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Citizens of Dema do not dream.
Clancy does. Not every night, but often enough.
Sometimes they’re strange, hard to understand. Flashes of green and yellow, the warmth of the sun, the softness of fabric against his palms. Other times, they’re more structured, a scene playing out before his eyes. And whether he can see him or not, Clancy knows someone is with him every time. He’s never left Clancy.
He always awakes with a deep sense of longing and a tightness in his chest.
It’s strange how real these dreams feel. Like more than a product of an overactive imagination.
He’s seen himself escape the city and make it into Trench many times. He’s watched himself be found by the Banditos, find a home in the wilderness, and have it ripped away every time. He wonders if there was ever a time where it didn’t end the same.
His dreams don’t feel like dreams, they feel like memories. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and expects to see a scar across the bride of his nose. Sometimes he opens the drawer of his gray desk in his gray apartment and reaches for a yellow flower that isn’t there. Sometimes he looks out the window and hopes to see a flash of torchlight out of the corner of his eye.
One night, he dreams of the stars. It’s night time. The grass beneath him is cool and damp, the stars above him are bright and beautiful. A soft voice comes from beside him, describing the beginnings and ends of the stars and the vastness of the universe. His pinky finger is hooked around his. The press of their shoulders sends warmth all throughout his body. He smiles and leans further into him. Dema feels far away out here. His troubles feel small right up against the endless reach of the universe.
He says something about a supernova, about the end of the star’s life where it gives all it has and leaves behind something beautiful. It resonates with him. He goes on, his voice smooth like the surface of a lake, softer than the moss that lines the stones. Selfishly, Clancy hopes the night never ends.
That morning, he wakes up determined. A yellow flower rests on his desk, bright and alive against the cold, gray backdrop of his world. The petals are delicate and soft against the pads of his fingers. He strokes each petal with shaking hands. He can almost feel the warmth of his hands as he cradles the flower.
Clancy has never tried to escape before. He’s kept quiet, gone through the motions of life with his head down. Today he decides he wants that to change.
It takes time. He doesn’t try to escape right away. He hears of citizens who made it out of the walls and never returned to the city. He hears the alarms ring out when someone tries to leave, and he hears the steady beat of hooves as their bishop charges after them. Clancy feels afraid. Less so of Trench and what is outside the walls and rather more of what will happen to him when he isn’t successful. What awaits him when he’s dragged back.
Still, he dreams of escape, of warmer days and the rustle of leaves in the wind. His mind wanders as he goes through the motions of his days. He stares off into space long enough he thinks he might have seen a flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. At night he gazes out his window until he swears there’s a flicker of a flame out along the city’s walls.
The memories don’t stop but rather seem to increase in frequency, like the rush of a stream bursting through a dam. He knows they’re all real now, they have to be. Memories of every time he’s tried to get out and failed. Memories of him, trying just as hard over and over again to break him free.
I’ll find my way to you again, Clancy promises, both to himself and to him. I won’t give up.
The day comes. He will try. That yellow flower that gave him hope has long since wilted, its color bled dry, but he’s ready.
Clancy has never left the city walls himself, but a part of him has. He sneaks into the tunnels beneath the city like it’s second nature, and he supposes it is. Even in the total darkness he knows his way. He walks and walks and walks until he can hear the sound of rushing water. He goes further and the sound gets louder until he’s out. There’s still a ways to go, but the sun shines on his face for the first time this time around and he smiles.
His feet take him to the same place they always have, but this time he remembers. He wanders through the ravine, his eyes trained on the cliffs above him. Please, he can’t help but pray. You have to be out here. His heart leaps into his throat as he catches movement along the cliff’s edge. Please.
Figures in green, decorated with yellow tape, emerge. Clancy feels winded though both of his feet are firmly planted. He stands and watches, the cycles of this very same moment flashing before his eyes. The figures look different each time–all but one.
Him.
The Torchbearer.
He stands there, right above where Clancy is. A breathy laugh tumbles from his lips. You found me.
Clancy can’t make out his expression from up here, can’t see if he looks surprised or anything of the sort. But he wonders if the Torchbearer knows this time is different, if he can see how Clancy knows him this time, how Clancy has searched for him. His arm is raised, his torch held steadily. There’s something attached to the torch, something that almost looks like a piece of an antler he knows all too well. His heart aches.
He wants to open his mouth, shout something, call out to him, but the sound of hