cityscape in such a vibrant hue.

Clancy was taken aback as he peered out of his apartment window and saw the guards, who had always stood vigilant outside his building, now chasing after two mysterious figures. The flames from their torches illuminated the night, casting eerie shadows on the streets. The bright yellow stripes of tape on their shoulders instantly identified them as Banditos

As Clancy watched, his eyes darted to a dark figure hiding in the shadows of an alley. The man also bore the telltale yellow tape, and their eyes met momentarily, a silent understanding passing between them. With a quick nod and a fleeting glance towards the ground, the man vanished into the darkness, leaving Clancy with a sense of urgency and a clear directive. It was an instruction. Return to the tunnels.

Clancy's heart raced as he crawled under his bed, feeling around for his backpack. After losing all his supplies in Trench while escaping Nico's clutches, the weight of the backpack in his hands brought a sense of security and preparedness.

Inside the backpack were all the tools he had re-bought - a sturdy bag, a trusty compass, a sharp pocketknife, and a brand-new notepad. Each item held a specific purpose, a reminder of the challenges he had faced and overcome.

Aware of the harsh weather and unpredictable conditions of Trench, Clancy grabbed a beanie, a heavy coat, and a few other essential pieces of clothing from his wardrobe. He knew he needed to be prepared for anything that came his way.

As he packed his bag and dressed for the journey ahead, a surge of determination and newfound courage coursed through his veins. His hands trembled slightly, a mix of fear and excitement. But Clancy hadn't felt this motivated since his daring escape, and he was ready to face whatever obstacles lay ahead.

As Clancy emerged from his apartment, the late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the city, which was slowly being enveloped in a dark shade of grey-blue as the sun began to set. The flames of torches lining the streets flickered and danced in the encroaching darkness, casting eerie shadows on the cobblestone pavement.

With a sense of urgency, Clancy hurried down the stairs of his building, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. As he pushed open the front door, a gust of cool evening air greeted him, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and distant sounds of commotion from the city.

Noticing the guards were still missing, Clancy felt a rush of gratitude towards the Banditos who had orchestrated a clever diversion to aid in his escape. With a newfound sense of confidence, he made his way towards the flickering torchlight, his heart pounding in anticipation of the unknown adventures that lay ahead.

Clancy turned a corner, his footsteps faltering as a surge of adrenaline flooded his veins, causing his heart to race in anticipation. In front of him, a mass of Banditos loomed, their collective gaze fixated on him, their bodies poised in silent expectation. At the forefront stood the Torchbearer, his face obscured by a vibrant yellow bandana, his eyes piercing through the darkness to meet Clancy's with a steely intensity.

A sense of foreboding enveloped Clancy as he found himself surrounded by the ominous presence of the Banditos, their figures silhouetted against the dimly lit street. Most brandished flaming torches, casting an eerie glow that flickered and danced in the night, while others clutched heavy backpacks, their contents shrouded in mystery. Clancy could only assume they were filled with resources for their journey.

Peering out at the cityscape around him, Clancy's eyes were drawn to the various buildings surrounding him. Amidst the structures, he could make out the faces of curious citizens peering out at him. Some watched intently, their curiosity evident in their expressions, while others quickly averted their gaze in fear, retreating back into the safety of their homes. A wave of frustration washed over Clancy as he wondered how they could still be oblivious to the danger that loomed around them.

Shaking off his inner turmoil, Clancy redirected his focus to the Banditos. Despite the fear and uncertainty that gnawed at him, a newfound courage bubbled up within him, propelling him forward. With determined steps, he closed the gap between himself and the Torchbearer.

Their brief meeting in Trench was fleeting, a mere moment in time, yet it resonated deeply within both the Torchbearer and Clancy. Though no words were exchanged, a silent understanding passed between them, a sense of mutual belief and trust.

As the mysterious man extended his hand, Clancy's eyes glimmered with curiosity and admiration. With a sense of anticipation, he reached out and grasped the Torchbearer's hand firmly, their palms meeting in a moment of unspoken camaraderie.

Then, in a surprising gesture, the Torchbearer lowered his bandana, revealing his rugged features - a strong jawline, a stoic expression. In that instant, Clancy studied the man's face intently, committing every detail to memory. There was a sense of familiarity, a strange connection that he couldn't quite explain. It was as if, in a different time or place, they could have been brothers, bound by an invisible bond that transcended mere acquaintance.

“Clancy.” He introduced himself, voice quiet.

“We know.” The Torchbearer responded, familiarity sparking in his eyes.

“Why are you here?” Clancy couldn't help but inquire, his curiosity getting the best of him. The Banditos had witnessed his near capture - why had they braved the city to seek him out?

“You have a purpose. We need you.” The Torchbearer cryptically responded, his tone devoid of emotion, leaving Clancy with more questions than answers.

A cacophony of footsteps echoed through the narrow alleyways a few streets away, signalling the approach of potential danger. The leader of the Banditos jerked his head in its direction.

“Come. We must move quickly if we’re to leave.” He commanded, his tone urgent as he turned to lead the group. Clancy, his voice laced with curiosity, hurried to match the pace of the Torchbearer, who moved with a confident stride.

“How did you get in?” Clancy inquired, struggling to keep up as they navigated the labyrinthine pathways. The Torchbearer, his eyes scanning their surroundings vigilantly, replied without breaking his stride.

“The tunnels. They’re the only sure route in and out of the city.” He explained, casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure that the rest of the Banditos were trailing closely behind.

The flickering torchlight cast a vibrant orange glow upon their faces, illuminating the determined expressions of the Banditos as they strode through the narrow streets of Dema. Clancy's gaze shifted from one rebel to the next, his mind buzzing with curiosity about the stories etched into each of their faces.

As they approached an old, weather-worn building, the Torchbearer deftly pushed open the creaking door, revealing a murky interior beckoning them inside. With a hushed command, the rebels filed in, followed by Clancy, and the door closed softly behind them, sealing them off from the outside world.

A set of stairs loomed before them, descending into the depths of the building. Clancy's stomach churned as he followed the others into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. But as they reached the bottom, a wave of recognition washed over him - they had emerged into the familiar network of tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the city.

“How did I never know about this second entrance?” Clancy's voice was barely more than a whisper as he addressed his thoughts aloud, jumping slightly as the Torchbearer answered.

“Perhaps you were never able to explore the full extent of the tunnels.” He replied simply, his deep voice echoing through the dim and damp hallways.

Guided by the Torchbearer's steady hand, the group of Banditos moved through the twisting passages of the labyrinth. A sense of silent determination hung in the air as they followed in his wake, their footfalls echoing softly against the damp stone walls.

As they walked, Clancy felt a sense of calm wash over him, a reassurance that they were on the right path. It was then that he felt a light touch on his shoulder, causing him to turn and meet the gaze of one of the rebels. In that brief moment, Clancy saw a glimmer of kindness in their eyes as they carefully affixed strips of yellow tape to his shoulders.

A small smile tugged at Clancy's lips as he wordlessly conveyed his gratitude to the rebel, a silent exchange of trust and understanding passing between them. In that moment, surrounded by allies in the shadows of the labyrinth, Clancy knew that they would find their way to safety together.

A sense of anticipation filled the air as they drew closer to the exit, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the Banditos waiting outside. When the Torchbearer emerged, a hush fell over the group as they all turned to watch.

Clancy hesitated for a moment, taking in the scene before him. The night sky stretched above, a vast expanse of deep indigo dotted with twinkling stars. It had only been mere months since he had last seen the outside world, but he had already forgotten the beauty of it. His eyes widened in awe as he stood there, transfixed by the breathtaking sight before him.

“We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.” The Torchbearer snapped Clancy from his thoughts.

“We’ll return to our main camp, and then we can begin.”

Clancy felt a sudden weight settle on his shoulders. The realisation that a journey of unknown length lay before them struck him like a blow to the chest. His mind whirled with questions and doubts, but the sight of his companions striding confidently ahead spurred him into action.

With a determined set to his jaw, Clancy fell into step behind the Torchbearer, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

-

The arduous journey to the Bandito camp stretched on for what felt like an eternity, each step through the unforgiving landscape feeling more taxing than the last. The Banditos trudged through torrential rain that lashed at their faces one day, only to be faced with blinding sunlight the next.

Clancy, though familiar with the path, found himself inexplicably at ease with the rebels by his side, their presence emboldening him to navigate the treacherous terrain with newfound agility. The jagged rocks underfoot seemed less inclined to trip him up, and he effortlessly crossed churning rivers of ice, their bone-chilling waters barely slowing his determined strides.

Clancy found himself effortlessly matching the strides of the Torchbearer, the two of them leading the group with confidence. Despite the Torchbearer's quiet demeanour, his occasional words were well-spoken and emanated a sense of genuine warmth and charm.

In contrast to the enigmatic and cryptic Bishops, Clancy found solace in the Torchbearer's straightforward responses to his inquiries. The other rebels in the group were equally welcoming and kind, creating a sense of camaraderie and unity.

As night fell, the rebels would establish cosy camps, sharing food around crackling bonfires that provided much-needed warmth in the dark, chilly nights. These moments were a stark departure from the isolated and frigid nights Clancy had experienced alone in Trench previously.

It took a number of days to reach the Bandito camp. As they made their way up the steep terrain, Clancy's lungs burned from the constant strain.

“How far are we?” He gasped, turning to the Torchbearer. The man simply hummed in response, his gaze locked forwards. With the sun sinking lower in the sky, the flickering torch in the Torchbearer's hand became their only source of light and direction as night began to descend upon them.

Clancy brushed the unruly curls of hair out of his eyes, his fingers deftly tucking them back as he silently cursed their disobedience. It was as if he could hear his thoughts spoken aloud when the Torchbearer finally spoke up.

“We’ll give you a haircut when we reach the main camp, if you’d prefer.” The Torchbearer offered with a knowing smile.

Clancy couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected suggestion, nodding in amusement.

“And how long will that be?”

“Now.” He answered simply, before gesturing towards the crest of the hill. Clancy's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the bustling camp below, its tents and fires flickering in the fading light of the day.

The Bandito camp sprawled out before Clancy in a breathtaking display of size and organisation. The massive expanse of tents, made from colourful cloth, stretched in a perfect circle at the summit of the mountainous hill, creating a striking contrast against the dark silhouette of the night sky. People moved about the camp, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of torches they carried, casting shadows that danced across the ground.

The scent of smoke wafted through the air as a few campfires crackled and popped, their warm glow providing a cosy atmosphere amidst the cool evening air. Groups of individuals congregated around the fires, their laughter and chatter filling the night with a sense of camaraderie and community. Clancy watched in awe as the different factions of the camp came together, united by their shared experiences and hardships.

This was more than just a gathering of rebels– it was a thriving community, bound together by a common purpose and a deep sense of belonging.

A gentle, insistent nudge on his shoulder jolted Clancy back to reality, pulling him out of his daze. As he blinked and focused, he found himself gazing up at the figure of the Torchbearer

“Come. Let’s get you that haircut.” A twinkle of amusement danced in the Torchbearer's eyes, and a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Eager to follow the Banditos' leader, Clancy scrambled to his feet and hurried after him, the anticipation of what was to come making his pulse race with excitement. Each step he took felt like a leap forward into a new journey, his chest swelling with a sense of wonder and possibility as they moved forward.

Out of nowhere, with a suddenness that made Clancy’s heart race, a menacing vulture descended from the ominous grey sky. Its sharp talons barely skimmed Clancy’s scalp, causing him to cower in fright at the unexpected encounter. The creature landed gracefully on a towering boulder, its eyes fixed eerily on the approaching Banditos as they made their way into the camp.

“What the hell is that doing here?” Echoes of horror reverberated in Clancy’s voice as he turned to the Torchbearer, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and anger. Vultures were a sight reserved for the desolate Necropolis of Dema, where they lurked voraciously along the fortress walls, their piercing gaze haunting his nightmares.

In a surprising display of calmness, the Torchbearer nonchalantly removed a handful of dried meat from his jacket pocket and tossed it towards the scavenging bird. The vulture hopped down from its perch, its sharp beak tearing into the offering, oblivious to the fear it instilled in the heart of Clancy.

“That’s Clifford. He guards our camp.” The Torchbearer explained. “He’s friendly, don’t worry.”

As the group continued on, Clancy lingered. Growing up, he had been fed stories of vultures being greedy and predatory creatures that would swoop down on unsuspecting victims. But now, as he observed Clifford's gentle demeanour, he was beginning to see that it was just another misleading lesson from Dema.

-

A couple of days passed while Clancy stayed in the Banditos’ camp. The sense of welcoming and the warmth of community had allowed him to feel comfortable and wanted in the rebel group.

Running a hand over his freshly shaven head, Clancy reminisced on his time there so far.

During the sunlit days, Clancy would often find himself sitting beside the enigmatic Torchbearer, watching in fascination as the man meticulously penned down cryptic words and sketched out intricate ideas that remained a mystery to Clancy. Though the Torchbearer was a man of few words, his mere presence exuded a sense of comfort and reassurance. In hushed tones, he would impress upon Clancy his importance, that the Banditos needed him, and that most imperatively, the citizens of Dema needed him. The Torchbearer seemed to possess grand plans, with Clancy at the very centre as the catalyst that would bring them to fruition.

Clancy often found himself trailing after the Torchbearer, a mix of eagerness and uncertainty swirling within him. Despite his desire to be of assistance, he struggled to find his place within the rebel group without clear direction or guidance, his actions tethered to the Torchbearer's enigmatic leadership.

As the sky transformed into a canvas of dusky hues, the hunting groups trudged back to camp, their arms laden with the day's spoils. Rabbits, deer, and fish dangled from their hands, their rich aroma wafting through the air. Meanwhile, the harvesters and farmers emerged with baskets brimming with dried vegetables, adding a burst of colour to the gathering.

As the communal meal commenced, the camp came alive with chatter, laughter, and the melodic strains of shared songs. Amidst the camaraderie and warmth, Clancy found solace in the nightly ritual.

Yet, despite the jovial atmosphere, a gnawing sensation persisted in his chest, whispering doubts that he was an outsider among the close-knit community. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit into the collective harmony of the group.

This particular night was especially challenging for Clancy. The Torchbearer had ventured out on a hunting expedition, leaving him alone in the camp. Clancy sat huddled in a corner of the tent he shared with the Bandito's leader, wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag.

Initially, the idea of being alone in the Torchbearer's tent was daunting. However, as the two men conversed and built a connection, Clancy found comfort in their shared space. He eventually felt more at ease in the tent than he did elsewhere, opting to remain there despite the solitude.

He sat hunched over his notepad, the scratch of his pen creating a steady rhythm as he meticulously transcribed his thoughts and feelings. The page before him was a tapestry of song lyrics and poetic verses, a chaotic jumble of words that seemed to struggle for cohesion.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes filled with a mixture of intensity and uncertainty. With each stroke of his pen, he was baring his soul, exposing his innermost thoughts and emotions for the world to see.

As he worked, he couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider among the Bandito group. The gaze of his fellow rebels seemed to follow him wherever he went, their eyes full of curiosity.

Clancy felt special, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Unease and imposter syndrome settled in his gut like a stone.

The cacophony of footsteps reverberated through the camp, causing Clancy to look up from his spot in the tent, his ears attuned to the familiar sound indicating that food had arrived. With a sense of urgency, he rose from his makeshift bed and stepped outside, greeted by the sight of a kind rebel offering him a rabbit leg. Grateful, he forced a smile in return before settling by the crackling campfire.

Surrounded by strangers who extended warm gestures inviting him to join them, Clancy couldn't help but feel a surge of empowerment at the shared camaraderie forged through similar struggles. But his emotions still wouldn’t settle.

He ate quickly, discarding the rabbit bone into the flames once finished. As he gazed into the mesmerising dance of the fire, Clancy found himself inadvertently consumed by the swirling thoughts plaguing his mind.

Clancy could feel the familiar storm of emotions churning within him, just as it had when Nico had first approached him many moons ago. A sense of turmoil and regret mingled with determination and cowardice, battling for control of his thoughts. He was torn between the promise he had made to himself and the allure of the comfort and simplicity of his former life in Dema.

As he grappled with the conflicting desires within him, Clancy couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at his insides. He knew he wasn't a hero, nor was he anything particularly special. He was just a man adrift, unsure of his place in the world, and that realisation was more terrifying than anything else he had ever faced.

A sudden and eerie sensation slithered up Clancy's spine, causing a shiver to run down his back. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a presence looming over him with a sinister intent. Despite the familiar dread that gripped him, Clancy found himself paralysed, unable to turn and face whatever unseen force was behind him. Malevolent emotions surged through him, a dark current seeping into his very being, clouding his thoughts.

In an instant, Nico's hands materialised out of the shadows, encircling Clancy's throat with a vicious grip and wrenching him backwards with brutal force.

Chapter Text

Clancy jolted awake, his body suddenly convulsing as he gasped for air with a desperate urgency. It felt as though his lungs had been squeezed tightly, denying him the precious oxygen he needed to fill them.

Frantically, his hands clawed at the ground, the sharp sensation of his nails scraping against whatever surface they could find.

As he struggled to breathe, a dark vignette descended over his vision, obscuring everything around him. Spots danced and flickered in the periphery, matching the erratic rhythm of his pounding heart.

As Clancy's heart rate slowly returned to its regular rhythm and the fog in his mind lifted, he slowly realised that he had no idea of his location.

The stone floor beneath him was icy, sending a chill through his entire body and causing his bones to ache with discomfort. Each movement he made only seemed to intensify the pain, making him acutely aware of his surroundings.

Within the room where Clancy found himself, there were no windows to offer any sense of time or place. The only source of light came from a flickering bulb that barely illuminated the dim space, casting eerie shadows across the cracked walls. The ceiling fixture swung gently back and forth, adding to the disconcerting atmosphere.

The door in front of him loomed like a looming barrier, solid and unwelcoming. It was made of heavy metal with no visible handles or locks, leaving Clancy feeling trapped and isolated. As he reached out to touch the door, the frigid touch of the steel stung his scarred and blistered hands.

A visceral sense of dread coiled like a heavy weight in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine as vivid memories rushed back to the forefront of his mind. The welcoming atmosphere of the Bandito camp flooded his senses, the rough sketches of the Torchbearer's plans etched in his memory alongside the flickering warmth of the bonfires that had once provided solace.

And then, the memories of Nico hit him like a sudden storm, each recollection sparking sharp pangs of anguish that made him recoil and instinctively grasp at his throbbing head.

Nico's hands had tightened around Clancy's throat, his grip like a vice as he dragged him down the treacherous mountainside. The Bishop looked on with cold indifference, callously allowing Clancy's body to be battered and bruised by the unforgiving terrain. Each rock and obstacle they encountered seemed to be a deliberate enemy, inflicting pain.

Clancy could feel the sting of his torn skin, the sharp pain of his scratched arms and the dull ache of his battered legs. The twisting of his ankle sent sharp jolts of agony through his body, making every movement a torturous ordeal. As he lifted his shirt, the sight of dried blood and deep purple bruises painted a grim picture of the brutality he had endured.

It was no wonder Clancy felt as though he had been in a war - the physical aftermath of Nico's merciless assault was etched into every inch of his body, a harsh reminder of the violence that had been inflicted upon him.

With eerie precision, Clancy felt a sharp throbbing in his head that soon turned into a merciless pounding, as if a drum was being played inside his skull. Before he could even process the pain, a sudden weight descended upon his neck, causing it to strain and falter under the pressure.

His eyelids fluttered shut as a wave of dizziness overcame him, sending him tumbling towards the unforgiving ground below. The sound of his head connecting with the cold, hard concrete echoed in his ears just before darkness enveloped his vision completely, leaving him engulfed in a void of nothingness.

The excruciatingly long days crept by with painful slowness, each passing moment bringing more hunger and loneliness to Clancy's dark cell. No meals were brought to him, no companionship offered, leaving him to feel the gnawing pangs of hunger twisting in his empty stomach.

When he wasn't huddled in a corner, attempting to find solace in sleep, Clancy's rage consumed him, driving him to throw himself against the unyielding metal door with all his might.

With each futile attempt to break free, he would rise to his feet, his body trembling with anger as he hurled himself towards the door. The resounding, sickening thud of his impact reverberated through the cell, leaving him bruised and battered, aching from the physical toll of his desperate attacks.

Clancy finally gave up when he could no longer stand. Blood flowed freely from his nose, coating his tongue and teeth in a disgusting metallic taste. He spat a mouthful of crimson to the floor, noticing how his blood speckled the floor like a gruesome decoration.

He was sure his left arm was broken, after a sickening crunch forced his wrist to curl inwards. Tucking it into his shirt, Clancy held it at his chest, feeling tears prick his eyes at the pain.

Tears welled in his eyes as the intense pain washed over him, leaving him weak, injured, and completely isolated. In a moment of vulnerability, he couldn't help but let out a guttural sob, the sound echoing off the walls of his desolate cell. Curling into a ball in the corner, Clancy felt the crushing weight of his despair consuming him.

As Clancy slowly regained consciousness, he braced himself for the familiar wave of pain that had haunted him in recent days. However, to his astonishment, he was met with a sensation of warmth and comfort that he had not experienced in what felt like an eternity. Tentatively raising his head, he opened one eye to survey his surroundings.

His gaze fell upon his injured arm, and instead of the gruesome sight he had grown accustomed to, he found it encased in a pristine white cast, adorned with a soft cyan sleeve. The contrast between the stark whiteness of the cast and the soothing hue of the sleeve had a calming effect on Clancy, who felt a sense of protection and relief wash over him.

Taking a moment to gather his bearings, Clancy noticed the bandages snugly wrapped around his midsection, providing a sense of security and support that he had sorely missed. He now wore a bright cyan shirt, instead of the bloodstained, grey shirt he was used to. Sure, the fabric was a little scratchy and stiff, but it was the most comfort Clancy had felt in months.

As Clancy slowly regained his strength in the weeks that followed, he found himself isolated and alone, with no visitors to break the monotony of his days. The only interaction he had was when a meagre meal was pushed through a small opening in the metal door of his cell, accompanied by a note from Keons.

Despite his initial wariness, Clancy couldn't resist the urge to devour the food, his hunger overpowering any doubts he had. With each meal, he would carefully read the message attached, a piece of Vialism wisdom or a personal note from Keons himself. At first, he dismissed the notes, tossing them aside without a second thought. But as days turned into weeks, he found himself drawn to the notes, the words resonating with him in unexpected ways.

As he read and reread the notes, Clancy found solace in Keons' teachings and found himself eagerly anticipating each new message. The once unwanted notes became a lifeline, offering him a sense of connection and purpose in his lonely, confined existence.

Clancy's sense of time had become warped during his imprisonment, the days blurring into one another in the windowless cell. So when the heavy metal door began to creak open, he couldn't be sure if it had been weeks or months since he was taken captive. The sound startled him awake from his fitful sleep, his heart pounding in his chest as he scrambled to his feet in anticipation.

His arm was still encased in the rigid cyan cast, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. The bruises and scars that littered his body were slowly beginning to heal, but he still felt weak and drained of energy. Despite this, the sight of the guards standing in the doorway filled him with a rush of emotions he struggled to contain.

They were the first people he had seen in what felt like an eternity, and the relief was so overwhelming that he felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. The presence of the guards brought a glimmer of hope, a chance that his ordeal might soon come to an end.

“Come.” One of the guards commanded in a low voice, as he turned and began to make his way down the dimly lit corridor. Clancy, feeling the strain of his unused muscles, followed behind them at a slow pace. His broken arm hung limply at his side, and his eyes anxiously scanned their unfamiliar surroundings.

The hallway stretched out before him in shades of dreary grey, a stark contrast to the monotony of his previous confinement. The change in scenery came as a shock to his senses, leaving him feeling both exhilarated and apprehensive at the same time.

As he tried to keep up with the guards' steady pace, Clancy struggled to adjust his gait to accommodate his still-healing ankle, causing him to limp slightly. Despite the discomfort, he pressed on, his determination to escape the confines of his captivity lending him a newfound sense of purpose.

As the guards guided Clancy down the corridor, they suddenly reached a sharp turn that revealed a strikingly bright blue door. Its vibrant hue seemed to radiate in stark contrast to the dreary surroundings of the concrete walls. The intensity of the colour was almost blinding at first, causing Clancy to squint in discomfort. However, as his eyes adjusted to the unexpected burst of brightness, he couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and apprehension.

The first guard reached out and slowly turned the doorknob, the hinges letting out a loud creak as the door swung open. With a subtle gesture, he indicated for Clancy to step inside.

As Clancy hesitantly entered the room, his breath caught in his throat at the incredible scene that greeted him. Four cloaked figures, their robes a rich crimson, were seated around a circular table. Their faces turned towards Clancy, their features hidden beneath the shadows of their hoods. But it was the figure of Keons, the bishop he knew well, that drew his attention the most. Keons' gaze held a mix of compassion and pity as he acknowledged Clancy's presence.

Although Clancy could not distinguish the other three figures, a wave of relief washed over him as he realised that Nico was not among them. The tension in the room eased slightly, but Clancy remained on guard, unsure of what lay ahead in this mysterious gathering.

"Clancy, you are hereby being accused of egregious violation of code 15398642_14 of the Dema Code of Conduct," Declared one of the stern-faced Bishops, his voice resounding through the dimly lit chamber.

"You have not only defected from Dema once, but three times," The Bishop continued, his tone heavy with disapproval. With sudden force, he slammed his fist onto the table, causing Clancy to recoil in fear. His eyes darted desperately towards Keons, but the impassive leader offered no reassurance.

“However,” Despite the gravity of the situation, a glimmer of hope emerged as another Bishop raised a hand to speak. “Instead of sending you to the Dema Re-Education Facility, we propose an alternative conclusion.”

The mere mention of the notorious facility sent a chill down Clancy's spine, as he recalled the haunting tales of brutal reprogramming and mind-altering techniques.

“Since your.. Overt escape with the Banditos,” The Bishop's voice was tinged with displeasure, his expression contorted as though the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "The populace has been stirred to action."

Clancy cocked his head in bewilderment, his features reflecting his confusion.

"Your actions have sparked a surge in uprisings," The Bishop's voice now dripped with anger.

"And as a result," Keons interjected, his hands placed serenely on the table. “We would like you to work for us.”

Clancy stood before the wooden table, his body trembling with weakness as he absorbed the Bishops' proposal. The room seemed to close in on him as he listened to their conditions.

"We will allow you to continue creating, but only within these walls," One of the Bishops declared. "We will supply you with the resources you need, as long as your writings align with the interests of the city. Your work will be displayed in a grand exhibition for all to see."

Clancy's heart pounded in his chest as he processed the gravity of the offer. He struggled to find his voice, his words coming out as barely audible whispers. With a rough cough, he managed to croak out a question.

“So.. I write music for you.. And you won’t kill me?” His voice was still quiet, but the Bishops heard him clearly. Keons nodded.

“I will personally oversee your work. You will write, hand over your creations, and be returned to your cell. In return, we will feed you, quench your thirst, and keep you well.”

As the weight of the agreement settled on his shoulders, Clancy felt a mix of relief and anxiety. The Bishops' proposition offered him a chance at survival, but it also meant he would be confined within these walls, at the mercy of their whims. Despite his reservations, he knew he had no choice but to accept their terms.

Reluctantly, Clancy approached the table where one of the imposing Bishops gestured towards a piece of paper and a pen. Each step he took was marked by a visible struggle, his movements riddled with pain. As he reached the table, his eyes flicked over the paper, revealing it to be a binding contract, sealing his allegiance to Dema.

“And.. if I don’t write in support of Dema?” His voice shook as he questioned the consequences of refusing to comply, prompting a stern response from the Bishops. The weight of their gazes bore down on him, making it clear that disobedience was not an option.

“You will be punished accordingly, and the contract will be void.”

Swallowing thickly, Clancy picked up the pen. It felt foreign in his hand - he hadn’t written in so long. Casting a brief glance at Keons, who nodded encouragingly, Clancy pressed the nib to the paper, shakily signing his name, and his life, to the contract.

As the weeks turned into months, Clancy found himself immersed in a whirlwind of songs and sonnets that filled his mind. True to the promises made by the Bishops, Clancy was treated with care and consideration. His cell received a plush bed, and he was given regular, nourishing meals.

As his fractured bones slowly healed, Clancy was presented with a new wardrobe that was a stark contrast to his previous tattered rags. The garments were a kaleidoscope of vibrant pinks and blues, made from soft cotton that felt like a dream against his skin. To his surprise, the clothes fit him perfectly, accentuating his slender frame.

His dark brown hair began to grow out, and when it began to dangle in his eyes, he would tie it together into buns atop his head, a whimsical touch that added a hint of playfulness to his newfound sense of style.

Every morning, Clancy would stir from his slumber with a surge of vitality coursing through his veins, more invigorated than the day before. His routine began with consuming the meagre breakfast that was unceremoniously shoved through the metal slot in his cell door. Soon after, a guard would march into his cell, brusquely fastening handcuffs around his wrists before leading him down the familiar path to the room with the striking, cyan-coloured door.

Once locked inside the room, the restraints around Clancy's wrists would be removed, granting him the freedom to unleash his thoughts onto the blank pages before him. It was a relief to be able to write, to pour his creativity onto the paper, but it was frustrating to be confined to this sterile room. Without the solace of his writing, Clancy feared he would descend into madness.

Frequently, Clancy found himself in the presence of the Bishops, their piercing gaze fixed on him as he diligently penned his thoughts. Each stroke of the pen was scrutinised with intensity, every movement of his hand closely watched.

At times, only one Bishop stood before him, while on other occasions there were as many as seven or eight gathered around. The number fluctuated with each encounter, but never did all nine appear together.

Nico was always conspicuously absent, a fact that Clancy couldn't help but notice. Deep down, he was convinced that he would feel Nico's presence if he were to ever join the group.

At the end of each day, Keons approached him, retrieved his papers, and left. Some days, Keons would pause and engage in peaceful discussions with Clancy, his voice filling the room with warmth and wisdom. But on other occasions, Keons would simply nod and walk away without a word.

As the door closed behind him, Clancy's heart would tighten with a mixture of longing and rebellion. Despite his independent spirit, he couldn't help but yearn for the mentorship and connection that Keons brought into his life.

Writing music in support of the oppressive regime of Dema and Vialism proved to be a daunting task for Clancy, far more challenging than he had anticipated. As he sat at his desk, trying to compose melodies that would align with their sinister ideology, he couldn't help but find his thoughts drifting back to the Banditos and the Torchbearer.

The uncertainty of their fate gnawed at Clancy, leaving him anxious and restless. Were his former companions still out there, fighting for freedom? Were they galvanised by the hope of finding him again? These questions lingered in his mind, a constant torment amidst his creative process.

However, any wavering of his allegiance was met with steely glares from the Bishops and scolding reminders of his mission. The words "It must be for the benefit of the citizens of Dema" were repeatedly drilled into his consciousness, a mantra that he begrudgingly adopted to suppress his doubts and keep his focus intact.

After meticulously crafting every note and lyric, Clancy finally penned the final line of the last song. With a mixture of nerves and pride, he looked up at the eight Bishops seated before him, their stoic expressions giving nothing away. Summoning his courage, he gave a small nod and held out the page for Keons to take. The Bishop approached the desk with an air of authority, swapping the completed sheet for a fresh piece of paper.

“You must name it.” Keons stated, his tone betraying no emotion. Clancy was taken aback by the unexpected request, his gaze dropping to the blank page before him. He had assumed the Bishops would christen the song themselves.

As he hesitated, unsure of what to do, a particular line from the new music popped into his head. Hovering his pen above the paper, he made a decision.

“It will be called.. Scaled And Icy.”

Chapter Text

After naming the album, Clancy was promptly escorted back to his stark cell, the routine feeling all too familiar by now. However, as the days passed, he noticed a stark change in the usual pattern - no one arrived to escort him out for his writing sessions. It wasn't until the third day of his confinement that the truth hit him like a ton of bricks.

Each morning, Clancy mechanically ate his meagre breakfast, then perched on the edge of his bed, awaiting the arrival of the guards. But as each day passed without any sign of them, a sinking feeling grew in his gut, slowly dawning on him that he had been left to languish in solitude.

Clancy rose from his seated position, his muscles tense and aching from hours of confinement. With a determined stride, he made his way towards the imposing metal door at the far end of the room. The chill of the metal seeped through his thin clothes, causing him to shiver involuntarily as he leaned in closer, straining to catch any whisper of sound from the other side.

Minutes ticked by in agonising silence, broken only by the frantic thumping of his own heart reverberating in his ears. Frustration and desperation welled up inside him, culminating in a sudden burst of reckless energy. With a primal scream of defiance, Clancy pulled back his fist and unleashed all of his pent-up anger in a wild punch at the unyielding door.

The clang of metal meeting metal echoed throughout the room, drowning out his cry of pain as his knuckles collided with the unforgiving surface. Agony flared through his hand, shooting up his arm and causing him to clutch his injured fist to his chest. Blood rushed to the site of impact, throbbing and pulsing with each rapid beat of his heart.

Staring back up at the door, a deep sorrow gripped his heart, twisting and tightening with a sharp intensity. His once calm acceptance of the Bishops, long-held scepticism overridden by the warmth and guidance of Keons, now felt like a cruel deception.

The lingering warmth and mentorship he had come to rely on had been nothing more than a facade, a tool to manipulate his loyalty and exploit his trust for the sake of spreading their twisted propaganda.

Anger and self-hatred coursed like a raging river through every fibre of his being. He had reluctantly put pen to paper and signed the contract, knowing deep down that he had no other option. As he wrestled with his inner turmoil, Clancy couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed heavily on his chest.

Every logical reasoning he tried to tell himself was drowned out by the relentless screams of his conscience. It was a moment of desperate self-preservation, a selfish act borne out of fear and helplessness. The thought that his music could somehow benefit anyone in Dema seemed like a cruel joke, mocking his misplaced hope and misguided intentions.

Clancy flung himself at the door again, unsure if he was trying to escape the cell or harm himself. A sharp wave of pain shot through his shoulder as the impact reverberated through his body, causing him to stagger backwards, his hand instinctively rising to clutch the throbbing joint.

He knew that his failure to escape would result in the Banditos failing to help those still trapped under the oppressive reign of Vialism. The thought of the citizens of Dema falling deeper into the clutches of the sinister Bishops filled him with despair.

The realisation that even the Torchbearer - the symbol of hope and salvation - would eventually give up on him loomed ominously in his mind. The weight of his perceived insignificance settled heavily on his shoulders, leaving him feeling like a lost cause.

Splatters of blood painted the cold concrete floor, a deep contrast against the starkness of his surroundings. His hand trembled as he reached up to wipe his nose, the bruised and swollen skin only serving to spread the crimson stains across his face.

The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn with revulsion. As he stumbled backwards, the back of his knees collided with the edge of his tattered bed, cringing at the creak of the rusted springs. He sank down onto the thin mattress, his heart racing.

Clancy's gaze slowly rose to meet the door in front of him, a growing sense of hopelessness clouding his eyes. The grim reality of his situation deeply rooted itself in his mind, leading to a wave of self-loathing and anguish that pulsed through his veins.

His trembling hands instinctively reached for his throat, fingers grazing the tender skin as he searched for his pulse. The frantic thumping of his heart only served to amplify the deafening screams reverberating in his head.

Maybe it would be best for everyone if he..

Filled with terror at the dark thoughts swirling in his mind, Clancy frantically pushed himself away on the mattress, his body convulsing with sobs that seemed to tear through his very being. As he retreated, a stream of large, salty tears cascaded down his cheeks, mingling with the blood trickling from his nose. The crimson droplets fell onto the pristine white sheets, creating a chilling tableau of despair.

With a shaking hand, Clancy wiped at his tear-streaked face, the mixture of salt and blood leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Desperate to banish the intrusive thoughts that threatened to consume him, he grasped at his own hair, the desperate tug a painful reminder of his own existence.

Clancy shook his head vehemently, the panic in his eyes a stark contrast to the turmoil within. He knew he had to fight against the darkness within him, to push back against the urge to give in. No, he could not succumb to the void that whispered seductively in his ear. He needed to stay, to endure the pain and find his way back to the light. Deep down, he knew that he still had a purpose, that he could make a difference in a world that seemed determined to crush him under its weight.

Pushing aside the cacophony of screams and threats echoing in his mind, Clancy delved into the recesses of his memories from the days spent living in the Bandito camp. The recollections were hazy and muddled, blurred by the months spent under the oppressive grip of the Bishops. Clancy couldn't help but wonder if the effects of being smeared had something to do with his distorted recollections of Trench.

Yet, amidst the fog, the vibrant images of his former comrades emerged, their smiling faces etched in his mind. The glimmer of hope reflected in their eyes, the warmth of their words still resonating despite the hardships they had endured. Despite the visible scars, both physical and emotional, that adorned each Bandito, their unwavering resolve to assist others like themselves shone through.

Their willingness to risk everything for the greater good was a testament to the strength and unity that bound them together, forging a bond that transcended the confines of their shared past. And as Clancy sifted through the fragments of memories, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of that same determination, a longing to once again stand alongside his Bandito brethren and fight for a better future.

Above all, Clancy vividly remembered the Torchbearer with a profound sense of admiration and awe. The Torchbearer's unwavering determination to always do the right thing and selflessly help others had left an indelible mark on Clancy's heart. His compassionate words were like a balm to Clancy's soul, exuding kindness and trust that made Clancy long for his comforting presence.

In every memory Clancy recalled, the Torchbearer's unwavering belief in him was palpable. It was evident in the way his eyes lit up with encouragement and support, driving Clancy to strive for greatness. Clancy's clenched fists and choked back tears reflected the deep emotional impact the Torchbearer had on him.

He couldn’t give up on himself, as long as others believed in him. It was unbelievably hard to do, but Clancy made a promise to himself to push through. For the sake of the citizens of Dema relying on him, for the Banditos who believed in him, and for the Torchbearer, who trusted him.

As the days dragged on, Clancy felt the weight of his promise crushing down on him like a boulder. The walls of his cell seemed to close in on him, suffocating him with their bleak emptiness. Time lost all meaning in the darkness, stretching on endlessly as Clancy withered away, his spirit slowly eroding with each passing moment.

The meals that arrived at his door were a miserable excuse for sustenance, barely enough to keep him going. The food tasted like ashes in his mouth, leaving him hollow and weak. The flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced around him, fueling his already restless mind with nightmares that haunted his every thought.

With each sleepless night, Clancy found himself sinking deeper into a pit of despair. The bags under his eyes grew heavier, a testament to the toll that his imprisonment was taking on his body and soul. The once burning desire to escape faded into a mere flicker, the spark of hope dwindling with each passing day.

When the heavy metal door creaked open with a grating sound, Clancy mustered what little strength he had left to rise and acknowledge the figure entering his cell. The guard impatiently yanked him up from his mattress, his movements rough and forceful. Clancy struggled to maintain his balance, his tired eyes blinking lethargically.

"You are summoned by the almighty Bishops." The guard bellowed, securing handcuffs around Clancy's wrists and propelling him towards the door. Clancy stumbled along, his gaze slowly sharpening as they traversed the familiar route towards the chamber with the distinct blue door.

Upon opening the door, eight Bishops stood before him, startling Clancy. Their presence was overwhelming, their tall, shadowed forms casting an eerie aura in the dimly lit chamber. Instinctively, Clancy lowered his head in deference, feeling a sense of unease wash over him as their veiled eyes bore into his soul.

"We have reached a decision," boomed the authoritative voice of one of the bishops, the sound echoing ominously in the cavernous room. Another bishop stepped forward, his voice calm but firm as he spoke. "Together, we have deemed your creations worthy of our approval." A wave of relief washed over Clancy as he exhaled deeply.

“The day of the Grand Show is soon. You will perform on Good Day Dema.” A third Bishop spoke. Memories flooded Clancy's mind as he recalled the various hosts of the show, their faces and names blending together in a blur. The format remained consistent - local events, citizens of note, and the ominous segment dedicated to the newest members of the Glorious Gone.

Now, Clancy realised it was more macabre than he realised at the time.

"The Grand Show will take place in one week," Keons announced, his voice commanding attention as he stepped forward, a handful of neatly typed papers in his hand. Clancy hesitated before accepting them, realising they were the songs he had written, now organised and typed.

"Practise, and practise well," Keons said, placing a reassuring hand on Clancy's shoulder before walking away. Clancy struggled to decipher the expression on his Bishop's face.

“You will be returned to your cell. In one week, we will retrieve you for the Grand Show.” The first Bishop’s voice sounded again.

“You will not disappoint us, and you will comply during the show.”

With a swift and forceful motion, the guard stepped forward, firmly grasping Clancy's arm and propelling him out of the room. In that moment, Clancy felt an overwhelming surge of fear and fatigue, rendering him powerless to resist or escape.

As the heavy metal door clanged shut behind him, the echoes reverberating through the cold, sterile cell, Clancy slumped onto his bed and unfolded the lyric sheets before him. With a dizzying mix of urgency and determination, he poured over the words with laser-like focus, fully aware that his life depended on delivering a flawless performance. Each line, each verse, each note had to be perfect, or he was a goner.

-

The highly anticipated day of the Grand Show had finally arrived, and Clancy jolted awake to the clanging of keys and the creaking of his cell door being unlocked. Disoriented and groggy, he struggled to his feet, only to feel the room spin around him. Desperately trying to regain his balance, he watched as the heavy metal door swung open, revealing the stern faces of two guards.

With a sense of urgency, Clancy was swiftly ushered out of his cell, his heart pounding in his chest as he stumbled to keep up with the guards’ rapid pace. He was led through a labyrinth of narrow passageways and dimly lit corridors, each one a maze of uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

Finally, they arrived at a vast room filled with blinding lights, towering mirrors, and numerous cameras pointed in every direction. Blinking against the harsh glare, Clancy’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dazzling spectacle of the studio before him.

As Clancy gazed around the well-lit room, the dazzling brightness of the white lights reflected off the mirrors that lined one wall, creating an almost blinding effect. The chairs arranged in front of the mirrors hinted at the room's purpose as a dressing room. Two figures sat facing their reflections; a man and a woman whose features were obscured by the dazzling light.

Before Clancy could discern their faces, he was roughly guided into a chair of his own by an austere-looking woman. She wielded a palette of vibrant and dusty makeup with practised precision, attacking his face with a brush in silence. With a frustrated huff, she sought to conceal the weariness evident in the dark circles under his eyes.

The scent of the powders and beauty products filled the air, making Clancy sneeze suddenly, earning him a sharp glance from the stern woman. Undeterred, she reached for a canister and tilted his head downward, spraying a vibrant hue onto his hair. Peering at his reflection in the mirror, Clancy realised she was intricately dyeing his hair, transforming it into a whimsical shade of pink.

Finally, the woman stepped back, her eyes flickering to someone over Clancy's shoulder. Curiosity piqued, he turned to face them, only to be met with a set of vibrant clothing thrust into his arms. Without a word, he was directed towards a small, private room where he could change. Eager to shed his old attire and embrace the new, Clancy wasted no time in slipping into the crisp garments.

As he tugged the jacket over his shoulders, a sense of renewal washed over him, revitalising his weary spirits. Though he still felt emotionally drained and overwhelmed, he couldn't deny the confidence he felt in his new attire.

Emerging from the room, Clancy took a moment to soak in his surroundings, taking in the intricate details of the room.

The man and woman who had been chatting animatedly moments before now exchanged radiant smiles, their faces illuminated by the finishing touches of makeup being expertly applied.

The woman, her auburn fuzzy hair complementing the vibrant yellow flowery dress she wore, ran her hand through her locks as she spoke with a contagious excitement. On the other side, the man, dressed impeccably in a pale suit jacket and sporting a sleek pair of metal glasses, reciprocated her enthusiasm with equal fervour.

Their eyes sparkled with anticipation as they stole a quick glance in Clancy's direction, before being approached by a man with a clipboard.

The dressing room was adorned with a series of screens suspended from the walls, each displaying various vibrant and lively settings within the studio. Among them, Clancy immediately recognized the main room as the primary set for the popular show, Good Day Dema. A luxurious orange sofa and a plush beige carpet adorned with tufts lay beneath a grand sign bearing the show's name.

Another screen showcased a set designed to resemble a bustling city street, while yet another depicted a whimsical and colourful location featuring a colossal blue prop dragon coiled around the stage.

Clancy couldn't help but feel surprised by the explosion of color in these sets. Dema, a city typically veiled in monotony and shades of grey, now appeared transformed by the Bishops into a spectacle of bold and saturated hues, seemingly crafted to captivate and dazzle viewers.

A sudden shout reverberated across the dressing room, snapping Clancy out of his reverie. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he was once again being escorted out, stumbling over his own shoes in confusion. As he entered the main set for Good Day Dema, the bright lights and bustling crew overwhelmed him.

The man with a clipboard quickly approached Clancy, muttering instructions as he affixed a microphone to his shirt collar. Before he could process his words, Clancy found himself being ushered to a sofa, sandwiched between the man and woman he had caught glimpses of earlier. Their smiling faces did little to ease the knot of anxiety that had formed in his stomach.

As the director shouted for cameras to roll, Clancy felt the pressure mounting. Despite the enthusiastic and dramatic voices from his co-stars, he found himself unable to speak or even make eye contact. The yellow rings around their eyes seemed to mock him as he struggled to gather his thoughts in the chaos of the set.

Then, the music began to play, filling the room with its captivating melody. As if possessed by an unseen force, Clancy's body seemed to move with a fluidity and precision that was almost otherworldly. Each step, each note played, seemed to be guided by a higher power, leading him effortlessly through the performance.

It was as if he had surrendered himself to the music, allowing it to flow through him and guide his movements. His every gesture, every nuance in his performance, was executed with a practised perfection that left the audience in awe. Had he become a vessel for the music, or had he somehow become one with it?

The scene unfolded in a whirlwind of colours and chaos, the lights and sounds blending together in a surreal symphony. Even as a blaring siren and flashing red lights momentarily disrupted the show, Clancy remained unfazed. His focus was unwavering, his determination unshakeable as he seamlessly transitioned to the next stage, never missing a beat.

Occasionally, he would steal glances at the musicians on stage, his attention drawn to the drummer in particular. Squinting slightly, a twinge of recognition resonated in his heart as he sang along to the music. When the song came to a close, Clancy made a determined effort to approach the drummer, only to have his face appear blurred, as if intentionally concealed from view.

Frantically blinking, he struggled to catch glimpses of the mysterious figure, his pulse quickening with anxiety. However, every time he tried to speak, the scene would abruptly shift, leaving him stranded on a different stage, his quest to uncover the drummer's identity thwarted once again.

Finally, Clancy made his way back to the main set. As he settled back between the man and woman, he couldn't help but notice how dishevelled and bloody they appeared. Had he missed something during the chaos of the show?

Before Clancy could even begin to process his confusion, the show abruptly came to an end. The cameras shut off and he was hastily pushed off the set, leaving him bewildered and desperate for answers.

It was a disorienting moment as Clancy blinked and suddenly found himself back in the confines of his cell. He stared down at his hands, a mix of confusion and disbelief clouding his thoughts as he questioned if the whole experience had been a hallucination. The smeared makeup on his face and the pink tint in his hair served as stark reminders that it had been all too real.

Feeling drained and emotionally overwhelmed, Clancy allowed himself to succumb to the comfort of his bed as exhaustion washed over him, finally granting him the solace of dreamless sleep.

-

Clancy gingerly ascended the weather-worn metal steps of the submarine, their surfaces grooved with telltale signs of wear from years of use. The scorching afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, its harsh rays bouncing off the gleaming silver hull of the vessel and temporarily blinding him. Squinting against the dazzling light, he raised a hand to shield his eyes, feeling the heat radiating off the metal beneath his fingers.

Despite the discomfort, Clancy pressed on, his determined stride faltering only momentarily as a sharp poke in his back urged him forward. Ignoring the prickling sensation, he focused on the task at hand.

The Bishops, delighted by the Grand Show, had been so impressed that they issued a special order for Clancy to perform at the prestigious Annual Assemblage of the Glorified. Upon hearing the news, Clancy's eyes widened in astonishment. It was a tremendous privilege to showcase his talents before the most elite of Dema’s society, yet that was not what caught him off guard.

Rather, he was taken aback by the realisation of just how much time had slipped away since his daring escape with his fellow rebels. Had he really been held captive by the Bishop for years? The mere thought of it made his stomach churn with revulsion.

The day had arrived swiftly, and Clancy was granted the honour of leaving the city in order to perform in a submarine for the Assemblage. Escorted to Port Vial in a dark, enclosed carriage, Clancy was adorned in his finest attire, every detail meticulously attended to before he was swiftly ushered onto the ship. Nerves stirred within him as he made his way towards the stage, the soft glow of the stage lights casting a halo around him as he stood before the microphone stand.

As he gazed out at the sea beyond the window behind him, Clancy felt a rush of emotions wash over him. The party was already in full swing, the esteemed members of Dema’s high society mingling and dancing with an infectious energy. Clancy couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as he watched them, their laughter and frivolity contrasting with the weight of his own responsibilities.

His attention was abruptly drawn towards a sudden, vibrant flash of red emanating from the dimly-lit back of the room. With a curious glance, Clancy raised his gaze and found the Bishops hiding in the shadows, their cold, unwavering gazes fixed piercingly on him. Feeling a disconcerting sense of unease, he tilted his head slightly, grappling with a sense of unfamiliarity that seemed to surround them.

These figures were not the true Bishops he knew. Were they mere imposters, infiltrating the space and assuming their identities?

Before Clancy could fully comprehend this disturbing possibility, the submarine began its descent into the depths of the water. Suddenly, the music swelled and a spotlight directly illuminated him. All eyes in the room swiftly turned towards him, leaving Clancy with no choice but to succumb to the pressure and perform.

The performance unfolded seamlessly, with the audience joyfully swaying to the music and joining in on the lyrics as Clancy performed. However, amidst the lively atmosphere, Clancy found himself grappling with the mysterious identity of the drummer, causing a slight edge of frustration to creep into his voice. A stern look from the 'Bishops' served as a reminder, snapping him back into focus and allowing the show to continue without a hitch.

Abruptly, a looming, ominous shadow enveloped the submarine, causing an eerie silence to replace the once vibrant music. Frantic crew members scurried about, urgently communicating over radios in hushed tones. Through the window behind Clancy, the guests' faces contorted with shock and terror, their wide eyes fixed on the spectacle unfolding outside. A wave of fear washed over Clancy as he slowly turned to confront the impending danger.

Before him lurked a colossal creature, its massive form ominously towering over the submarine, its piercing yellow eyes locked onto Clancy. The sheer size and ferocity of the beast sent shivers down his spine, causing his hands to tremble uncontrollably. In a panic, Clancy stumbled backwards off the stage, his heartbeat quickening as the creature reared back, ready to strike.

The deafening noise of metal colliding echoed throughout the submarine as the monstrous creature crashed into it with a forceful bang. Instantly, fractures appeared in the walls, allowing water to spray into the room in a torrent. The guests, taken by surprise and overwhelmed by panic, screamed in a disorganised frenzy, frantically trying to flee from the chaos. The water swiftly accumulated on the floor, seeping into their clothes and chilling them to the bone.

Clancy stood frozen in terror, his eyes fixed on the terrifying creature as it relentlessly attacked the submarine. He was rendered immobile, a silent witness to the destruction unfolding before him. With a final, bone-chilling assault, the glass windows shattered under the pressure, unleashing a deluge of seawater into the sinking vessel. The haunting cries of the trapped attendees filled the cabin before darkness descended, drowning out all sound.

Desperately fighting against the relentless grip of the saltwater, Clancy felt his eyes stinging with each stroke towards the surface. The weight of his drenched clothing dragged him down, making each movement through the water a struggle. Under the murky depths, he could barely make out the silhouettes of his fellow passengers from the submarine, some moving in the water while others remained eerily still.

A surge of panic shot through Clancy as the need for air intensified, causing his lungs to burn with each passing second. With renewed determination, he pushed through the water with all his strength, his legs thrashing wildly in an effort to break free. And then, with a final burst of adrenaline, he broke through the surface, gasping for much-needed air.

With a violent gasp, he jolted to the surface of the icy water, his body convulsing as he expelled a mixture of seawater and fear-induced tears. The sharp sting of salt bit into his throat and eyes, forcing him to cough and sputter while his heart raced with panic. The salt burned his throat and eyes, and he cried out in terror.

“Help! Is anyone there?” He cried out into the relentless sound of crashing waves, only to be swallowed by the unforgiving depths once again.

Struggling to stay afloat, Clancy's trembling hands rubbed at his stinging eyes as he surveyed the chaos around him. Some survivors clung desperately to pieces of driftwood and wreckage, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and terror. But a surge of dread washed over him as he realised that not everyone had been as fortunate. Lifeless bodies punctuated the churning waters, their silhouettes hauntingly still amidst the violent dance of the waves.

Another massive wave crashed over Clancy, the salty seawater filling his mouth and nose, causing him to gasp and sputter as he fought to stay afloat. Each thrash of his arms and legs sent him further away from the group of survivors, his shouts for help muffled by the roaring of the ocean.

His chest burned with exhaustion, the icy chill of the water seeping into his very soul. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a red-orange glow across the water, Clancy felt his adrenaline waning. His movements grew sluggish, his cries for help growing weaker and more desperate.

With one last hoarse plea for assistance, Clancy finally surrendered to the relentless power of the waves, allowing them to pull him under into the depths of the ocean.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Clancy felt as he regained consciousness was the icy cold water lapping at his body. His eyes, sealed shut by frozen eyelashes, prevented him from seeing clearly. With every breath, his lungs convulsed, expelling mouthfuls of briny water, leaving a nauseating taste lingering in the recesses of his throat.

With feeble movements, he extended a trembling hand, desperately clutching at the damp sand in a futile effort to pull himself from the icy embrace of the water.

His clothes were soaked, freezing cold and clinging to his shivering skin. Each small movement by Clancy was punctuated with a shudder of pain and coldness.

He grimaced as another wave of salty water washed over his face, the coarse sand sticking to his eyelids.

It felt like hours, but Clancy finally dragged himself out of the water. He rolled onto his back on the sand, feeling the water crash against his legs. He blinked repeatedly, trying to unfreeze his eyelashes, wincing as the saltwater stung his eyes and left them red and irritated.

The bone-chilling cold of the water seemed to seep into his very core, and the icy wind carrying snowflakes only added to his discomfort. Shivering uncontrollably, Clancy could feel his body trembling as he struggled to catch his breath in the harsh air.

A wave of overwhelming exhaustion swept through Clancy, dragging him into the clutches of unconsciousness as his weary eyes fluttered shut once more. Just as he began to succumb to the heavy pull of sleep, the distant sound of footsteps pierced through the haze, jolting him back to awareness.

With great effort, Clancy forced his heavy eyelids to crack open, his vision blurred and unfocused as he strained to make out the figure slowly approaching him, his movements sluggish and slow.

Despite feeling utterly drained and fatigued, a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he caught sight of the man approaching him along the desolate beach. The Torchbearer emerged from the mist, his figure enveloped in the drenched fabric clinging to his body, completely saturated with seawater.

Strands of his hair plastered to his forehead, yet he showed no signs of discomfort or shivering, even as the biting cold wind carried snowflakes past him.

Clancy's cracked lips peeled apart, revealing a raw and tender throat that burned from the constant intake of salty seawater. With a violent cough, he expelled another mouthful of the briny liquid, his weakened body turning onto its side as he clenched a fistful of wet sand.

As sensation gradually returned to his limbs, he grimaced in agony as the dull ache of his injuries intensified into a sharp, stinging pain. It became evident that he had sustained more damage from the submarine crash than he had initially thought, the saltwater infiltrating his wounds and sending waves of excruciating torment coursing through his veins.

The Torchbearer, clutching a flaming branch, halted beside Clancy, casting an intense gaze down upon him. Clancy's weary eyes met the Torchbearer's, struggling to stay open as he tried to process the significance of the man's presence. He wondered how the man had any energy at all, considering the situation they were in.

As Clancy's eyelids began to droop once more, a sudden jolt of realisation shot through him; the Torchbearer was the drummer in the band throughout Clancy’s imprisonment in Dema. But why couldn’t he see him, or talk to him?

The unanswered question weighed heavily on Clancy's mind, but he lacked the strength to voice it, his energy depleted and his body feeling as heavy as lead.

Reaching down, the Torchbearer's strong fingers closed around the collar of Clancy's drenched shirt, pulling him up with a surprising force that left Clancy breathless. As he struggled to his feet, his body felt like a leaden weight, causing him to sway unsteadily. Clancy's head hung heavily on his chest, his neck unable to support its weight. His arms dangled lifelessly at his sides, the world spinning around him in a dizzying blur.

As darkness threatened to engulf his fading vision, Clancy felt the Torchbearer's firm grip on his shoulder, grounding him in reality. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Clancy raised his eyes to meet the Torchbearer's gaze, with tiny droplets of water frozen on his pale, exhausted face.

“You can’t go back to sleep.” The Torchbearer stated firmly, his round brown eyes locked onto Clancy's with a sense of urgency. Clancy could feel the gravity of his words sinking in, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a heavy blanket.

"Not now, we have to move." the man added, thrusting a black, cotton beanie into Clancy's trembling hands. Clancy reluctantly pulled it over his soaked hair, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his scalp.

Clancy nodded weakly, his body feeling sluggish and unresponsive as if each step was a monumental effort. He watched as the Torchbearer turned and began walking along the shore, the path illuminated by the flickering light of the torch in his hand. Clancy knew he had no choice but to follow.

His tired, aching feet sank into the gritty sand, his movements dragging as he struggled to navigate through the obstacles of rocks and tangled seaweed littering the beach. The rough terrain caused him to trip and stumble several times, each fall resulting in painful scrapes on his hands from sharp boulders and jagged seashells.

Despite the physical agony, the Torchbearer was always there, a guiding presence helping him up and keeping him on his feet. Gratitude filled Clancy's heart for the support, though every fibre of his being begged for a moment of respite.

The frigid gusts of wind mercilessly sliced at Clancy's open wounds, causing them to throb with agony despite the saltwater's feeble attempts to aid in their healing. With each step he took, the pain intensified until his body could no longer bear the weight of his laborious journey. Collapsing to the ground, he crumpled into a ball of despair, his mind echoing with self-deprecating taunts that only reinforced his sense of inadequacy. Clancy believed it.

Just as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, a gentle warmth enveloped his face, drawing his attention back to the present moment. The Torchbearer had returned.

“Rest. There’s only so much your body can take.” He said, leaning over to tug the cotton beanie further over Clancy’s head. His voice was a soothing balm against the harsh reality of their ordeal. The weight of Clancy’s exhaustion finally overcame him, plunging him into a restful slumber that offered respite from the torment of his own thoughts.

When he awoke, he was surprised to sense the Torchbearer still beside him. He was now sitting cross-legged in the sand, tending to a small fire. The crackling flames cast a warm glow on the otherwise deserted beach, and Clancy could feel the heat seeping into his bones, revitalising his tired body. With newfound energy, he mustered the strength to push himself up into a sitting position.

The Torchbearer, his face illuminated by the flickering flames, turned towards Clancy with a determined expression. With a silent nod, he reached out to grab a burning branch from the fire, the orange glow casting dancing shadows on his rugged features. Rising to his feet, he spoke with urgency in his voice.

“We need to move quickly, before darkness falls.” He declared firmly, extending a hand to help Clancy up from the damp sand. Despite the chilling sensation of the seawater seeping through his clothes and chilling his bones, Clancy knew deep down that the Torchbearer was right. Lost and vulnerable in an unfamiliar location, they couldn't afford to linger in the open once night descended upon them.

The location where the two had washed up was like something out of a dream – or a nightmare. Clancy struggled to place it in his memory, his usual sense of direction failing him as he scanned the unfamiliar landscape. The shoreline was defined by imposing boulders, their rough surfaces defiantly resisting the relentless assault of the crashing waves.

As he squinted into the distance, a distant land mass beckoned, but offered no clues to their current whereabouts. Towering cliffs loomed over the coast, their surfaces marbled with sandstone and limestone, contrasted by the hardy tufts of brown grass that stubbornly clung to life in the crevices.

The absence of the vibrant yellow flowers that had been a hallmark of Trench only added to the sense of unease and disorientation that gripped Clancy as he walked along the unfamiliar shore.

As the Torchbearer silently guided the way, his sharp eyes only occasionally darted back to ensure Clancy was keeping pace. The weight of the silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the sandy path. Clancy, drained and weary, struggled to muster the words to speak, his sole focus on the simple act of staying on his unsteady feet.

After what felt like an eternity, the Torchbearer abruptly halted. Before them loomed a dense thicket of gnarled trees and prickly brambles, their twisted limbs reaching out like sinister claws against the sky. As if on cue, his flaming torch burnt out, and he simply dropped it on the ground.

“Wait, where are we-” Clancy was cut off as the Torchbearer suddenly darted into the thicket, fighting his way through the branches of the trees. Clancy’s shoulders sagged with the thought of venturing even further, but he was resigned to follow.

Pushing through the tangled bushes and feeling the sharp sting of thorns on his skin, Clancy struggled to keep up with the Torchbearer. Finally, he stumbled into a small clearing, breathing heavily and trying to regain his bearings. The Torchbearer stood tall, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings with a look of determination on his face.

Unfamiliar and cryptic sigils were intricately carved into the rough bark of the towering trees, their twisted and manipulated branches forming eerie symbols that seemed to pulsate in the dim light. Clancy furrowed his brow in confusion as he cautiously approached, his gaze fixated on the strange markings as he attempted to unravel their mysterious significance.

As he drew nearer, the dense undergrowth beside the tree suddenly rustled with a sinister whisper, causing Clancy to jolt in surprise and stumble backwards, colliding with the Torchbearer who stood behind him. The man's gaze darted towards the bushes, but the mysterious rustling had ceased as quickly as it had begun, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

"This way." He spoke confidently, gesturing towards the dense thicket ahead. Clancy, feeling apprehensive, opened his mouth to protest but was met with the Torchbearer walking away. Reluctantly, he followed behind, his footsteps heavy and sluggish.

As they ventured further into the forest, the golden hue of the setting sun bathed the trees in a warm light. Long shadows danced playfully behind the two travellers, creating a mesmerising display of light and dark.

Clancy's unease grew as he thought he caught glimpses of elusive figures in the corners of his eyes. Each time he turned to confront them, they vanished into the depths of the shadows, leaving him with a sense of foreboding.

Finally, after what felt like hours of navigating through the dense forest, the pair emerged into a vast field of swaying long grass and vibrant heather. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of the blooming flora, calming Clancy's frazzled nerves. As they trudged through the soft vegetation, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Clancy, his limbs heavy and his eyelids drooping.

It was then that the Torchbearer, seemingly attuned to Clancy's weariness, turned to him with a sense of urgency in his gaze. "I'm afraid we can't stop now," he said, his voice tinged with mystery. "But we're close." Clancy furrowed his brow in confusion, unable to decipher the Torchbearer's cryptic words.

"Where are we going?" He asked, his voice filled with a touch of irritation as he quickened his pace, his heart hammering in his chest. But his haste only led to disaster as his foot caught on a protruding patch of soil, sending him crashing to the ground.

Clancy fell to his knees, his frustration mounting with each passing second. Exhaustion seeped through every fibre of his being, the chill of the air gnawing at his bones, his stomach growling in hunger, and the throbbing pain all over his body serving as a painful reminder of his predicament. Tears threatened to spill over as he battled the overwhelming desire to just give up

But, the Torchbearer stepped closer, holding out a hand.

“Do you trust me?” His voice was low, yet filled with sincerity as he posed the question. Clancy peered up at him, his lower lip quivering with uncertainty. The intensity in the Torchbearer's gaze seemed to ignite a passion within him, a flicker of determination that mirrored the flames in his eyes.

After a moment of hesitation, Clancy's voice wavered as he responded, "I do," before tentatively grasping the outstretched hand. With a firm grip, the Torchbearer pulled him to his feet, a genuine warmth radiating from his expression.

“Then you must believe I am leading us to safety. Tonight, you will sleep well.” The reassurance in his tone eased the doubts in Clancy's mind

The remainder of their journey was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching on the grass. Clancy moved steadfastly behind the Torchbearer, his eyes fixed on the figure ahead with unyielding loyalty. Each time he stumbled, he pushed himself up with renewed resolve, his determination unwavering. The promise of a secure night's rest fueled his steps, driving him forward with stable faith in the Torchbearer.

Finally, as night was beginning to fall over the island, they emerged from the field of tall grass and reached the familiar expanse of sandy shore.

The oppressive shroud of darkness enveloped the night, making it almost impossible to discern anything in the abyss-like surroundings. However, when the Torchbearer came to a halt, Clancy's eyes suddenly adjusted and the mysterious scene before them came into sharp focus.

In front of them stood a towering cliff, defiantly resisting the relentless assault of the crashing waves below. A narrow entrance, like a gaping maw, split the imposing rock face, offering a tantalising glimpse into the unknown depths of a dry, rocky cave system that lay hidden within. It was as if a giant blade had cleaved through the solid stone, beckoning them to explore the secrets that lay beyond.

Clancy narrowed his eyes, taking cautious steps forward as a mysterious bipedal creature emerged from behind a massive boulder. The creature's large, obsidian eyes shimmered in the moonlight, giving it a hauntingly ethereal appearance. Its body was covered in soft, fuzzy fur, with tufts poking out from its ears that twitched with every movement. A majestic pair of antlers adorned its head, adding to its otherworldly presence as it gestured towards the base of the cliff with one of its hands.

Following the creature's silent guidance, Clancy's gaze landed on a peculiar sight. Two outfits laid out on the sand, the first being a fluffy black cloak draped over a dark cotton shirt, paired with sturdy cargo trousers, a scarf, and heavy leather boots. Beside it, a large backpack crafted from branches and filled with bones beckoned for attention.

Clancy's hands reached down to grab the clothing that lay on the ground, his fingers grazing the fabric as he lifted them up. A sense of relief washed over him as he realised they were completely dry, a welcome change from the dampness that had clung to him. Without hesitation, he shed his soaked shirt and pulled on the black clothing, the material sliding over his skin and providing a comforting warmth.

Despite still feeling the chill lingering in his bones, Clancy found solace in the change of attire. As he glanced over at the Torchbearer, he noticed that the man had also swiftly changed into a similar set of clothing. The dark colours matched, but the only difference was the absence of the black beanie that Clancy had pulled snugly over his head.

Clancy's calloused fingers wrapped around the worn wooden backpack, the weight of it digging into his shoulders as he hoisted it up. The faint sound of bones clinking together echoed through the dimly lit cavern, a satisfying rhythm that seemed to guide him forward. Humming under his breath, Clancy turned to the silent figure of the Torchbearer, a wordless exchange passing between them as he nodded before ducking into the yawning mouth of the cave.

Inside, the musty scent of damp earth and ancient stone filled his nostrils, mingling with the flickering light of a torch that leaned against the rough rocky wall. It seemed to beckon him closer, a beacon of warmth in the darkness. With a soft exhale, Clancy reached out and plucked it from its resting place, the flames dancing and casting eerie shadows on the walls.

As he cautiously advanced through the dark corridor, Clancy had barely covered a short distance when three more of the peculiar, fuzzy creatures suddenly materialised before him. Their eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement as they observed him. Without warning, the creatures turned and scampered off down the maze-like passageway, beckoning Clancy to follow.

Glancing over his shoulder, Clancy was startled to find that the Torchbearer had vanished without a trace. A wave of confusion and unease crept over him, but the urgent calls of the creatures up ahead compelled him to persevere. With a sense of trepidation and determination, Clancy hurried after the mysterious beings.

As Clancy followed the mysterious creatures deeper into the cavern, his heart raced with anticipation. The flaming torch cast long shadows on the uneven walls, illuminating the twisting passageways carved into the rock. He carefully navigated around jagged stalactites, mindful of the treacherous terrain underfoot.

At last, he emerged into a vast central chamber, its walls lined with strange symbols and markings. Clancy's eyes widened in surprise as he realised the uncanny resemblance of the tunnels to those beneath Dema. The convergence of the tunnels into this central room spoke of a hidden world, a place untouched by the light of day and shrouded in mystery. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in the eerie beauty of the underground kingdom before him.

Surrounding a crackling bonfire that cast flickering shadows across the room, a group of eight peculiar beings huddled together. Their faces were illuminated by the dancing flames, revealing welcoming smiles and eyes filled with curiosity as they watched Clancy approach.

As he placed his torch into the fire, the room was bathed in a comforting warmth that seeped into his bones, banishing the icy chill that had gripped him. A sense of relaxation washed over his body, and he could feel the exhaustion tugging at his limbs, tempting him to surrender to much-needed rest.

The creatures, with their sharp, intelligent eyes, seemed to grasp Clancy's need as one of them eagerly hopped up and rushed towards him. It reached out a furry hand, gently grasping his own and leading him through the twisting tunnels to a hidden room near the heart of the cave system. Clancy felt a mix of gratitude and bewilderment. Had these beings somehow anticipated his arrival?

Inside the small chamber, he saw two sleeping bags spread out on the earthen floor, adorned with a layer of soft moss and lichen. The dim glow of a candle, set in a weathered metal lamp, cast a flickering light across the cosy space, creating a warm and inviting ambiance.

The creature emitted a soft, melodic sound, motioning towards the sleeping bags and gesturing for Clancy to rest. With a final wave of its hand, it silently slipped out of the room, leaving Clancy alone to wonder at the mysterious kindness of these enigmatic creatures.

Clancy carefully lowered his heavy wooden backpack to the ground, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. It had been a long day of hiking through the dense forest, and he was grateful for the rest. He shuffled into his cosy sleeping bag, the fabric rustling softly beneath him. As he settled in, a sense of peace washed over him, and he let out a contented sigh.

Closing his eyes, Clancy felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him. His body relaxed, sinking into the softness of the sleeping bag. The cool night air wrapped around him, lulling him closer to sleep. But even as he drifted off, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of his mind.

Where was the Torchbearer? The mysterious figure had been guiding him through the forest for days, leading him towards some unknown destination. Clancy had grown to rely on the Torchbearer's presence, and now their absence left him feeling strangely vulnerable. As he slipped into unconsciousness, the question lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over his peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

Clancy began to stir, groaning softly as consciousness returned to him. His hands grazed across the firm, stone floor, and he lifted his head from where it lay.

He wasn’t sure how long he had slept for, but by the aches and pains in his body, he assumed it must have been longer than he expected.

Finally opening his eyes, Clancy’s vision blurred with sleepiness. Grey walls surrounded him, and the concrete beneath his body was cold. Confusion stirred within him; he didn’t remember falling asleep here.

The sensation of panic coursed violently through Clancy's veins, a surge of adrenaline granting him the strength to hoist himself into a seated position. But as quickly as he rose, his arms buckled beneath him, searing pain lancing through his wrists and culminating in a sickening crack as his skull met the unyielding concrete floor.

In that instant, Clancy's world erupted in a symphony of agony. He winced, a sharp intake of breath punctuating the air as the pain robbed him of any coherent thought. Through tear-blurred eyes, he forced himself to focus on his hands. What he saw there was a nightmare rendered in flesh and bone - his wrists twisted at grotesque angles, fingers splayed in unnatural contortions. A pallid, bruise-like hue crept up his arms, staining his skin.

Gritting his teeth in agony, Clancy clenched his jaw as he used every ounce of strength to drag his body across the floor with his elbows. The cold stone scraped against his skin as he pushed his weight against the far wall, finally collapsing into a slouched position.

His heart pounded in his chest, sending waves of pain and terror throughout his body. The realisation that his broken wrists had rendered him unable to write struck him like a blow, filling him with a deep sense of fear and helplessness. The one thing that had always brought him solace and release was now out of reach, leaving him feeling utterly lost and vulnerable.

The room was shrouded in a dim, eerie light, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Despite the darkness, Clancy's eyes were drawn to the flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling, swinging gently back and forth. The metal door on the other side of the cell stood as a stark, foreboding barrier.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realised where he was. The cold, familiar grip of fear tightened around his heart as he understood that he was back in Dema, under the ruthless control of the Bishops.

Just as his terror peaked, the metal door screeched open, the sound echoing through the room like a piercing scream. Clancy flinched, his whole body recoiling at the noise, his eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of what was to come.

The sickening twist in his gut told him all he needed to know before he even looked up. With a sinking feeling, he knew without a doubt who stood on the other side of that door.

“Clancy.” Clancy's heart raced as Nico's cold voice reverberated through the dimly lit cell, sending a shiver down his spine. The fear that gripped him was palpable, causing his entire body to quiver uncontrollably. It was as though an invisible weight bore down on him, rendering him immobile.

"Clancy." Nico's voice sliced through the oppressive silence once more, each syllable dripping with disdain and contempt. The mere mention of his name by the Bishop felt like a curse.

"You will look at me when I am speaking to you." Nico's authoritative tone snapped Clancy out of his trance, the anger in his voice sending a surge of terror through him. The command hung in the air like a threatening storm cloud, daring Clancy to defy it.

Clancy's body felt frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest as if it were trying to escape. The fear that gripped him was so intense that he could almost taste it in the back of his throat. He couldn't move a muscle as he cowered before Nico, the Bishop, his mind racing with thoughts of impending doom.

The deafening sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears, drowning out any other noise in the room. He hadn't even heard Nico approach, a realisation that sent a shiver down his spine. And then, suddenly, a rough, iron grip seized his face, squeezing with a force that made him fear for his very bones.

Nico's deep, penetrating gaze bore into Clancy's soul, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Try as he might, Clancy couldn't tear his eyes away from the Bishop's intense stare. It was as if Nico could see right through him, unravelling his very essence with nothing more than a look. Fear and confusion warred within him, leaving him paralysed in the presence of the powerful and enigmatic Bishop.

The Bishop's face was a perplexing sight to behold. His eyes, a deep brown-red hue with hints of stark yellow, remained unchanged while the rest of his features seemed to shift unnaturally beneath a mysterious veil. His visage appeared hazy and unfocused, almost blurry in its unsettling nature.

“You have become more of a disappointment than I ever expected you to be,” Nico's voice cut through the eerie silence, his expression one of disgust as he studied Clancy's terrified face. With a frown, Nico pressed his fingers deeper into Clancy's skin, leaving angry red marks and drawing blood with his sharp nails.

Clancy clenched his teeth and bit down hard on his lip, a desperate attempt to stifle the agonising pain that threatened to escape in a cry of anguish.

“It is no wonder you ended up back in this cell.” Nico growled with contempt.

“You are simply so desperate for attention and praise that you continue to rebel against the glorious lifestyle that caters to your every need.”

Clancy winced, his heart sinking as he clenched his eyes closed to prevent tears from escaping.

"You are a self-centred, clueless child, Clancy," Nico sneered. "Your efforts and so-called 'creativity' are merely the musings of a naive mind trapped in a delusional fantasy."

Nico's cutting words pierced deep into Clancy's heart, causing a surge of anger to well up inside him like molten lava. With trembling defiance, he mustered the courage to meet the Bishop's gaze head-on.

"It is real," Clancy declared, his voice quivering with emotion. "And it's incredible. I found more liberty and joy in my short time in Trench than I ever experienced in all my years trapped in Dema." Each word he spoke seemed to fuel Nico's rage, evident in the twisted grimace on the Bishop's face.

As Clancy stared back at the Bishop, he saw nothing but contempt and loathing in Nico's eyes, a stark contrast to the newfound sense of freedom and defiance burning fiercely within him.

In an instant, the vice-like grip that had been on his face cruelly shifted to his throat, fingers digging into his skin and squeezing around his windpipe. Clancy's desperate cry was muffled by the hand crushing his airway as Nico effortlessly hoisted him off the ground. With his feet flailing helplessly below him, Clancy struggled against Nico's unyielding grasp.

As he struggled to breathe, Clancy could feel the overwhelming power of Nico's hold, his body rendered completely at the mercy of the Bishop. The sheer force of Nico's grip left Clancy gasping for air, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"Listen to yourself," Nico snarled, his voice dripping with contempt as he held Clancy's trembling body suspended in the air. "Your reckless actions have endangered not only yourself but everyone around you. Your existence is a hollow, meaningless waste of space that should have been erased long ago.”

Clancy's body twisted and contorted in a futile attempt to draw in much-needed oxygen. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, begging for relief. Nico's voice, filled with words that seemed to originate from deep within his own mind, echoed around them, reinforcing the negative thoughts swirling in Clancy's head. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and marking his cheeks.

“There is a reason you have not heard from those who flee the city.” Nico growled, his face inches away from Clancy's, his breath hot against his scarred nose. The Bishop's veil brushed against Clancy's face, adding to the suffocating atmosphere. “And you will join them.”

As the black spots began to freckle Clancy's vision, he felt a heaviness settle over him. The world around him grew hazy, his thoughts slowing down as unconsciousness crept closer. The Bishop's voice, once sharp and commanding, now sounded distant and ethereal, fading into the recesses of his mind.

“Do everyone a favour,” The Bishop's words echoed softly, a faint whisper that seemed to come from far away. “And cease your pathetic existence.”

Clancy's body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish and unresponsive as he struggled to stay conscious. The darkness closed in, enveloping him in its embrace as his world slipped away.

-

Clancy's body bolted upright from the confines of his sleeping bag, his hands frantically clawing at his throat in a desperate struggle for breath. Panic clouded his vision, and his heart pounded erratically in his chest.

Tremors of fear rippled through Clancy as he relived the terror of Nico's merciless grip around his neck, a cruel reminder of the torment he endured. His body convulsed with sobs, the echoes of his own gasps for air still haunting him.

As the dimly lit room slowly came into focus, Clancy curled into himself, shoulders shaking with the weight of his trauma. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the remnants of his nightmare as he sought solace in the familiarity of his surroundings.

A sudden touch on his knee jolted Clancy out of the grips of his panic attack, causing him to lurch backwards and collide forcefully with the rough, unforgiving surface of the rocky wall. His gaze darted around wildly, only to land on the figure standing before him.

The Torchbearer crouched before him, mocha-brown eyes wide with concern.

"You were screaming." The Torchbearer spoke softly, his voice cutting through the remnants of Clancy's disoriented state. Clancy sniffled and hastily wiped away the tears that had escaped his eyes, trying to regain control over his ragged breathing.

“N-nightmare.” Clancy managed to choke out, his hands trembling as they clutched at his chest in a feeble attempt to steady himself.

The Torchbearer's solemn expression softened as he nodded, gracefully settling into a comfortable sitting position beside Clancy's quivering figure. His eyes, filled with concern, watched as Clancy wiped away yet another tear that cascaded down his flushed cheek.

"You were restless for quite some time. I debated whether it would be best to rouse you." The Torchbearer murmured, his voice a gentle reassurance in the darkness.

Clancy hiccupped, his chest heaving as he struggled for composure. "You were... watching me sleep?" He managed to choke out, his voice thick with emotion.

The Torchbearer nodded. “To make sure you were safe.”

Clancy let out a soft chuckle, his voice tinged with a bittersweet emotion that added a layer of complexity to his words. "Why? I don't mean anything," he said, his tone heavy with self-deprecation.

The Torchbearer's eyes widened, a glint of sorrow shining through the depths of his gaze. "But you do. To a lot of people," he replied softly, extending a tissue to Clancy. "To me."

Gratefully accepting the tissue, Clancy blinked back tears, feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness of the Torchbearer. He was at a loss for words, unable to express the depth of gratitude he felt in that moment.

They sat in a comforting silence, the Torchbearer offering a supportive presence as he patiently waited for Clancy to regain his composure. It was a silent gesture of understanding and compassion that spoke volumes.

“How long have we been here?” Clancy asked, voice steadying as he slowly got to his feet.

"On Voldsøy? Two weeks and four days, to be exact." The Torchbearer replied.

Clancy absorbed this information slowly, his movements deliberate as he secured his wooden backpack onto his arms.

The Torchbearer had meticulously carved a detailed map into the stone walls of the cave, a visual guide outlining their current location for Clancy. The etchings displayed Trench and Dema residing far to the west, a significant distance away, with the island of Voldsøy standing alone across the Paladin Strait.

Strolling past the intricate carving, Clancy couldn't help but steal a fleeting glance at the map. Seeking solace in the knowledge that they were securely tucked away from the clutches of Dema and the menacing Bishops, he took a moment to calm his racing heart.

As Clancy emerged from the dark, damp depths of the cave system, the sudden burst of sunlight was almost blinding. Gingerly stepping into the open air, he raised a hand to shield his eyes, the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. Pulling a soft scarf up over his chin, he squinted ahead, seeing the Torchbearer's figure up ahead.

"So, are you finally going to teach me to hunt?" Clancy called out, a trace of amusement in his voice as he quickened his pace to catch up.

The previous night, while sitting around the fire with the Neds, as Clancy had come to learn they were called, he admitted to his failed attempts at hunting animals whilst living alone in Trench. The Torchbearer had merely chuckled at his confession, promising to show him the ways of hunting soon.

The Torchbearer looked over his shoulder, slowing his pace to match Clancy’s.

“If you’d like me to.”

“I would.” Clancy answered quickly, sheepishly looking down at his hands. “I know I’m not very useful out here.”

The Torchbearer looked at him with fierce eyes, but they held no hostility.

“I ordered you to rest, and that is what you’ve been doing.” He affirmed. “You performed and worked for Dema for a long, long time. Your body is realising that it doesn’t need to be in fight-or-flight mode all of the time. You are allowed to require time to recover.”

Clancy came to a halt, the Torchbearer's words striking a chord deep within him. He felt a rush of warmth in his stomach and a sense of relief washing over him. He was allowed to rest.

With a sense of urgency, Clancy quickened his pace to keep up with the Torchbearer as they ventured deeper into the dense woodland that enveloped the beach. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, Clancy had grown accustomed to the rugged terrain of Voldsøy over time.

The Neds, peculiar creatures native to Voldsøy, had guided Clancy through the intricate cave system of their home, revealing hidden waterfalls and tidepools that sustained them. With nubs on their heads and rounded horns peeking through their fur, the Neds had a unique appearance that intrigued Clancy. One of them stood out with fully grown antlers, observing Clancy from a distance with a watchful gaze.

Although the presence of the antlered Ned was unsettling, Clancy felt a strange sense of acceptance rather than fear. It seemed to be studying him from the shadows, observing his every move with a curiosity that was both eerie and intriguing. Clancy couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being closely watched, but he pressed on.

Finally, after a long trek through the dense forest, the Torchbearer halted their steps as they entered a sunlit clearing. The chirping of birds and rustling of leaves filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere.

"You want to learn to hunt? Let’s begin here," The Torchbearer said as he dropped to one knee, examining a pile of droppings with a critical eye. Clancy crouched down beside him.

"First, you must find evidence that prey lives here. There’s no use hunting for something where it does not exist," the Torchbearer explained, pointing towards the droppings. Clancy studied them closely, realising they were likely left by a rabbit.

Rising to their feet, the Torchbearer led Clancy to a slender, supple tree at the clearing's edge. "This young tree will serve as the spring for our snare," He explained, turning to Clancy. "Do you still have that pocketknife I lent you?"

As the sun made its slow descent across the sky, Clancy and the Torchbearer busied themselves with the task at hand. They worked diligently, carefully crafting each snare with precision and skill. Clancy's hands became deft and sure, his movements fluid as he expertly tied vines and set pegs in place.

With each trap they constructed, Clancy's confidence grew, his determination evident in the focused set of his jaw. The Torchbearer watched silently, a small smile playing on his lips as he observed Clancy's growing expertise.

Finally, after hours of hard work, Clancy set up the final snare on his own. He straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow as he turned to face the Torchbearer. He nodded in approval, his eyes gleaming with pride at Clancy's accomplishment.

But before Clancy could revel in the praise, a sudden squeal and snap echoed through the air behind them. Without hesitation, the Torchbearer sprang into action, heading towards the source of the noise with Clancy close behind.

Approaching one of the first traps they had set up, the Torchbearer's face lit up with a grin as they came upon their catch. A wild rabbit had fallen victim to the snare, its delicate body now suspended from a tree by tightly wound vines constricting its throat. Clancy felt a surge of unease as he watched the limp form of the creature hanging in the air, its once vibrant fur now dappled with shadows.

“It’s a swift end for them,” The Torchbearer remarked, almost casually, as if addressing Clancy's unspoken discomfort. “And we will make full use of its sacrifice, to honour the creature's spirit.”

Clancy shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the ground with his boot as he rubbed his forearm. “I know. It’s just.. I’m not used to it, that's all.”

The Torchbearer nodded in agreement, loosening the vines and lifting the rabbit's body with reverence. "We must show gratitude for the gifts that nature provides us, even in moments like these." He replied, his voice soft yet resolute.

That afternoon, the Torchbearer patiently instructed Clancy on how to fillet and prepare the rabbit, utilising a makeshift barbecue grill set up on the crackling fire within the depths of the cave. The curious Neds gathered around, their eyes fixed on the work being done. Clancy observed their healthy appearance, puzzled by what sustained them.

Passing Clancy a portion of the succulent rabbit meat on a smooth slab of slate, the Torchbearer motioned for him to partake in the meal. The tantalising scent of the cooked rabbit caused Clancy's stomach to rumble in hunger.

Suppressing the urge to utter a customary Vialist grace, Clancy hesitated before taking a small bite. Inwardly expressing his gratitude for the nourishing meal, Clancy silently reflected on the bounty before him.

The other Neds huddled together, forming a tight circle around the crackling fire. They passed around a cup made from a smooth, polished bone, each taking a sip of the precious water it held. Clancy raised the cup to his lips, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat before passing it to the Torchbearer. As he turned to hand it over, a sudden realisation hit him - the spot where the man had been sitting was now empty.

Confusion clouded Clancy's mind as he glanced at his fellow Ned, who could offer no explanation either. With a shrug, the Ned reached out for the cup, accepting it without question.

Leaning back, Clancy felt the warmth of the fire against his skin as he pondered the Torchbearer's disappearance. It was not unusual for him to slip away unnoticed, his silent nature making him easy to overlook. A pang in his stomach wished he would stay.

A sudden commotion of pebbles tumbling near one of the tunnel entrances drew Clancy's focus, prompting him to lazily open one eye, curious to discover the origin of the noise. Anticipating the arrival of the Torchbearer, he was taken aback to find instead the enigmatic figure of the antlered Ned observing him from a distance.

As soon as their eyes met, the creature swiftly retreated, making a hasty retreat towards the cave's exit. Clancy sprang to his feet, a resolute look etched on his features. Determined to uncover the intentions of the mysterious being, he knew he had to follow.

Navigating the intricate and winding paths of the labyrinthine tunnels, Clancy finally emerged from the cave into the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. A sense of foreboding gripped him as his gaze fell upon the mysterious figure of Ned, its form outlined against the sky on the shoreline. Snowflakes floated down slowly, adding a frosty touch to the air that sent shivers down Clancy's spine.

Above him, the rugged cliffs loomed ominously, their dark shadows stretching out over the landscape. The sight of the other Neds perched atop the rocks, their gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and knowingness, only heightened Clancy's unease. It was as if they were silently observing him, their presence adding an eerie and unsettling element to the already tense atmosphere.

Clancy approached the antlered Ned, disbelief flashing in his eyes as he witnessed the creature effortlessly detach its horns from its head. The sight invoked memories of how a deer nonchalantly sheds its antlers, as if they were never a part of its being to begin with, simply casting them aside with a flick of its head.

Kneeling in the damp, frigid sand, Clancy observed in awe as the creature carefully cradled the antlers in its hands. With a sense of wonder, Ned then extended the pair towards Clancy, who tentatively accepted them.

As Clancy's fingers closed around the weighty antlers, a surge of comprehension swept over him, as if the very essence of the antlers imparted a newfound knowledge upon him.

As Clancy turned to express his gratitude to the Ned, his heart skipped a beat when he realised the creature had mysteriously disappeared without a trace. No tracks in the sand signalled its departure, leaving Clancy more confused than ever.

Standing up, he tightly gripped the pair of antlers in his hands, his gaze shifting to the Neds perched on the cliffside. Each of them were all doing the same action; raising their hands as if intertwining invisible antlers in a strange and mystical ritual.

A wave of recognition washed over Clancy, causing him to stagger as he realised the significance of the antlers. The power they held, the ancient knowledge they represented – it all came crashing down on him in that moment. With trembling hands, he raised the antlers above his head, trying to steady himself as a sense of vertigo swept over him.

As his surroundings blurred and his body grew heavy, Clancy fought against the rising panic within him.

The room was unfamiliar. Bright, neon blue lights hurt his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He swallowed a grunt of irritation as a veil brushed against the skin on his face: the sensory feeling was a nightmare. Clancy glanced around the room, his heart beating faster as he locked eyes with the figures surrounding him.

It wasn't until that moment that he realised he knew them all too well. Each face was a painful reminder of his time imprisoned in Dema. Before him stood the Bishops, their expressions a mix of anxiety, confusion, and anger.

Sacarver glanced anxiously at Lisden, who held a steely but confused gaze with Clancy. Andre, Nills, and Listo stood together, their faces a mix of anger and concern. Reisdro and Vetomo began to move closer, as if they were about to physically restrain Clancy.

On pure instinct, he lifted a trembling hand, halting the advancing Bishops in their tracks. The room fell into a heavy silence as all seven of them fixed their eyes on him, waiting with bated breath. Studying his hand with a sense of dread, Clancy traced the deep wrinkles on his pallid skin, following the blackness that seeped into his fingertips.

The weight of the blood-red robes draped over his body felt suffocating, and the delicate veil brushed against his cheeks in a mocking, taunting manner. Waves of nausea churned in his stomach, threatening to overpower him as he realised the absence of Nico's presence in the room. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, confirming his worst fear.

He was seizing Keons. Keons was dead.

The blurriness infiltrated Clancy's vision once more, creeping like a thick fog into his sight. As he struggled to maintain his grip on the Bishop's body, he could feel his control slipping away like sand through his fingers. With a fierce determination, he pushed down the rising nausea in his stomach, fighting to regain full command over Keons' lifeless corpse. But the sensation was disconcerting, unsettling. The taste of metallic blood in his mouth made him retch, and the sheer weight of the unfamiliar body threatened to overwhelm him.

It was like trying to squeeze into clothes several sizes too big, but this time, the ill-fitting garment was his own flesh. A shiver of unease crept up his spine.

Steeling himself, Clancy took a deep breath and stared around at the other Bishops. They stared back in a state of silent curiosity and bewilderment.

Despite the turmoil in his stomach, anger surged through Clancy, causing his hands to tremble as he glared back at each Bishop in turn. The memories of the abuse and manipulation he had endured at their hands flooded his mind, fueling his rage. They had starved him, controlled him like a puppet, and left him to die. And now, standing before them, Clancy was consumed by a seething fury.

Finally, a revelation dawned on Clancy. The memory of the monster's menacing yellow eyes, the way it had viciously attacked the submarine - it all suddenly made sense. It wasn't just an attack, it was a deliberate act of rescue. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

It was Keons who had seized the dragon, who had betrayed his fellow Bishops in order to free Clancy from the clutches of Dema. The sacrifice had been great, almost costing Clancy his own life. But to Clancy, the alternative of remaining trapped in a living nightmare for months, perhaps even years, was a fate worse than death.

And in return, the Bishops killed Keons. The sense of loss and grief was overwhelming, for in that moment, Clancy knew that Keons had paid the ultimate price for his freedom.

In a fit of rage, Clancy let out a primal scream as he lunged forward, seizing hold of the blinding neon light above him. With a swift and forceful motion, he hurled it to the ground, the impact causing it to shatter into a thousand shards. The intense heat from the flames below licked at the hem of his robe, casting an eerie light on the contorted features of his face.

As the adrenaline surged through his veins, the world around Clancy seemed to warp and distort before his eyes.

As Clancy's vision slowly returned, the vibrant colours of the beach came back into focus, the brilliant blue of the ocean contrasting with the stark white of the crashing waves against the rugged rocks. The salty scent of the sea filled his nostrils as a rush of emotion overwhelmed him, causing him to drop to his knees in a mix of disbelief and anguish.

Letting the antlers slip from his grasp, they fell with a soft thud onto the damp, pale sand below. An anguished cry tore from his throat, the sound raw and guttural as he clutched shakily at his shoulders, the weight of grief pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

The guilt and horror of his actions washed over him, threatening to drown him in a sea of despair. Keons, his trusted mentor, was dead, and Clancy had seized his body as if it was a mere vessel.

Nausea churned in his stomach, causing him to gasp for air as he gripped his skin tightly, digging his nails into his clothes in a desperate attempt to ground himself in reality.

Despite the overwhelming sense of presence and the tingling sensation of being alive, Clancy couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he had just experienced death. Was this real? The question hung in the air, lingering like a dark cloud over his shattered soul.

He barely registered the muffled thumping of footsteps behind him as he felt strong arms wrap around him from behind. Sinking to his side in the damp sand, the Torchbearer cradled Clancy in his arms as he wept, the sound of his pained wails filling the evening air. Rocking gently back and forth, the Torchbearer whispered soothing words to ease Clancy's anguish.

“Keons.. He- he’s dead. And I t-took over his body. I’m no better than.. Than them..!” Clancy cried, clutching desperately to the Torchbearer's cloak. "It felt.. It felt wrong. I feel tainted. I feel like a monster."

The Torchbearer ran a comforting hand over Clancy's back, his touch radiating warmth that seemed to seep into Clancy's bones, calming his trembling.

"I'm sorry, Clancy," the Torchbearer murmured, meeting his tear-filled eyes with a sense of deep empathy. "I'm so sorry. But this is your destiny. This power, this purpose—it's yours to bear."

The Torchbearer’s words didn’t make sense to Clancy, at least, not yet.

It was only that night when his cryptic sayings began to make sense. The two sat atop the cliffs, watching the stars and listening to the water below. The antlers, now neatly tucked into Clancy’s belt, provided a sense of security.

"Purpose," Clancy spoke into the stillness, breaking the silence that had enveloped them. The Torchbearer raised an eyebrow in response, prompting Clancy to continue. "You said it was my purpose. And all those years ago, you told me I was special. What did you mean by that?"

The Torchbearer observed Clancy's expression intently, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension evident on his face. He let out a soft sigh before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. With a gentle hand, he passed it to Clancy, who accepted it with trembling fingers.

“I meant it literally. We need you, because you’re special. You have a gift, and this island has fulfilled it.” The Torchbearer explained as Clancy scanned the notes before him. The paper was filled with enigmatic words and symbols, but to Clancy, they made perfect sense. The diagram drawn on the page illustrated how to harness the power of the antlers, and the instructions outlined below were straightforward and concise.

“Seize available vessel. SEIZE KEØNS.”

“they will make you a weapon.”

As Clancy's eyes scanned the impenetrable darkness before him, a sense of unease settled in his chest. The crumpled paper in his hand felt heavy, its edges worn and frayed. Was it just a set of instructions, or something more ominous, a prophecy foretelling a future he feared to imagine?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he contemplated the possibilities, his heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and dread.

Chapter Text

As the seasons cycled through on Voldsøy, Clancy watched as the island transformed around him. He observed the delicate dance of nature as winter turned to spring, signalling the arrival of new life and growth. But despite his efforts to adapt and understand the ways of the island, a new challenge emerged, throwing him off balance and forcing him to start over.

Clancy guessed he had washed up on Voldsøy in late winter, as flowers were beginning to bloom while snow continued to fall. But, spring didn’t provide any respite from the struggles of living on the remote island. 

The harsh winters gave way to vibrant blooms, but the harsh reality of survival never waned. As the snow melted and the sun grew stronger, he found himself facing a different kind of struggle. The once ferocious snowfall gave way to calmer skies, but the frigid waters of the sea remained as turbulent as ever, a constant reminder of the isolation and danger that surrounded him.

Each passing day brought a new set of challenges, pushing Clancy to his limits and testing his resilience. The changing seasons served as a reminder of the passage of time, but also of the unyielding power of nature. As he faced yet another setback, Clancy knew that he would have to dig deep and find the strength to start anew, no matter how many times he was thrown back to square one.

As the vibrant colours of summer foliage burst forth and the cacophony of chirping insects filled the air, Clancy found himself unable to bask in the warmth that the season typically brought. The sun, rather than providing comfort and light, seemed to taunt him with its unrelenting brightness, casting a cold shadow over his spirit. Its penetrating gaze followed him wherever he went.

With the arrival of autumn, the chill in the air only intensified, seeping into his very being like an unyielding frost. The crisp breeze that rustled through the now barren trees seemed to whisper of impending darkness, amplifying the emptiness that consumed him. The changing of the seasons served as a stark contrast to the numbness that had settled within him.

Autumn was a harsh season, with hibernating animals and wilting flora painting a bleak picture of scarcity. The once vibrant landscape now lay barren, offering little sustenance for survival. While the Neds seemed unfazed, nestled comfortably in their cosy cave system, Clancy struggled to find enough food to sustain himself.

Each night was a battle against the gnawing hunger, leaving him doubled over in pain as his stomach relentlessly demanded nourishment. Sleep became his only respite, a temporary escape from the harsh reality of autumn's relentless grip.

The Neds were surprisingly good company. They not only assisted him in carrying logs and gathering moss, but also exuded a positive and enigmatic energy that lifted his spirits. On a particularly rough day, when Clancy had come back empty-handed, they surprised him with makeshift paper and pencils made from graphite and tree bark. Clancy wasn’t ashamed to admit that their kindness and creativity had brought him to tears.

While the Neds were a constant on Voldsøy, the Torchbearer was not. Sometimes, Clancy would find himself in deep conversation with the Torchbearer well into the night, their laughter echoing through the darkness. But then, just as suddenly as he appeared, the Torchbearer would vanish, leaving Clancy puzzled and longing for his presence.

Days would pass without a glimpse of the Torchbearer, and Clancy would wonder where he had gone and why he had disappeared so abruptly. Whenever Clancy mustered the courage to inquire about the Torchbearer's whereabouts, the mysterious man would deflect the question or change the subject, leaving Clancy even more intrigued by his elusive nature.

Clancy once asked about the shows before the submarine wreck, pressing the Torchbearer further and further: why he was there, how he was captured, when did it happen? For the first time, Clancy witnessed the usually stoic and fierce Torchbearer turn his anger towards him, causing a wave of intimidation and fear to wash over him, making him feel small and insignificant in the presence of the powerful leader.

In the aftermath of their tense conversation, the Torchbearer disappeared for several days, leaving Clancy to stew in a whirlwind of guilt and anxiety in their shared cave-room. He blamed himself for the sudden rift between them, replaying the unanswered questions and tense moments in his mind as he stared at the empty sleeping bag beside him in their shared room.

When the Torchbearer finally returned, Clancy's relief was palpable as tears of gratitude and remorse welled up in his eyes. The reunion felt like a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty, reminiscent of the times when he was trapped in Dema, fighting for freedom and information against the oppressive Bishops. They exchanged apologies, shared a heartfelt embrace, and silently agreed to brush past their argument and move forward with their bond intact. 

Day by day, Clancy could feel his resolve slowly crumbling like the eroding cliffs of the island. The relentless violence, unforgiving terrain, and cruel isolation weighed heavily on his weary spirit.

On a particularly desperate day, he stormed out into the harsh elements, trudging through the damp, pallid sand and scavenging for driftwood along the shore.

Working tirelessly through the night, the wood chips flew as he hammered rocks and tied vines together, fashioning a crude raft. Clancy was numb by the time he deemed it complete enough to use.

He pushed the makeshift vessel into the churning, inky waves, clutching a roughly hewn oar in his calloused hands. Ignoring the bone-chilling cold that seeped into his soaked clothes, Clancy rowed with a single-minded focus towards the distant horizon, aiming for the treacherous waters of the Paladin Strait that separated him from the land of Trench.

His weariness ran deep, his mind clouded with exhaustion as he battled the elements and his own inner demons. In that moment, he didn't care if he ended up back within the confines of Dema's oppressive walls.

As Clancy struggled to navigate the treacherous waters, a relentless wave suddenly capsized his raft, plunging him into the churning sea. The weight of his sodden clothing dragged him down, the sharp sting of saltwater invading his lungs. Panic seized him as he thrashed about, the realisation of his mortality dawning upon him in a harsh instant. He didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Desperation fueled his movements as Clancy turned back towards the safety of Voldsøy, the powerful currents of the Paladin Strait threatening to consume him with each crashing wave.

Despite his weak efforts, exhaustion and disorientation soon took hold, leaving him powerless to combat the relentless forces of nature. As his body grew still, a sense of resignation washed over him, the once fierce will to survive now fading into the depths of the unforgiving sea.

When he slowly opened his eyes, the Torchbearer's face was the first thing that came into focus. The man's hands were frantically pounding on Clancy's chest, a look of genuine fear etched into his features. Clancy groaned, mustering every ounce of strength to struggle onto his side and cough up the vile, salty water that had filled his lungs.

That night, he sobbed into the Torchbearer’s arms, the same way he had broken down after seizing the body of Keons. Self-loathing and despair mingled in his sobs as he poured out his deepest fears of failure to his companion.

The Torchbearer had gripped the sides of his face with a burning intensity in his gaze, looking deep into Clancy’s teary eyes.

“You may be the catalyst of the plan, but you do not have to face this alone.” He spoke firmly, with a slight tremble of emotion in his voice. “Your mind may be acting as an echo chamber for your fears, but that does not mean you cannot rely on others. People need you, but you are allowed to need them .”

The Torchbearer was not just a supportive presence in Clancy's life; he was a lifeline. In moments of emotional turmoil, Clancy could always turn to him for solace. With a comforting silence, the Torchbearer would lend a listening ear to Clancy's grievances, offering a sense of understanding and empathy.

When nightmares haunted Clancy's sleep and left him grasping for stability, the Torchbearer was a steady force, offering a sense of security in his strong embrace. With arms outstretched and hands reaching out in desperation, Clancy found solace in the warmth of the Torchbearer's embrace.

Clancy even found himself able to assist the Torchbearer with his own concerns, listening intently and nodding, offering words of advice when the leader found himself faced with puzzles of his own.

Beyond moments of crisis, Clancy found himself drawn to the enigmatic figure of the Torchbearer. His presence seemed to brighten even the darkest of days, filling Clancy's world with a sense of optimism and warmth.

The sun shone a little brighter and the days seemed a little warmer whenever the Torchbearer was by Clancy's side.

However, the days in which the Torchbearer was missing, Clancy's insecurities gnawed at him relentlessly, the echoes of his past horrors growing louder with each passing day. His demons, refusing to loosen their grip, drove him deeper into a pit of loneliness and self-blame. Whether it was the haunting memories of seizing Keons’ corpse, or the excruciating days spent in his Dema prison cell, Clancy's very skin prickled with revulsion and fear. The ability to think was often a dangerous one.

More than once, the Torchbearer returned to find Clancy huddled in an isolated cave-room, nails tearing desperately at his flesh and blood rolling down from his nose. His eyes, bloodshot and frantic, stared at the Torchbearer in guilt. But, the man would simply sit at his side, retrieving tissues and bandages from his cloak, and patch Clancy up each time.

While it wasn’t linear, Clancy noticed a gradual but steady improvement in his mental and emotional well-being. The frequency of his breakdowns and dark episodes decreased, giving way to a sense of growing strength within him. With the arrival of spring, he felt a newfound sense of hope and vitality, as if the season itself was breathing life back into him.

He no longer feared the days alone as much as he did before. Clancy now faced his solitude with a resilient attitude, establishing productive routines to maintain a sense of structure and purpose in his days. And when the Torchbearer was present, each day seemed to shine even brighter, filling him with a renewed sense of optimism and resilience.

-

After Clancy had seized Keons' body and the unsettling truth of the plan had been laid bare before him, the Torchbearer guided him back to the top of the cliff once more. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting shadows over the rugged terrain, the Torchbearer ignited a torch, the flames dancing in the gathering darkness. He held it out to Clancy, pressing the wood into his palms.

"There will come a signal," the Torchbearer began, his voice low and tinged with a hint of mysticism. "I cannot say when it will arrive, or how long we must wait, but it will come." Clancy hung on his every word, his mind reeling with confusion and curiosity.

“Each night, you must lift a torch into the sky.” The Torchbearer instructed, his grip firm as he raised their conjoined hands and the blazing torch high above their heads.

"When your signal is returned, the time will be right, and we shall journey back to Trench." Hope flickered in Clancy's eyes, but the Torchbearer's expression remained solemn. "Until then, it is not safe. For your own protection, we must bide our time. I am sorry."

Clancy locked eyes with him, the rich mocha-brown depths reflecting his own swirling emotions of confusion and sadness. His heart pounded in his chest as he hesitantly voiced his fears, feeling a knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Until that signal, I’ll be alone..?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. The Torchbearer's gaze softened, the flames of determination flickering back to life in his eyes as he shook his head.

“No. I’ll be here. Not all the time, but I will be with you.”

“Promise?” Clancy leaned in closer, his breath catching, almost daring him to reply.

“Promise.”

-

The day the signal came, many, many moons had passed. Clancy sat wearily on the rocky surface, raising the flaming torch with half-hearted effort. His chin rested in his palm as he sat cross-legged, the routine of his nightly vigil weighing heavily on his shoulders. The passage of countless moons had taken its toll on his once hopeful spirit.

The twinkling stars above provided little solace as he gazed out into the indigo horizon, their distant light a reminder of the vast expanse of time that had passed. But then, a sudden burst of brightness caught his attention. One by one, more stars emerged, each one glowing with a fiery intensity that lit up the darkening sky.

Clancy's tired eyes widened in astonishment as the horizon line became a blaze of light, the once dim landscape now ablaze with the glow of countless torches. His heart pounded in his chest as a surge of hope and excitement coursed through his weary body, the signal he had been waiting for finally breaking through the darkness of his despair.

Dropping the flaming torch and watching it sizzle as it was extinguished on the jagged rocks below, Clancy hurriedly descended the steep cliffside, feeling the rough surface scrape against the skin of his palms. Despite the discomfort, he paid it no mind, fueled by the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. It wasn't fear that drove him this time, but an overwhelming sense of exhilaration.

Rushing into the cave, he was delighted to see the Torchbearer leisurely carving a piece of wood by the crackling fire, with a group of intrigued Neds gathered around.

“The signal!” Clancy gasped, his breath catching in his throat. A rush of excitement swept over him, causing a wide grin to spread across his face. The Torchbearer glanced up with raised eyebrows.

“It’s time.”

“It’s time!” Clancy echoed, his voice filled with exuberance as he twirled around the crackling fire. His glee was palpable, radiating off of him in waves as he even picked up one of the Neds, relishing in its delighted squeals.

With a sense of satisfaction, the Torchbearer tossed a carefully whittled piece of wood into the flames, the fire casting a warm glow on his determined features. He made his way towards the exit of the cave, his movements filled with a quiet sense of purpose and resolve.

As Clancy gently placed the Ned back on the ground, he gave each of the strange creatures a grateful squeeze. The Neds watched him go, their arms waving frantically in farewell, their cheers echoing off the cave walls as the pair left the cave for the final time.

Following the Torchbearer, Clancy made his way along the shoreline. After his reckless near-death encounter with the makeshift raft, the Torchbearer had wasted no time in putting him to work on a new vessel, this time a sturdy rowboat that promised safety and security on the treacherous waters, rather than pieced-together planks of wood designed to fail.

The boat, hardy and durable, sat nestled between two imposing rocks, its sturdy frame bobbing gently in the water. It was tethered to the shore with a makeshift rope woven from vines.

Eagerly, Clancy made his way to the boat, untying the anchor with practised hands and guiding it towards the open expanse of water. With an expression of glee, he turned to the Torchbearer, only to be met with a solemn look.

"What?" Clancy asked, his smile fading as the Torchbearer approached. The man hesitated, averting his gaze before finally speaking.

“The next part of the plan. It’s..." The Torchbearer's voice trailed off, regret and guilt visible on his features. Clancy felt his heart sink.

"You're not leaving me to do this alone, are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief evident in his tone. The Torchbearer shook his head decisively.

"No. Never. But, the plan requires you to... to seize someone."

Clancy felt his blood run cold, the vivid and traumatic memories of his first seizing flashing in the forefront of his mind. The sensation of Keons’ wrinkled skin merging with his own and the weight of his corpse on his shoulders caused Clancy to instinctively recoil, his stomach churning with intense nausea.

The Torchbearer reached out and firmly grasped his trembling arms, trying to anchor him as his complexion turned ashen and slick with sweat.

"Clancy," the Torchbearer called out, his voice filled with concern as he attempted to make eye contact. But Clancy couldn't bear to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the gentle lapping of the water at their feet, his mind unwillingly transported back to that fateful moment. Each time he closed his eyes, he was transported back there.

“Clancy-”

“No. I-I can’t. I can’t do that again.” Clancy's voice trembled as he spoke, fear and desperation evident in his words. Panic surged through his veins like a raging river as he locked eyes with the Torchbearer, unable to mask his terror. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so.. So sorry. But we need you to do it. You’re the only one outside of the Bishops who can use this power.” The Torchbearer spoke, his eyes pleading with Clancy.

“I can’t.” He begged. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he whimpered, his fingers clinging desperately to the Torchbearer’s arms.

“I promise, I’ll be there the whole time.” The Torchbearer's hands gently moved to hold Clancy's, his touch soothing and comforting. His tone was reassuring, his thumbs rubbing circles into Clancy's trembling palms. “It doesn’t have to be long, but it’s important.”

Clancy took a deep breath, the salty scent of the ocean filling his lungs as he tried to steady his racing heart. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a calming rhythm, grounding him in the moment.

“What.. what do you need me to do? Who am I seizing?” His voice came out shaky and uncertain as he asked.

The Torchbearer's expression was grave as he spoke, his eyes holding a hint of sadness. "A young man," he said softly. "We organised a seminar in Dema months ago. When the signal is raised, the seminar is to begin shortly thereafter. And we need you to teach them."

Clancy's mind whirled at the thought, but he managed to nod in understanding. The Torchbearer explained further, guiding him towards the waiting boat.

"The body is prepared for you, along with fresh clothes to disguise your identity if caught. While you seize the body and teach the people, I'll start the journey across the Strait. By the time you finish, we should be safely back in Trench."

Clancy nodded once more, his movement deliberate as he climbed into the small boat. He settled himself at the stern, his fingers instinctively brushing over the intricate antlers that dangled from his belt. The Torchbearer stood nearby, his presence reassuring as he untethered the boat and joined Clancy inside. His weathered, calloused hands wrapped firmly around the oars, ready to guide them through the unknown waters ahead.

“And you’ll be there when I come out of it?” Clancy's voice was quiet, tinged with uncertainty as he turned to the Torchbearer. The Torchbearer simply nodded, his expression steadfast and unwavering.

“Remember, I am right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Clancy responded with a low hum, his gaze fixed on the antlers in his hands. With a determined grip, he unhooked them from his belt and held them close. The Torchbearer's unwavering belief in him sparked a newfound sense of purpose and resolve within Clancy.

“Alright. I’ll teach them.” Clancy gritted his teeth, and raised the antlers above his head.

-

When his vision focused, Clancy found himself in a darkened room. Looking at his hands, he studied the skin, relieved to see smooth, young flesh rather than wrinkled, sagging flesh. He sighed, gratefulness for the body mingled with sadness at the sheer youth of the vessel.

With a tentative step forward, Clancy felt the unfamiliar height of his new legs and stumbled over shoes that were too big for his feet. As he reached up to push back the long, fiery red curls that tumbled down his shoulders, he couldn't help but marvel at the vibrant colour and soft texture of the hair.

His fingers brushed against the cold metal of piercings that adorned this body’s ears, and he traced their intricate designs with a sense of wonder.

Next to him, resting on a table, was an opened box revealing its contents. Clancy peered inside, only to find a striking black and white stole, reminiscent of the attire worn by priests of Vialism. What caught his eye was the repetition of his name, woven into intricate geometric symbols on the fabric. Had it been made specially for him?

Beside the stole, a vibrant red and black mask beckoned to him. As he lifted it up, he couldn't help but admire the meticulous handiwork that went into creating the ornate mask. The bold red stripes, carefully stitched on, seemed to resonate with something deep within him. Red was a good colour. The colour of rebellion and strength.

Standing before him, Clancy's keen ears caught the distant murmur of voices, their tone barely audible but sending a shiver of apprehension down his spine. In front of him, towering ominously were two massive, solid wooden doors, their imposing presence casting a shadow over him. A faint, eerie red light seeped through the small gaps, casting a haunting glow in the dimly-lit room.

Bracing himself, Clancy took a deep breath and pulled the mask over his head, the snug fit providing him with a comforting sense of anonymity and protection, holding his skin in place and showing only his eyes. The soft stole draped over his shoulders, adding to his mysterious disguise.

Summoning his courage, he took a step forward and with a firm resolve, pushed open the heavy doors with both hands.

The warm glow of the spotlight illuminated Clancy as he confidently entered the room, his posture exuding a sense of self-assuredness that seemed to radiate from within.

In the red-tinted auditorium, a small group of onlookers had gathered, their faces a blend of apprehension and intrigue. As Clancy surveyed the crowd, memories of his humble beginnings flooded back to him, harkening back to the days when he, too, was just a citizen of Dema.

A pang of disappointment briefly washed over him as he realised that he didn't recognize any of the curious faces before him, but he quickly brushed it aside, focusing instead on the important task at hand.

Parting his lips, Clancy began to speak, weaving the body's vocal chords into an intricate tapestry of wisdom and poetry. The voice that emerged was not his own, its tone unfamiliar yet strangely powerful. It took a moment for Clancy to adjust, but as he found his rhythm, a surge of confidence thrummed through him.

Introducing himself with a fervour that belied his circumstances, Clancy shared a brief glimpse of his story before delving into a passionate diatribe against the cruel and oppressive teachings of Vialism. He spoke for what seemed like an eternity, exposing the manipulative ways of the Bishops and their control over the citizens, his words resonating with a sense of urgency and defiance.

The audience sat in rapt attention, their eyes locked on Clancy as he spoke. Each member nodded thoughtfully, their faces displaying unwavering trust and determination. As Clancy sketched intricate diagrams and projected them onto the walls of the auditorium, the attendees followed his every gesture with a keen focus.

A few brave souls even raised their hands to ask questions, their curiosity palpable in the air. These individuals, hungry for knowledge and eager to learn, reminded Clancy of his own insatiable thirst for understanding.

Delving his hand into the depths of his jacket pocket, Clancy felt the cool touch of plastic against his fingertips. Slowly retrieving the items, he gazed down at the vivid red and yellow tape reels nestled in his palm. Emblazoned with a sense of purpose, he lifted them up for all to see, the colours contrasting sharply against the sombre backdrop of the room.

With a commanding presence, he presented them to those gathered around him. “We are Banditos, and so are you.” He declared, his voice resonating with authority. "This tape is not just tape - it is a symbol of who we are." As he moved amongst the crowd, his words sparked a sense of determination in those listening.

"Red signifies rebellion," he continued, his eyes ablaze with passion. "It embodies the fiery spirit within us all, the unyielding drive to fight for justice and free ourselves and others from the shackles of oppression." A wave of solidarity washed over the room as individuals eagerly reached out to claim their piece of the red tape, eager to join the fight.

"Yellow represents hope," he proclaimed, his voice tinged with conviction. "It is a beacon of light in the darkness, a commitment to never surrender in the face of adversity. It is a vow to persevere, no matter the obstacles that lie in our path." The remaining attendees stepped forward, each one adorning themselves with a strip of yellow tape, a silent pledge to endure whatever challenges may come their way.

Clancy stood back, his eyes sweeping over the sea of vibrant red and yellow hues that painted the crowd before him. The room was alive with a sense of hope and determination, reflected in the shared glances and smiles of the attendees. Each face seemed to radiate ambition and inspiration, filling Clancy with a sense of overwhelming glee that bubbled in his stomach.

Suddenly, the world grew fuzzy. Clancy felt his grip on the body slipping, and he opened his mouth to try and speak. Before he could get a word out, his legs gave out beneath him. He crashed to the unforgiving wooden floor of the auditorium, the sound of his fall drowned out by the concerned murmurs of those around him.

As figures swirled around him in a hazy blur, Clancy struggled to keep his eyes open. The hum of voices and the touch of worried hands on his skin faded in and out of his senses as he felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, until finally, he succumbed to the darkness that enveloped him.

-

Opening his eyes, a pounding headache overtook his senses. Clancy winced, lowering the antlers from his head. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he looked up and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw the Torchbearer still rowing the boat, guiding them through the calm waters. The early morning light danced on the surface of the ocean, casting a warm glow on the wooden boat.

Locking eyes with the Torchbearer, Clancy felt a sense of reassurance in the silent communication between them. A nod of understanding passed between them before the Torchbearer's gaze shifted, drawing Clancy's attention to something behind him.

There, on the shore of Trench, three Banditos stood, awaiting their arrival.

Chapter Text

Clancy carefully fastened the intricate antlers back onto his belt, carefully threading the sturdy leather loops through the holes he had crafted for them. As the small boat approached the shore, the sound of pebbles crunching beneath the hull filled the air. With a steady hand, Clancy hoisted one leg over the side of the boat and stepped into the shallow water, feeling the cool embrace of the lake against his boots.

As he tentatively placed one foot onto the familiar soil of Trench, a rush of unfamiliar sensations flooded his senses. The ground beneath his boots felt more solid than he remembered, the air thicker with memories of days long past.

As he looked around, his eyes fell upon the three Banditos standing before him, their faces weathered by time and filled with a mix of worry and joy. The lines etched into their skin told stories of battles fought and victories won, their tattered clothes bearing the marks of countless repairs.

Clancy had also grown, aware that he looked different to when he first joined the Banditos. The scar etched across his nose served as a constant reminder of the trials he had faced, yet it was his eyes that revealed the true extent of his evolution. They glistened with a newfound depth, reflecting a narrative of suffering and solitude endured during his time in Dema and on Voldsøy.

The hardships he had faced had not only left their mark on his physical appearance but had also sculpted his character into something unrecognisable. Clancy had been broken and rebuilt, emerging from his ordeal as a man overflowing with a fierce determination and a reservoir of inner strength he had never before tapped into.

As he moved closer to the shore, his boots sinking into the wet pebbles, he felt a sense of anticipation building within him. The cool water lapped at his shoes, sending chills up his spine as he finally stepped onto the soft, vibrant green grass that had been nothing but a distant dream for so long.

The Banditos, with their rugged faces and determination etched into their expressions, greeted him with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Their eyes sparkled with a warm welcome, each holding a flaming torch that cast a flickering light on their faces in the early morning sun.

Clancy turned his head, the sound of the Torchbearer's heavy footsteps echoing across the quiet shore. With a practised grace, the Torchbearer hoisted himself out of the rowboat, his muscles flexing as he pulled the craft securely onto the sandy beach. Expertly knotting the vines around a sturdy tree, he finally made his way over to Clancy, a complex mix of emotions playing out on his features.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Clancy, the Torchbearer's eyes held a depth of emotion that Clancy couldn't quite place. Despite the man's enigmatic aura, their time on Voldsøy had forged a bond between them that was undeniable. In the midst of danger and uncertainty, they had shared intimate moments of vulnerability, revealing hidden depths of themselves to each other that had remained dormant until now.

As Clancy turned around to face the Banditos, the trio had already started their ascent up the rugged slope, their figures blending seamlessly into the shadows of the dense forest ahead. With a sense of pure contentment, a smile of unrestrained joy spread across Clancy's features, his eyes sparkling with an inner light that seemed to illuminate his entire being. He was home.

The Banditos briskly strode forward, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the forest. Clancy struggled to keep pace, his legs aching as he pushed himself to catch up. The Torchbearer walked ahead, a vigilant presence ensuring that Clancy stayed with the group.

There was a sense of urgency in the air as the Banditos maintained their silence, their expressions unreadable as they exchanged subtle glances. Clancy could sense the aura of respect and importance the Banditos held towards him, and as his lungs heaved to catch up, he was glad for the quiet.

An hour or two into the walk, the group eventually came to a halt, seeking respite from their arduous trek. Two of the Banditos immediately set to work, crouching by a bubbling stream to purify the water for drinking. Meanwhile, the third member of their party remained behind, keeping a watchful eye on Clancy and the Torchbearer. With a gesture of camaraderie, he reached into his pack and pulled out a pouch of dried meat, ensuring he would have energy for the rest of the journey.

Clancy blinked in gratitude, beginning to eat. While he extended the bag towards the Torchbearer, offering a share, the stoic leader simply shook his head, declining the offer with a silent wave of his hand.

As the two Banditos made their way back to Clancy, they handed him a bottle of ice-cold water. The liquid was a welcome relief as it slid down his parched throat, quenching his thirst and rejuvenating his body. The taste was unlike any water he had tasted before, a strange yet satisfying difference from the filtered water he had grown accustomed to on Voldsøy.

With their torches flickering back to life, the Banditos regrouped and silently resumed their journey. The flames cast eerie shadows on the rugged terrain, illuminating their determined faces as they pressed on without uttering a single word.

The rest of the journey was difficult, and Clancy found himself struggling as the midday sun shone brightly overhead.

The presence of the new companions was both a welcome change and a daunting challenge for Clancy. He had grown accustomed to the solitude of his past confinement, where the only interactions he had were with his captors and a select few others. Now, surrounded by a small, diverse group of people, he felt a sense of unease and uncertainty.

Years of limited social interaction had left Clancy ill-equipped to engage with his new companions. The simple act of starting a conversation felt like an insurmountable task.

The path leading to the Bandito camp was treacherous and unforgiving. Clancy was taken aback by the diverse landscapes of Trench, having become accustomed to the harsh terrain of Voldsøy. The soft grasses and rolling hills seemed alien to him now.

His legs ached with each step, and his lungs struggled to keep up with the demand for oxygen. Clancy found himself sheepishly asking for breaks, leaning heavily against formidable boulders and ancient tree stumps to catch his breath.

Each time, however, the Torchbearer would pick him back up, clasping his hand and urging him to continue on their journey. The man seemed urgent, as if they had a deadline to meet.

Out of a sense of familiarity and soothing routine, Clancy's hands gravitated towards the intricately carved antlers that hung from his belt. Slowly, almost reverently, he unclipped them from their hook, feeling the solid weight of them in his palms.

It wasn't just the physical presence of the antlers that drew him in, but the untold stories and unwavering strength they seemed to embody. As he traced the grooves and curves of the antlers with his fingertips, Clancy couldn't help but feel an overwhelming connection to his past on Voldsøy.

They reminded him of how he had changed and survived, despite everything he had endured.

As the sun began its descent below the horizon, its orange rays painted the landscape of Trench with long, dark shadows. Clancy could feel the weariness seeping into his bones, his steps faltering as he tried to keep pace with the Banditos ahead. Each stumble and misstep only served to remind him of his first days on Voldsøy, when he had been weak and drained of energy.

But just as before, the Torchbearer was by his side. Every time Clancy faltered, the Torchbearer was there to steady him, guiding him back on course. With each difficult climb, the Torchbearer would rush ahead, extending a helping hand to pull Clancy up. And in those brief moments of contact, Clancy could feel the unspoken connection between them, filling him with a renewed sense of strength and purpose.

If the Torchbearer believed in him, he could do anything.

Finally, the Banditos began to slow, their steps echoing through the forest as they trudged along. The sun had long since set, leaving the world cloaked in darkness, with only the pale, ethereal glow of the moon and the flickering torches of the Banditos to light their way.

As Clancy hopped over a dip in the ground, his eyes were drawn to a mesmerising sight in the distance. A colossal bonfire blazed fiercely, casting a golden hue that danced across the surrounding trees in a ghostly embrace. The crackling flames seemed to reach out to him, drawing him closer with their hypnotic allure.

Feeling a newfound sense of urgency coursing through him, Clancy quickened his pace, the fire’s radiant glow guiding his way like a beacon in the night. The Banditos beside him moved with purpose, their expressions masked in shadows as they exchanged knowing glances. With each step bringing him closer to the roaring bonfire, Clancy could almost feel the heat on his skin.

As they emerged from the dense woodland and entered the open field, Clancy was greeted by a rush of cool, crisp night air that invigorated his senses. The crackling and flickering bonfire cast a warm, inviting glow that illuminated the otherwise quiet and dark atmosphere.

The Torchbearer stood beside Clancy, his gaze fixed on the fire. Clancy stole a quick glance at the mysterious figure before a sudden noise, like a stick snapping in the distance, drew his attention away.

Across the field, a shadowy figure emerged from the thick bushes and tangled bracken. Holding a torch in one hand and a mask in the other, the figure paused as soon as their eyes met Clancy's.

Clancy's heart thudded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears as his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The sight of the yellow bandana and striped 'X' emblazoned across his chest sent a jolt of recognition and confusion through him - it couldn’t be.

As the man before him tugged down the bandana, revealing his face, Clancy felt a chill run down his spine. The Torchbearer's eyes bore into his.

Clancy tightened his grip on the antlers at his side, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make sense of what he was seeing. He turned to the man beside him for reassurance, and his stomach dropped.

He was gone. Clancy was standing alone.

The world swirled and spun around him, like a whirlpool of confusion and realisation. Suddenly, as if by some unseen force, the puzzle pieces clicked into place and a wave of understanding washed over him. It all made sense now - the mysterious disappearances of the Torchbearer, his evasion of questions about drumming in Dema, his quick temper when prodded too deeply, the way his warmth never quite reached Clancy's bones.

The Torchbearer, the man who Clancy had shared his deepest fears and dreams with, who had become his confidant and companion on Voldsøy, was nothing but a facade. The person Clancy had trusted with his very life, who had seemed so real and solid, was nothing more than a mirage.

Clancy's heart pounded in his chest as he slowly turned his head back towards the man on the other side of the field, his muscles tense with anticipation. He half-expected the man to have vanished into thin air. To his immense relief, the man was still there, but that relief quickly gave way to a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Clancy’s legs moved of their own accord, walking towards the Torchbearer. He began to walk too, stopping at the giant, flaming bonfire.

The flames danced dangerously close to the pair, highlighting their features. The Torchbearer met Clancy’s gaze, surprise flickering across his expression when Clancy’s eyes showed nothing but rage and betrayal burning bright in his eyes, a storm of emotion swirling beneath the surface as he stood mere feet away from the man.

The Torchbearer lifted the mask, holding the black and red cloth out to Clancy. Breaking his stare, Clancy looked down at the mask, recognising it as the one he had worn while teaching in Dema. While he had been seizing someone.

With a swift and fierce motion, Clancy snatched the mask from the Torchbearer, causing him to flinch involuntarily. Their eyes locked once more, and Clancy's voice quivered with rage. The crackling of the bonfire beside them threatened to drown out his words.

“Explain. Now.”

The Torchbearer’s eyes softened, his expression faltering for a moment.

“I will, but later-”

“Now.” Clancy demanded, gripping the mask so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“Later.” The Torchbearer affirmed with a hint of authority creeping into his voice. “We must return to camp first.”

Looking over his shoulder, Clancy finally spotted the crowd of Banditos behind them, clutching fiery torches of their own. In his blinded rage, he had failed to notice their presence until now.

“Fine.” Clancy managed through gritted teeth, his gaze locked with the Torchbearer's in silent defiance. The Torchbearer simply nodded in agreement, leading Clancy back towards the group of rebels.

The silence that enveloped the group as they walked back to camp was so thick, it felt suffocating. Clancy's footsteps echoed loudly in his ears as he marched alongside the Torchbearer, his jaw clenched tightly and his gaze fixed straight ahead. The anger simmering within him threatened to boil over at any moment, making his normally calm demeanour crackle with an intense energy.

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Torchbearer kept a watchful eye on Clancy, his expression a mix of concern and caution. The rest of the rebel group, the Banditos, could sense the palpable tension between the two men and the air was heavy with an unspoken turmoil.

The usual lively banter and laughter that usually filled the air on their journeys back to camp was conspicuously absent, replaced by an uneasy silence that hung like a dark cloud over the group. Each member walked with a guarded demeanour, exchanging wary glances with one another, as if waiting for the storm to break.

Upon arriving in the Bandito camp, the group of rebels swiftly made themselves scarce. They separated into groups, busying themselves with tasks that would not put themselves in the path of Clancy’s wrath. They could sense the anger surrounding him, burning anyone that got too close as if it were flames.

Clancy's gaze swept across the camp, taking note of the changes that had occurred since his last visit. The camp had grown in size, with more tents pitched and brighter flames dancing in the bonfires. There were new, unfamiliar faces mingling amongst the crowd, which sparked brief flickers of hope within Clancy, but they were quickly extinguished by the overwhelming anger that consumed him.

“Our tent.” The Torchbearer directed, tossing his flaming torch into one of the nearby bonfires before walking towards the larger tent at the other side of camp. Clancy felt his stomach twist. ‘Our’. How could the Torchbearer possibly assume that things could simply go back to how they were before?

The two men barely managed to find refuge inside the shelter of the tent before Clancy's emotions erupted like a volcano. With the antlers now secured in his belt, Clancy instinctively used both hands to convey his intense feelings.

“What the fuck was that?” Clancy wasn’t one to swear, but right now, he didn’t care. His typically composed attitude was shattered by his outburst. "You were there one moment, and then poof, you were gone." His gestures were erratic and frantic. "Are you even real now, or should I expect another one of you to walk in here?"

“Let me explain-” The Torchbearer started, before Clancy cut him off with a sharp demand.

“Answer me.” He snapped. “Are you real now?”

The Torchbearer sighed, nodding. “Yes, I am real, but-”

“So the version of you on Voldsøy. That- that wasn’t real?” Clancy's voice wavered with vulnerability, betraying his inner turmoil.

"I can explain-" The Torchbearer held up his hands, but Clancy's piercing glare silenced him instantly. The anger and betrayal simmered in Clancy's eyes as he interrupted, his voice trembling with raw emotion.

“You were never there.” Clancy spat, fury and betrayal in his eyes. His tone trembled as he continued speaking. “You left me all alone.”

“Clancy-”

“And now,” Clancy threw his hands up, expression twisting into one of pure anger. “You want to save me? You want to pretend that everything’s fine?”

"Clancy, now is not the time." The Torchbearer's voice took on a harder edge as he moved closer, but Clancy instinctively backed away, a cruel satisfaction flashing in his eyes at the hurt he saw in the Torchbearer's expression.

"I'll explain everything," the Torchbearer pleaded, desperation evident in his voice, "but you have to trust me."

“Oh, no.” Clancy's response was filled with a mixture of disbelief and anger. His laughter was hollow and bitter, tinged with a coldness that chilled the air around them. “You don’t get to play the hero now. Not after you couldn’t even be bothered to show up for me.” As he paced back and forth, his hands trembled with a combination of fear and rage. His eyes darted around the room, filled with a poisonous anger whenever they landed on the Torchbearer.

“You knew . You knew where I was. The whole time. And you didn’t even try to find me.” His fingers clenched tightly around his neck, as if trying to choke back the emotions threatening to spill over. “You didn’t even help me escape!” His tone suddenly raised with a sudden burst of energy, and he whirled around to face the Torchbearer. “A Bishop, Keons, did!”

“Clancy, you know it was too risky to send anyone into Dema.” The Torchbearer frowned. His gaze was unwavering, locked onto Clancy's troubled expression. “They had you in their towers. There were eyes on you constantly . It would have been a death wish.” His eyes narrowed. “We barely made it out the first time we went in to help you.”

Clancy felt the anger in his stomach begin to boil over.

“Those eyes starved me.” His voice was quiet, and he scratched at his wrists as if remembering the trauma of his imprisonment. “If I lashed out or disobeyed, they sedated me.” Clancy’s hands reached to his hair, tugging at the brown curls harshly as he remembered the sickly, vibrant colours that painted his personal hell. The Torchbearer reached out, fingers brushing Clancy’s hands as he tried to stop him from hurting himself. Clancy recoiled sharply, staring at him.

“They broke me in there. They broke me.” Clancy seethed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “And you did nothing .”

With a fierce determination, Clancy took a shaky breath and marched towards the Torchbearer, his chest heaving with emotion. Jabbing an accusing finger into the Torchbearer's chest, he could feel the anger pulsating through his veins.

“A-and now, you want me to play along in your plan? Use me as a weapon?” Clancy's voice cracked with intensity, his desperation and fury evident in every word.

“I am not just a tool for you to manipulate! I’m a person too!” His voice rising to a crescendo, Clancy's fist clenched in defiance as he struck the Torchbearer's chest, each blow weaker than the last. But the Torchbearer remained impassive, his cold demeanour only stoking the fire of Clancy's rage.

Clancy's sobs echoed through the room, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he cried out, "I have feelings! I have wants and needs! I am alive!" His entire being seemed to crumble as his knees buckled beneath him, forcing him to collapse to the ground in a heap of despair.

As he sat there in the darkness, tears of anger and betrayal streamed down Clancy's cheeks, his gaze locked on the figure of the Torchbearer before him.

“I thought we had something.”

“Clancy-”

“Shut up!” Clancy's anger flared, cutting him off with a sharp command. With trembling limbs, he pushed himself to his feet, his body still shaking.

“Forget making a ‘statement’ against the Bishops.” Clancy spat, his voice laced with bitterness as he turned away from the Torchbearer, the sense of betrayal burning within him like a wildfire.

“Clancy-!” The Torchbearer started towards him. This time, Clancy stood his ground, trembling with fury as he glared at the Torchbearer through teary eyes.

“You’re no better than them.”

The Torchbearer came to an abrupt halt, his eyes widening in shock at Clancy's words. The hurt that flashed across his face quickly morphed into a fierce rage that seemed to emanate from every pore. “Get out.”

Clancy stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest as his cloak enveloped him in an ominous darkness. Not a single word escaped his lips as he met the Torchbearer's furious gaze.

“Get the fuck out of this tent.” The Torchbearer growled, his posture straightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at Clancy. “I don’t need you or your help to overthrow the Bishops. Now get. Out.” His authoritative tone reverberated through the tent, his towering presence casting a shadow over Clancy.

Clancy's narrowed eyes locked onto the Torchbearer before silently exiting the tent. Stepping out into the cool night air, he could feel the eyes of the Banditos scattered around the camp watching him with concern. Clenching his jaw in frustration, Clancy turned on his heel and stormed out of the camp.

That night, Clancy sought refuge in a nearby cave, the cold darkness enveloping him as he contemplated his next move. The idea of returning to the shoreline and sailing back to Voldsøy alone tugged at his thoughts, but the fear of facing isolation once more gripped his heart tighter than the imagined wrath of the Torchbearer. Resigned to his fate, he decided to stay close by, despite the pain of being near the warm and welcoming community.

Sitting on a bed of soft moss, Clancy wrapped his cloak tightly around himself for warmth as he kindled a small fire. The relentless wind howled outside, its icy fingers slicing through him like a knife.

Seeking solace in his memories, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the pocketknife that had been the first gift from the Torchbearer when they had washed up on Voldsøy. Turning the blade in his hand, he watched as it shimmered in the firelight.

Suddenly, the heavy thump of footsteps reverberated through the cave, causing Clancy's heart to race. Gripping the knife tightly, he sprang to his feet, his eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of danger. But, when his eyes met the mocha-brown gaze of the Torchbearer, his resolve faltered. Despite his instincts telling him to stay on guard, he reluctantly lowered the knife, keeping a wary distance between them as he settled back onto the cold, damp moss.

“If you want an apology, you can fuck off.” His voice laced with defiance, Clancy spoke, his words sharp and cutting. The flickering flames of the fire cast eerie shadows across his face as he challenged the Torchbearer. But as the man approached and took a seat beside the fire, his demeanour had shifted drastically.

“Actually, I came to apologise to you.” Clancy's surprise was evident as he raised his head slightly, his guard still up but curiosity piqued. The tension in the cave began to dissipate as the Torchbearer's words hung in the air.

"I.. I apologise for not being completely honest with you sooner," The Torchbearer confessed, his voice tinged with regret, picking up a dead leaf from the ground and tossing it into the fire. “If you’ll let me, I can explain everything.”

Clancy was quiet, mulling over his choice. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a soft affirmative noise, his fingers tracing the sharp edge of the knife. The Torchbearer acknowledged the gesture with a nod, shifting his position and beginning to speak.

“I have.. A gift. A power, if you want to call it that.” He began in a hushed tone. “I call it my ability to guide.” The Torchbearer raised his hand, making a vague gesture as he spoke.

“It allows me to appear to others and help them when they need it. I’m not really there, but I.. am there.” He explained with a furrowed brow, realising the complexity of his explanation. However, Clancy nodded in understanding.

“But you kept disappearing. You left me.” He couldn’t hide the betrayal and hurt in his voice.

“I can’t keep it up constantly.” The Torchbearer was apologetic, resting his hands in his lap. “But I had to make sure you were okay. That you were alive.”

“When I was gone, I was back in this camp, planning with the other Banditos and working on a way to get you out.” The Torchbearer recounted, his voice heavy with emotion. "But before we could act, Keons had already taken matters into his own hands. He made a deal for your freedom, at the cost of his own life." Clancy's heart clenched at the painful memory, spontaneous tears threatening to spill.

"So, when you miraculously washed ashore on Voldsøy, I knew I had to take charge and ensure your safety," The Torchbearer continued, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames as he recounted the harrowing events.

“We knew of the strange creatures that lived there and that they could fulfil your purpose, so I led you to them. And the island is safe; I knew the Bishops would never try to find you there.”

Clancy looked up as the Torchbearer continued.

“I couldn’t let them find you. Not again. Not after they took you from our camp.” The Torchbearer's hands shook with emotion, his face etched with pain from the memories. Clancy reached out, offering his support as their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. The Torchbearer took a deep breath, finding solace in Clancy's presence.

“How.. how long has it been since I saw you? The real you?” Clancy’s voice was a mere whisper.

The Torchbearer's words were filled with regret as he looked deep into Clancy's eyes, his mocha-brown gaze shimmering with emotion. “Years. Since Nico took you.”

Clancy felt a lump form in his throat, choking him, the weight of his anguish bearing down on him. He felt as if he could sob.

"I.. I am truly sorry," The Torchbearer's voice wavered, his words heavy with remorse. "I wish I never lied to you, and I wish I got you out of that fucking prison before they could harm you."

Clancy's heart ached at the sincerity in his friend's words, the pain of their shared past washing over him. His breath caught in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to express his own regret.

"I'm sorry too," Clancy finally spoke, his voice cracking with emotion. "I said some horrible things to you back there. I just.. I hate being alone. I can't.."

Tears welled in Clancy's eyes as he bared his soul, his vulnerability laid bare before the Torchbearer. The weight of their shared pain hung heavy in the air, the unspoken words of forgiveness lingering between them.

“I understand now. I understand why you did what you did. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

The two held hands, fingers intertwined around each other as if the other would disappear if they let go.

“I’m with you. Every step of the way.” Clancy smiled, tears welling in his eyes again. The Torchbearer was tearing up too, for the first time Clancy had ever seen.

“There’s nobody I’d rather go to war with by my side.” He grinned. Clancy loved that big, stupid grin. His presence, so familiar and comforting, brought a sense of calm.

Moving closer, the two shared a tender embrace that spoke volumes about their bond. It was a moment of solace amidst the chaos of war, a moment where forgiveness and understanding flowed freely between them.

Right now, they were together, and no one could change that.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, the transition into the new routine and adapting to life at the Bandito camp proved to be more challenging than Clancy had anticipated. As he woke up in the dimly lit cave, his groggy mind struggled to grasp the reality of his surroundings. The sound of muffled sobs and frantic scratching against the rocky walls jolted the Torchbearer awake.

With bleary eyes, Clancy saw the Torchbearer, extending a comforting hand towards him. However, instead of finding solace in the gesture, Clancy recoiled in fear, his back pressed against the farthest wall. He gasped for breath, his entire body trembling with fear and uncertainty.

"Hey, hey," the Torchbearer's voice was gentle, but Clancy's mind spiralled with confusion and disorientation.

"I-I don't... this isn't..." Clancy stammered, struggling to articulate his overwhelming emotions as he grappled with the unfamiliarity of his new reality.

"You're not on Voldsøy anymore, remember?" The Torchbearer's voice, still husky with sleep, carried a sense of comfort and reassurance. It was like a gentle caress, easing Clancy's troubled mind. "We got you. We brought you home."

Clancy's eyes blinked rapidly, swallowing thickly. But as the reality of his current surroundings sunk in, his shoulders slumped and he dropped to his knees, his head buried in his trembling hands.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice choked with emotion. "I've been there for s-so long, I must have gotten used t-to it."

The Torchbearer moved closer, wrapping Clancy in a warm embrace that felt like a shield against the darkness that still clung to him. Clancy hated feeling small and weak, but the Torchbearer had a way of making him feel as if he was strong and resilient, even at his lowest.

The pair watched as the first light of the day painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the rugged landscape outside the cave. Gone was the relentless roar of the ocean that had haunted Clancy for so long, replaced now by the gentle rustling of the wind and the sweet symphony of birds in the distance.

The Torchbearer remained beside him, a silent guardian in the early morning light. Clancy would have been lying if he half-expected the man to vanish before his eyes, but, when the the Torchbearer reached out to adjust Clancy's unruly curls, a small gesture of care and intimacy, Clancy felt a wave of reassurance wash over him. Clancy knew that this time, he was real.

“Do you remember what happened while you were.. guiding me?” Clancy asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper. The Torchbearer's hand hesitated in his hair for a brief moment before resuming its soothing motion of fixing his curls.

“Mostly, yes.” He replied with a soft hum. "When I could, I gave you my undivided attention. Other times, I had to balance my duties here, but I always made sure to be there for you in some capacity."

His expression twisted slightly as he tried to find the right words.

"Think of it like this; when you're engrossed in something like composing music or crafting a new weapon, you're completely focused on the task at hand. However, you're still aware of the sensations around you - the feel of the grass beneath you, the touch of the breeze on your skin, and the sounds of people nearby."

Clancy nodded slowly, leaning back into his touch. 

“I get it. So you could focus on Bandito stuff while coexisting on Voldsøy?”

As the Torchbearer tugged Clancy's beanie back on his head and covered his eyes playfully, Clancy couldn't help but chuckle, a lightness in his throat as he lifted the beanie back up.

“And.. the times you weren’t there?” Clancy's voice took on a sombre tone, his concern evident in his expression.

The Torchbearer's reply was heavy with the weight of responsibility.

"Missions," he said simply, his tired eyes betraying the toll of his work. “I’m sure you noticed, we have new recruits. But.. we have also lost people.” His expression flickered into one of sorrow and grief. Clancy reached out and took the Torchbearer's hand, squeezing it tightly in a silent show of support. There was no need for words to convey the depth of their shared sorrow and the understanding that lay between them. They both knew all too well the sacrifices that came with their chosen path.

“It must be hard being the leader of so many people.” Clancy murmured, his head finding solace on the Torchbearer's sturdy shoulder. The sky was awash with hues of deep orange as the sun ascended over the rolling hills.

“I suppose you’re right.” The man replied, tilting his head slightly to rest upon Clancy’s. “Making tough choices, ensuring the well-being of all, and being willing to lay down your life for the community. It takes a certain kind of resilience."

His eyes softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he continued.

"Yet the rewards are immeasurable: a close-knit community, trust among peers, and a sense of security." His words trailed off, and he turned his gaze to meet Clancy's, a spark of recognition flickering between them.

"And meeting someone like you," he added softly.

Their connection was palpable, an unspoken bond that enveloped them in a cocoon of mutual trust and admiration.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of animated conversation, the first time in years that Clancy had felt any semblance of relaxation. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he was back in Trench, or if it was due to the Torchbearer finally being real.

Clancy was taken aback by the realisation of how much warmth had been absent from his touch on Voldsøy and how his voice had seemed to lack resonance. Being in the presence of the real Torchbearer, he felt a sense of completeness and fulfilment that had been missing for so long.

As the sun reached its zenith, casting a warm glow over the land, Clancy and the Torchbearer emerged from the shelter of the small cave. They stretched their limbs, taking in deep breaths of the crisp, fresh air that surrounded them. Clancy's gaze drifted towards the Bandito camp, where wisps of smoke rose lazily from the bonfires, signalling the activity within.

The rumble of Clancy's empty stomach broke the silence, prompting a chuckle from the Torchbearer. With a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Hungry?"

Clancy nodded eagerly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he adjusted his cloak and absently traced the delicate antlers that adorned his belt. The Torchbearer simply shook his head with a smile before gesturing towards the camp.

“Come, let’s fix that.”

The two walked back towards the Bandito camp, the dusty trail crunching beneath their boots. No words needed to be spoken - their silence was a comfortable one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clancy spotted a flurry of dark feathers, turning to face the vulture that perched atop a nearby rock. Memories of his first encounter with Clifford flooded his mind, but this time, he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

With a smile, Clancy reached into his pocket and retrieved a piece of dried meat, offering it to the scavenging bird. Clifford let out a throaty caw of appreciation, hopping down to snatch up the treat. The anxiety that had been coiled in Clancy's stomach started to unravel, replaced by a sense of peace and connection with the world around him.

Entering the Bandito camp was like stepping into a sensory oasis for Clancy. The air was thick with the rich aroma of firewood crackling and the tantalising scent of meat cooking over open flames. A gentle breeze carried the earthy fragrance of the surrounding flora, mingling harmoniously with the comforting smells of the camp.

As he inhaled deeply, the tension in Clancy's muscles dissolved, replaced by a sense of calm and belonging. The sounds of bustling activity filled his ears - the crackling of bonfires, the chatter of voices, and the infectious laughter of those gathered around them. Each noise was a piece of a lively symphony that enveloped him in warmth and camaraderie.

Beneath his feet, the ground was soft and yielding, caressing his boots with lush strands of grass. The sensation was grounding, connecting him to the earth and anchoring his presence in the bustling camp. Following the Torchbearer through the maze of tents, Clancy ran his fingers over the plush animal furs that adorned them, their warmth and softness adding to the cosy atmosphere of the Bandito enclave.

Clancy stumbled forward, nearly colliding with the Torchbearer's broad back. His senses were so overwhelmed by the sight and smells of the camp that he hadn't realised the other man had stopped moving. The Torchbearer turned with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he gestured towards a rickety wooden stool by a crackling bonfire.

On the stool sat a simple meal of meat and cooked greens, beckoning to Clancy to sit and eat. Without hesitation, Clancy sank into the seat and eagerly dug into the food, savouring every bite.

As he ate, Clancy felt a wave of relief wash over him. It had been months since he had felt truly safe, but now, surrounded by warmth and companionship, he finally felt at ease. His body relaxed, his hunger satisfied, and he took comfort in the presence of his newfound companions.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Clancy knew that he was home.

He would be lying if he was entirely comfortable, however. As much as Clancy had yearned for the company of others, he found it very overwhelming. He struggled to keep up with their conversations, often missing cues to speak and stumbling over his words as the expectant gazes of the group bore down on him around the crackling bonfire.

Clancy's hands, gripped tightly in his lap, twitched and writhed with nerves as he sat by the crackling bonfire, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames of amber. Though, the Torchbearer's warm hand resting on his back provided a soothing anchor amidst the chaotic energy of the Banditos gathered around him. The Torchbearer's steady voice filled the air, offering words of wisdom and guidance to the group, and Clancy found solace in the quiet gesture of support.

As the sun made its journey across the sky, casting golden beams of light over the camp, Clancy remained by the Torchbearer's side, a silent shadow in the bustling scene. Despite the Torchbearer's insistence that he rest, Clancy hesitated to stray far, haunted by his fear of solitude. He trailed after the Torchbearer like a timid ghost, gradually regaining his sense of self-worth and purpose.

Slowly but surely, Clancy began to engage with the Banditos around him, finding comfort in the familiar faces of those who had once aided in his escape from captivity. The warm smiles and welcoming waves of his fellow rebels served as a reminder of the bond they shared, a symbol of the unity and strength that had brought them together in the face of adversity.

"Hey, Clancy!" He barely had the chance to turn to where he was being called from, when a small figure crashed against his legs. Looking down, Clancy felt a genuine grin stretch across his face as he saw the familiar features of Chantelle. Her eyes were bright and filled with excitement as she looked up at him, her smile radiating pure joy.

Clancy dropped to one knee, his heart swelling with affection as he hugged the child close, feeling the warmth of her embrace. He smoothed a tangle in her hair, marvelling at how much she had grown since he last saw her. Chantelle, now older, around 9 or 10, still possessed the same infectious happiness that had captivated him all those years ago.

Despite the pang of sadness he felt at seeing how much time had passed, Clancy was overwhelmed with relief that Chantelle had managed to escape the clutches of Dema.

Looking up at the voice that had spoken moments before, Clancy's heart swelled with overwhelming joy as tears welled in his eyes. His old friends - Mo, Azrael, and Thorne - were approaching him, their quickening pace turning into a run as they enveloped Clancy in warm embraces. Burying his face into Mo's shoulder, Clancy was overcome with elation that manifested as a bubbling sensation in his stomach.

“You made it out!” Clancy exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin that had not crossed his face in years.

Mo's hair was streaked with strands of grey, her eyes filled with happiness and her smile lines bearing traces of exhaustion. Thorne's hair had grown longer, but the determination in their eyes mirrored Clancy's memories of them. Azrael still wore the rosary of Vialism around their neck, now personalised with stickers and yellow tape that made it uniquely theirs.

Clancy rose to his feet, a sense of purpose and pride swelling within him as he surveyed the group of rebels he had gathered. As he gazed at their faces, he saw a transformation had taken place - no longer were they the downtrodden, scared souls he had met long ago. Instead, they stood before him as strong, resolute individuals, ready to fight for their cause.

His eyes swept across the camp, searching for the familiar faces of the other comrades who had once joined him in the rebellion. A pang of concern crept into his chest as he noticed their absence, and his smile faltered.

“Ave, Sloane, the others.. Where are they? Are they out on a hunt, or..” His voice trailed off as their expressions grew solemn. Clancy’s stomach twisted. He already knew the answer.

“They.. they didn’t make it.” Mo spoke first, her voice filled with sorrow as she placed a gentle, motherly hand on Clancy's shoulder.

“Sloane almost made it out shortly after we did, but her Bishop recaptured her before morning.” Thorne's voice was filled with sadness as they rubbed at their arm.

“We haven’t seen Ave since you got out.” Azrael spoke next, their tone tinged with worry, holding a hand out to Chantelle who walked to them and clutched their palm. “Last we heard, they.. Got taken to the Re-Education Facility.”

Clancy felt his heart drop like a stone in his chest. If Ave was in there, there was no way they were escaping so easily.

“Do.. do you know if they’re a.. A Glor-”

“No.” Azrael's voice erupted with sudden intensity, cutting Clancy off with a sharpness that seemed to sear through the air. Their eyes blazed with fire as they spoke. “They’re not. They’re too strong for that.” Beneath their firm tone, there lingered a faint trace of fear, leaving Clancy uncertain whether they were trying to reassure him or themselves. Clancy nodded slowly, enveloping the group in a comforting hug once more.

“I’m glad at least some of us made it out. Let’s work on freeing the rest.”

That night, the weight of guilt and anger seemed to burrow deep into Clancy's very bones, causing a restless unease. Perched on his sleeping bag within the confines of the tent he shared with the Torchbearer, he couldn't shake the memories that haunted him.

As he observed the Torchbearer, bent over his desk in deep concentration, Clancy couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse for his past actions. Ave and Sloane's anguished expression from their capture in Dema years ago lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over his thoughts.

Breaking the heavy silence, Clancy finally spoke up, his voice laced with uncertainty. "What's our next move?" The Torchbearer, startled from his reverie, turned to face him, his weathered features illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp on the desk.

“Workin’ on it.” He replied, his focus returning to the paper in front of him. Clancy furrowed his brows, a sense of impatience creeping in as he watched The Torchbearer.

“How soon will it be?” Clancy prodded, shifting onto his knees and edging closer to The Torchbearer.

“Working on it.” The Torchbearer repeated, his expression becoming more serious as he continued to write. Clancy let out a frustrated sigh, reaching for the antlers dangling from his belt and feeling their weight in his hands.

“We don’t need you to seize anyone right now.” The Torchbearer spoke without looking up. Clancy wondered if he secretly had eyes in the back of his head.

"I spoke to Mo, Azrael, and Thorne," Clancy murmured quietly. The Torchbearer finally looked up, his gaze meeting Clancy's as he turned to face him.

"That's good. They mentioned you when we retrieved them from the walls. You used to teach them," the Torchbearer said, a brief smile tugging at his lips before his focus returned to the papers in front of him. "It's where we got the idea of sparking the rebellion from inside the walls."

"I didn't get them out the first time," Clancy confessed, his voice tinged with a shudder as memories of screams haunted his thoughts. He flinched at the echo in his mind. "I couldn't save them."

Suddenly, the Torchbearer knelt before Clancy, his hands resting gently on his shoulders.

"But you did," he said sincerely, his eyes locking with Clancy's.

"But I didn't," Clancy protested, his voice filled with doubt and guilt.

“You gave them the courage to escape on their own. Your words stuck with them for years, and you eventually inspired them to leave Dema. That’s all you can do.” The Torchbearer's words echoed through Clancy's mind, seeping into every fibre of his being. They ignited a fire within him, a fire that fueled his determination to make a difference.

However, Clancy couldn't shake the weight of responsibility that settled on his shoulders. He had been the catalyst for their daring escape, the beacon of light in their darkest hour. But it wasn't enough. The thought of leaving behind those still trapped in the clutches of Dema gnawed at his conscience like a relentless beast.

“It’s not enough. We need to get them all out.” His eyes brimmed with emotion as he gazed up at the Torchbearer, urgently pleading for understanding. “No one should have to go through what I went through. No one.” His fingers clenched tightly around the antlers in his lap, the pressure leaving faint imprints on his trembling skin.

“It’s not that easy-”

“We have to find a way inside. A way they’ll never expect.” Clancy cut the Torchbearer off, tone heavy with responsibility. The Torchbearer sighed, sitting back and resting his hands on his knees.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. I refuse to sacrifice anyone. Especially you.” He emphasised. Clancy chewed on his bottom lip, thumbs rubbing at the intricate details of the antlers. He didn’t say it aloud, but he knew that freeing everyone would be impossible without casualties. Clancy just needed to ensure he was the only one.

“Don’t.” The Torchbearer’s voice was firm, cutting through Clancy’s swirling thoughts like a knife.

“What?” Clancy asked, the furrow in his brow deepening as he studied the Torchbearer’s unwavering gaze.

“I know that look on your face,” the Torchbearer said, his tone tinged with concern. “The one that tells me you’re about to do something reckless.”

Clancy couldn’t help but chuckle at the accusation, his eyebrow arching in amusement. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” he teased.

The Torchbearer’s expression remained stern, his eyes boring into Clancy’s. “I know you too well,” he insisted. “I’ve seen the way you fidget, the way you chew on your lip until it bleeds. And then you’ll moan about it for days on end.”

Rolling his eyes, the Torchbearer reached out and placed his hands firmly on Clancy’s, the weight of his touch grounding. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t. There are far more people counting on you than you realise. Sacrificing yourself won’t solve anything.”

Clancy hesitated, his grip on the antlers tightening as he struggled to find the words. “But it might,” he whispered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “The Bishops are after me, and I... I have this new power. It makes me stronger. It could be the key to-”

“No!” The Torchbearer's voice rumbled with a deep growl, his words laced with underlying worry and a fierce determination. “I won’t let you do anything stupid. In fact, as your leader, I command you to not do anything stupid.”

Clancy gazed up at him, a mixture of astonishment and amusement evident on his face as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “My leader? You don’t lead me.”

"In this camp, I do," the Torchbearer asserted, his stern facade momentarily softening as his true concern for Clancy shone through. “Please.”

Clancy hesitated before finally relenting with a resigned sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fine. For now.”

“Thank you.”

The night drifted by in serene tranquillity, the darkness giving way to the soft melodies of chirping birds as dawn approached. Clancy stirred from a deep slumber, his mind devoid of dreams, to the sound of the Torchbearer's gentle snoring beside him. A ray of sunlight peeked through the tent, illuminating the scene of his companion sleeping soundly in his cosy sleeping bag, a hand lazily draped across his face.

With a sense of peace lingering in the air, Clancy propped himself up on his elbow, his chin resting on his palm as he observed the steady rhythm of the Torchbearer's chest. Eventually, the urge to move overcame him, prompting him to rise from his own sleeping bag.

Leaving behind a hastily scrawled note on the Torchbearer's makeshift desk, Clancy stepped out into the refreshing morning air, the cool breeze caressing his skin as he stretched his weary limbs.

As Clancy strolled through the Bandito camp, a sense of familiarity washed over him. The air was filled with the scent of smoke from the campfire, mingling with the earthy aroma of pine trees.

His eyes roamed across the clearing, taking in the rugged tents and makeshift structures that made up the camp. Across the clearing, his gaze settled on a solitary wooden ukulele, propped up against a weathered tree stump. The instrument had drawn his attention the evening prior, and its owner had kindly allowed Clancy to use it when he wished. His music had been the driving force that provided many Banditos with the courage to escape, after all.

Clancy reached out and grasped the ukulele by its handle, feeling the weight of it in his hands. The smooth wood and taut strings brought a sense of comfort and familiarity, grounding him in the present moment. With a determined expression, he turned and made his way out of the camp, heading towards a secluded spot he had frequented during his previous stay.

Arriving at the rugged cliffside, Clancy found a peaceful spot to sit on a sturdy rock. The morning sun slowly ascended, painting the ocean below in a warm glow of orange and yellow hues. A gentle breeze tousled his cape, sending a slight chill through his body and turning his cheeks a rosy shade.

As he gazed down at the instrument cradled in his hands, a surge of creativity washed over Clancy. Despite penning countless songs during his time on Voldsøy, he had never been able to bring them to life without an instrument, relying on quiet hums and midnight serenades instead.

Being alone made him afraid, but music filled the void inside him and hushed his fears.

Positioning the ukulele carefully across his knees and adjusting his fingers on the delicate strings, Clancy began to strum, the melody resonating with the tranquil surroundings for the first time in years.

A melodic strain, delicately plucked from the strings, wafted through the atmosphere, wrapping Clancy in its soothing embrace. His fingers moved with a fluid grace, guided by the familiar touch of muscle memory that allowed him to effortlessly resume playing the ukulele as if it was an extension of his very being. With his eyes closed, he surrendered to the enchanting melody, letting it transport him to a tranquil and idyllic realm within his mind.

Recalling the lyrics of a song etched into his memory during his time on Voldsøy, Clancy began to softly hum the words. His voice bore the ruggedness of someone who had weathered many seasons alone, while his calloused fingers bore witness to countless hours spent in solitary practice. Yet, despite the wear and tear of time, his mind remained sharp, and his lungs effortlessly shaped the lyrics, as if time had stood still.

In that moment, as the music enveloped him in its gentle embrace, Clancy found himself enveloped in a sense of profound peace and contentment.

Footsteps approaching from behind snapped Clancy out of his creative trance, and he turned to see the Torchbearer. He watched in awe as Clancy's fingers danced effortlessly across the strings, producing a melody that seemed to come straight from the heart. The sound was both haunting and beautiful, weaving a tapestry of emotions that resonated deep within the Torchbearer's soul.

As the sun continued its ascent in the sky, casting a golden glow over the two men, the music seemed to take on a life of its own. It was as if the ukulele had become an extension of Clancy himself, a conduit through which he could express his deepest thoughts and emotions.

“I got your note.” He said with a warm smile, moving closer and settling in beside Clancy. As Clancy absentmindedly plucked at the ukulele's strings and hummed, the Torchbearer couldn't help but admire the chords that emanated from the instrument.

“Your music is lovely.” The Torchbearer spoke softly, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “Would you mind if I continued planning while I listen?”

Clancy chuckled and glanced over at the Torchbearer. "Are you asking me to keep playing?" There was a playful glint in his eyes as he continued to strum on the instrument.

The Torchbearer nodded. “I am.”

“Then, I shall.”

Chapter Text

Clancy's eyes shot open, awakened by the vibrant colours of the rising sun as they filtered through the frayed entrance of his tent, casting warm rays of light over his face. The radio on the table crackled with activity, its muffled voices breaking the peaceful morning silence. As he lay there, taking in the sights and sounds of the new day, Clancy felt a sense of anticipation growing within him.

Today was the day.

Sitting up slowly, Clancy felt the stiffness and ache permeate his muscles like an unwelcome guest. Groaning softly, his body protested the movement after what felt like an eternity of stillness. It seemed as though sleep had eluded him, replaced instead by a constant sense of anticipation that kept him restless and on edge.

Beside him, the Torchbearer lay, his movements jerky and uncertain as he fumbled with the fabric of his sleeping bag. His furrowed brows betrayed the intensity of his thoughts, as if he were wrestling with some unseen enemy. Clancy could recognise his behaviour all too well; fear gripped his companion just as tightly as it did himself.

It had been seven long days since Clancy's return to Trench, each one filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. As he settled back into the familiar surroundings, he could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

Every moment was spent adjusting to life in the company of others, plotting the Banditos’ next move, and preparing for the inevitable confrontation with the Bishops. The air crackled with a sense of purpose, each member of the rebel group ready to do whatever it took to overthrow their oppressors and free the citizens of Dema.

The plan was finally in place, a carefully crafted strategy that would bring an end to the Bishops' tyranny once and for all. The Banditos would create a distraction, drawing the attention away from Clancy as he slipped away, his mind focused solely on the task at hand. With his newfound powers at his disposal, Clancy was confident that he could take down the remaining Bishops and bring about the change that Trench so desperately needed.

When Clancy first proposed venturing into the city alone, the Torchbearer's immediate rejection was swift and fierce.

“No. You are not risking your life by doing something so utterly stupid.” He declared, his eyes ablaze with fiery intensity that soon gave way to a genuine fear of losing Clancy.

“Well, I'm not letting any of you go there in my place.” Clancy retorted, folding his arms over his chest. “I refuse to let any innocent lives be lost.”

The Torchbearer narrowed his eyes.

“ You are an innocent life.”

Clancy opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp look from the Bandito leader silenced him.

It was no secret that Clancy carried a heavy burden of guilt for his actions while under the influence of the Bishops. He had been complicit in spreading falsehoods, deceiving the people he cared about, and falling into a dangerous pattern of obedience.

The Torchbearer, however, made it his mission to reassure Clancy that he was not to blame for his actions. He reiterated that Clancy had been manipulated, mistreated, and put in impossible situations by the Bishops, and that his compliance was a means of self-preservation and survival.

Clancy didn’t believe him.

Eventually, the Torchbearer relented. Among the group, Clancy stood out as the sole individual with a deep connection to the Bishops and the exceptional powers bestowed upon him by Ned. He was the only one with the ability to confront and defeat the Bishops.

As the Banditos turned their attention towards him, Clancy felt a surge of unease wash over him. Their gazes were filled with a mix of sympathy and admiration, as if they were already mourning the loss of the man standing before them. Running his fingers over the antlers hanging from his belt, he lowered his eyes, suppressing the fear churning in the pit of his stomach.

As the final details of the plan fell into place, the Banditos sprung into action, their movements filled with purpose and intensity. They scurried around the camp, their footsteps creating a symphony of urgency as they gathered rations for the journey and selected tools for the upcoming diversion.

The torches, essential for lighting the way through the darkened paths ahead, were meticulously reinforced with alcohol-soaked cloth. The flickering flames now burned brighter and longer, casting an ominous glow on the determined faces of the rebels. The once faded yellow tape that adorned their clothing was replaced with new, vibrant decorations, signalling a renewed sense of unity and strength among the group.

Amidst the chaotic preparations, some rebels took to sharpening their pocketknives and spears with precision and care, which gave Clancy an idea.

Taking the pocketknife he had borrowed from the Torchbearer, Clancy found a comfortable spot just outside of the camp. The amber glow of the sun danced across his focused expression as he watched the fluffy white clouds lazily drift across the clear blue sky above. With a sense of purpose, Clancy carefully retrieved the sturdy antlers from his belt, their weight comforting in his hand.

Balancing the weight of the antlers in one hand, Clancy deftly wielded the knife in the other, carving with a skilled precision that spoke of his experience on the rugged island of Voldsøy. The sharp blade moved with ease, shaping the raw material into a refined and intricate design.

As the shavings fell to his lap, Clancy's focused gaze never wavered, his brow furrowed in concentration. With each careful incision, he ensured that the branches of the antlers were tapered to a fine point, while the bases remained ridged for optimal grip. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the antlers filled the air, a steady cadence that matched the beating of Clancy's determined heart.

As he carefully set down the knife, Clancy raised the antlers high, allowing the sunlight to dance off the sharp, curved edges. He marvelled at their dynamic design, feeling the comfortable grip in his hands. Testing their efficiency with a few experimental slashes and jabs, a small smile spread across Clancy's lips. With these formidable antlers as his weapon, he was ready for any physical and powerful combat that may come his way.

“Ahem.” A soft clearing of the throat startled Clancy as a familiar voice echoed from behind him. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he recognized the soothing tone of the Torchbearer.

“What do you think?” Turning around, Clancy eagerly presented the antlers he had been working on, seeking the Torchbearer's opinion. A grin spread across the Torchbearer's face as he nodded in approval.

“I taught you well.”

“I learned this myself!” Clancy’s hand flew to his chest in mock offence, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Sure.” With a roll of his eyes, the Torchbearer extended his hand towards Clancy, a silent invitation to join him. Clancy accepted without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet by the Torchbearer.

“We’ve got something for you. Come.”

Upon returning to the camp, his gaze was immediately drawn to a striking sight at its centre - a large wooden box that seemed to command attention. Intricate designs had been expertly carved into its weathered exterior, leaving Clancy to marvel at the craftsmanship. Yet, despite the beauty of the carvings, a sense of unease washed over him as he couldn't shake the feeling that the box resembled a coffin.

Driven by curiosity, Clancy approached the box and ran his fingers over the patterns, feeling the rough texture beneath his touch. The urge to explore further grew stronger and he found himself lifting the lid with a mixture of apprehension and fascination. As the contents were revealed, his eyes widened in surprise at what lay within - his black jacket with the distinctive red stripes of tape, and a stole embroidered with his own name.

This was the clothing he had worn while seizing the body in Dema, in order to speak to those on the inside.

Clancy hesitated before gingerly picking up the stole, running his fingers over the smooth fabric. It was strange; he had worn this before, yet his own hands had never touched it. With a deep breath, he shrugged off the heavy black cape that had become his constant companion during his stay on Voldsøy, and slipped into the sleek black jacket with ease.

As he wound the stole around his neck, feeling the softness against his skin, a sense of anticipation washed over him. Each end cascaded down his chest like a waterfall of midnight silk. Looking up, he met the piercing gaze of the Torchbearer.

“How.. did you get these?” Clancy asked. His hand absently rubbed his arm as he processed the realisation that the garments he wore had last adorned the lifeless form of a walking corpse.

“We have connections on the inside. They were able to retrieve the individual you seized and send the clothing to us.” Explained the Torchbearer, moving closer to Clancy and delicately brushing a stray cobweb from his shoulder.

“It would be best if you are recognisable to those in the city. Just in case.”

Clancy hummed softly, his head nodding in time with the slow rhythm of his thoughts. His fingers danced over the worn leather of his belt, finding the familiar texture of the black and red striped mask that completed his newly adopted rebel persona.

“When do we go?” He asked, his voice tinged with anticipation as he held the mask in his hand.

“Midday, when the sun is at its highest.” He replied, his voice calm and reassuring. “Or, when you are ready.”

Clancy's lips curved into a small smile as he returned his attention to the open box in front of him.

“Midday it is.” He agreed, his hand reaching inside and pulling out a map of Trench. His eyes roamed over the intricate details, tracing the circled location of the Bandito camp and plotting the best route to reach Dema quickly.

All was in perfect order as the Torchbearer stood tall on a barrel, commanding the attention of the Banditos gathered around him.

“Each of you will carry a torch. You will wear your brightest colours. When we arrive, we are to create a diversion to allow Clancy to enter the city unnoticed.” His authoritative voice boomed throughout the camp, demanding attention.

Clancy stood by his side, surveying the determined faces of the rebels before him. Mo and Chantelle stood together, their resolve evident as they clutched hands. Azrael's eyes gleamed with a mix of anger and purpose as they absorbed the Torchbearer's instructions. Thorne, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them, pushing an unlit torch into their hand.

The rest of the crowd erupted in cheers as the Torchbearer raised his own torch high into the sky, signalling the beginning of their mission.

The journey began smoothly, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air as the Banditos marched onwards. Chantelle, a fearless young girl with a torch held high, rode on Thorne's shoulders, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Despite Mo's reservations, she insisted on joining the group, her fierce determination matching that of her mother's. Azrael, their knuckles white from gripping their torch tightly, walked alongside a fellow rebel, their steps steady and purposeful.

Clancy stayed by the Torchbearer’s side, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings as they made their way towards the city of Dema. The tension between the two men was palpable, silent moments broken only by fleeting glances and unspoken concerns. Clancy could feel the weight of the Torchbearer's gaze on him, piercing him with apprehensive, worried eyes.

As Clancy and his comrades continued their arduous trek through the rugged terrain, a sense of unease began to settle over him like a heavy shroud. Something was wrong.

With a sudden jolt, a frigid sensation crept its way up Clancy's spine, causing his heart to race. He pivoted on his heel, his eyes scanning the faces of the Banditos trailing behind him. A quick count confirmed that everyone was accounted for, yet the nagging feeling of dread refused to dissipate.

Just as Clancy turned back around to face the path ahead, a shadowy feather tumbled gracefully from the heavens, landing at his feet. The once talkative group fell into a hushed stillness, a collective realisation settling over them like a heavy mist. Bending down with a sense of trepidation, Clancy plucked up the feather, a strange weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

A shared look with the Torchbearer revealed the same uneasy expression mirrored in each other's eyes. They both knew the truth - they were being watched.

Upon looking upwards, a chilling sight greeted him - a flock of vultures ominously circling above, their wings cutting through the mist like dark shadows. The scavengers seemed to materialise and vanish in the thick fog, their numbers impossible to tally. Their emaciated bodies twisted and turned in the air, their sharp beaks and piercing yellow eyes fixated on the rebel group below.

Feeling a shiver run down his spine, Clancy instinctively pulled his mask tighter over his face, his eyes locked in a defiant stare with the predatory creatures above. He knew the Bishops were watching them, and he wanted to send a message.

The Banditos were coming, and they weren’t going to give up.

As the group made their way up the rugged hill, their steps echoing against the rocks, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. Clancy and the Torchbearer came to a sudden halt at the crest, their eyes widening at the sight that lay before them. Below, nestled within the confines of towering concrete walls, lay the ominous city of Dema.

It had been years since Clancy had laid eyes upon the city, and the memories of his past flooded back to him in an instant. A shudder ran through his body,but he stood his ground, his resolve unwavering. Determination thrummed through his veins, and he cast a brief look at the Torchbearer.

The Bandito’s leader wore a stern, stoic expression, but his eyes held a fire of rage. He had seen the horrors that this place had inflicted upon those he cared about, and he was going to make them pay.

Clancy hesitated for a moment before finally mustering the courage to take the first step towards the towering city that loomed in the distance. The storm, a dark and ominous cloud that had been a constant presence in his life, now seemed to beckon him towards it with a menacing allure.

With each stride he took, Clancy could feel the weight of his past fears and doubts slowly beginning to lift off his shoulders. The storm that had haunted him for so long now seemed to lose its grip on him as he walked towards it, his determination bolstered with each advancing step.

The Torchbearer, a figure of hope and guidance, followed closely behind him, his flickering torch casting long shadows on the path ahead. The Banditos, their faces set with steely determination, marched behind the pair, their own torches illuminating the way forward.

Together, they faced the storm that had tormented them, ready to confront their fears and finally put an end to the suffering that had plagued them for so long.

Suddenly, a deafening crack echoed through the air, causing a handful of rebels to startle in surprise. Clancy swiftly turned his attention back to them to ensure they were unharmed, before his gaze returned to the view of the city sprawled out before him. From the towering structures, bolts of neon blue lightning surged out of the windows, snaking down the ancient stone walls and weaving their way through the city streets. Though the distance made it difficult to discern, the blinding brilliance of the light was unmistakable.

A sense of dread crept over Clancy as he observed the electricity leaping from one street to the next, tracing a menacing path towards the Necropolis of Neon Gravestones. With a sickening jolt, the lightning struck the ground near each tombstone, causing movement to stir beneath the dark earth.

The Torchbearer practically growled in anger, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of wrath and sorrow. The rest of the Banditos stood alongside him, their faces contorted in a mix of horror and fury. Many of them had known the individuals now rising from beneath the Neon Gravestones, had lost loved ones to the grasp of fulfilling their goals as a Glorious Gone. They had fought passionately against the vile practices of Vialism, and now their worst fears were coming to life before them.

Their former friends and family members clawed their way out of the earth, their bodies twisted and contorted, under the control of the sinister Bishops. The Banditos watched in disbelief as those they once knew and cared for emerged from the ground, now nothing more than weapons in the hands of their enemies.

As the group approached the city, they quickly realised that the horde of Glorious Gone were coming to meet them.

Each Glorious Gone stood tall, their decaying bodies illuminated by the eerie glow of neon poles clutched tightly in their rotting hands. The sickly grey hue of their skin was accentuated by the pulsating neon blue veins that snaked beneath the surface. Their dark, hollow eyes bore into the Banditos with a chilling lack of recognition, a stark contrast to the horrified gasps that echoed behind Clancy.

It dawned on him that these were once comrades, now reduced to mindless pawns in the hands of the ruthless Bishops.

With a steely determination, Clancy locked eyes with the Torchbearer, a fiery determination burning within him as he watched his ally charge towards the undead horde, brandishing a flaming torch in defiance.

The Banditos charged forward, their shouts filled with a mix of anger and determination as they faced off against the Glorious Gones. The once-familiar figures now appeared as mindless zombies, their faces twisted in grotesque expressions as they swung their neon blades with deadly precision. They were not the people they once knew.

The Glorious Gones advanced, gurgling screams of fury and swinging their glowing, neon blades at the rebels. The clash of flames and neon illuminated the chaotic scene, creating a mesmerising display of blue sparks in the air. The sickening stench of burning, rotten flesh filled the air as the rebels and zombies collided in a brutal battle.

Clancy gritted his teeth as he watched his comrades struggle against the ruthless attackers. Despite the agony of their wounds, the rebels fought on, their cries of pain echoing in his ears as they tried to push back the relentless onslaught.

But, Clancy knew he had to stay focused on the mission. He had to endure the chaos and destruction unfolding around him, no matter how much it hurt to watch. With a deep breath, he steeled himself for what lay ahead

With a quick scan of his surroundings, Clancy swiftly located the entrance to the tunnels he had escaped from years ago. The vibrant burst of yellow flowers served as a beacon, inviting him to step inside the rocky opening. As he entered, the musty, damp scent of the tunnel system enveloped him, stirring up memories of his past.

Taking a deep breath, Clancy began to walk before picking up the pace into a sprint. Time was of the essence; he needed to reach the Towers of Silence before the Bishops realised he had slipped away. The sound of his echoing footsteps reverberated through the tunnels as his stole billowed out behind him.

With his antlers secured at his hip, Clancy's narrowed eyes navigated the familiar twists and turns of the tunnels. Each step brought him closer to his destination, the urgency of his mission driving him forward.

After what seemed like an eternity of navigating the dark and damp tunnels, Clancy finally reached the ladder he had ascended countless times in the past. With a burst of adrenaline, he hoisted himself up, his muscles straining as he made his way to the top. Pushing the heavy manhole cover aside, he emerged from the underground maze and into the familiar alleyway where his journey had begun.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he examined the streetlamps. Sure enough, while three were lit, the fourth was still dimly flickering, even after all this time. Determined to keep moving forward, Clancy wasted no time and set off at a brisk pace, his feet pounding against the cobblestone streets as he made his way towards the heart of the city.

The towering structures of the Towers of Silence loomed ominously in the distance, their imposing presence casting a shadow over Clancy as he sprinted through the familiar streets he knew so well.

As Clancy reached the base of the towering structure, his sharp eyes quickly scanned the area, taking in every detail. The once formidable sight of the locked entrances would have deterred him in the past, but now it only fueled his determination. With a firm grip on the rough, weathered exterior, Clancy began his ascent.

Every muscle in his body strained as he hauled himself up the sheer wall with surprising strength. His heart pounded in his chest as he climbed higher and higher, the chaos of the Banditos below fading into the distance. Despite the height and the growing distance between him and the ground, Clancy felt no fear.

Even when a slip of his foot threatened to send him plummeting, he refused to let panic take hold. His hands, once trembling with uncertainty, now moved with precision and purpose as he hoisted himself up to the window ledge. With a final push, he swung his leg over and pulled himself into the tower, overcoming his fears with each determined movement.

Clancy struggled to stand upright, his chest heaving as he finally reached his feet after the gruelling climb. Gasping for air, he raised one hand to his face and yanked off the mask, tossing it aside. With a swift motion, he pulled back his jacket, revealing the antlers he had been carrying on his belt. Gripping them tightly, he brandished them in front of him, ready to defend himself.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on his adversaries – seven Bishops positioned in a mysterious circle around the window. Their gazes bore into him, filled with seething anger that mirrored his own. Clancy met their fury head-on, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip on the antlers.

Sacarver was the first to make a move, his body launching forward with astonishing speed towards Clancy. In response, Clancy raised the antlers high and brought them down with a swift motion, releasing a surge of potent energy towards the Bishop. The atmosphere quivered and twisted around Sacarver, his eyes rolling back as his body collapsed to the ground.

Clancy was uncertain if he had merely subdued him temporarily or taken his life altogether, but in that moment, it did not matter to him.

Vetomo and Listo followed suit, meeting a similar fate as they were struck by another sweeping motion of the antlers. The air swirled and churned around them, causing both to crumple to the ground in a heap.

The other Bishops moved swiftly, their steps echoing like a solemn march as they approached Clancy. He stood unmoved, his gaze cold and detached as he watched each of them - Lisden, Reisdro, Andre, and Nills - crumple to the ground in a tangle of crimson robes. The once angry expressions on their faces faded into a hollow emptiness, their lifeless eyes reflecting the dim light. As they fell, the red fabric draped around their bodies like a macabre shroud, emphasising the finality of their demise.

The energy that had coursed through his veins now seemed to drain away, leaving him feeling weak and hollow. It was as if the very essence of his being was being syphoned off to power the antlers. 

The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the room in a foreboding darkness that seemed to amplify the tension in the air.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he stood tall, the antlers in his hands pulsing with an otherworldly energy. His muscles tensed as he called out into the void, the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls and enveloping the room in a deafening echo.

“Show yourself!” He bellowed, his voice laced with determination and defiance. He knew that the battle was far from over, that he wouldn't rest until Nico was defeated.

Clancy took a hesitant step forward, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight, before the heavy door to the dimly lit room swung open with a menacing force. The loud bang as it slammed against the cold, stony wall startled Clancy, causing him to flinch.

In an instant, Nico seemed to materialise out of the shadows, moving towards Clancy with an unnerving speed that was almost inhuman. The red robes that billowed around Nico's tall, imposing figure resembled flickering flames, trailing behind him like wisps of smoke as he closed the distance between them.

Clancy barely had time to react before Nico was upon him, his hands closing tightly around Clancy's throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The intensity of Nico's bright, piercing gaze made Clancy feel as though he was being burned from the inside out, a primal fear gripping him in its clutches.

The strength in Nico's grip was crushing, the pressure on Clancy's windpipe threatening to cut off his air supply at any moment. The power of Nico's presence seemed to seep into Clancy's very being, his memories and thoughts beginning to blur and distort under the influence of the Bishop's unsettling smear.

As Clancy struggled against the overwhelming force of Nico's hold, a wave of panic washed over him, the feeling of being trapped and powerless engulfing him in a suffocating grip.

Nico's deep voice reverberated through the chamber, sending shivers down Clancy's spine. The powerful timbre seemed to fill the room, drowning out any other sounds. Clancy felt his entire body tremble uncontrollably in response.

"So few," Nico's voice boomed, the words echoing off the walls. His intense gaze never wavered from Clancy, making him feel like he was being scrutinised to his very core. Clancy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the overwhelming presence of the Bishop. Struggling against the effects of Nico's power, Clancy felt a desperate need for air as his lungs burned. His legs twitched as he hung suspended in the air, feeling completely helpless.

"So proud," Nico spoke again, each word seeming to increase his strength. Clancy could feel the overwhelming power of Nico's words washing over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. Unconsciously, his hands let go of the antlers, the sound of them clattering to the stone floor reverberating through the chamber.

"So.. emotional." Nico hummed, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and satisfaction as he tightened his grip around Clancy's throat. Clancy's face contorted in agony, his breaths coming out ragged as he struggled against the Bishop's hold.

"Hello, Clancy." The sound of his own name snapped Clancy back to reality. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his skin as he desperately tried to resist Nico's control. With every fibre of his being, he fought to remember his allies, the Banditos, the rebels who had shown him kindness in the darkness of Dema. He recalled the chilling waters of Trench, the warmth of the Neds on Voldsøy, and, finally, he focused on the memory of the Torchbearer.

In his mind's eye, Clancy saw those mocha-brown eyes that had seen him through his darkest moments, the rhythmic tap of the Torchbearer's foot as he worked tirelessly for their cause. He remembered the way his voice could shift from commanding to gentle in an instant, and the warmth of his smile that never failed to bring comfort.

Clancy opened his eyes, and glared back at Nico.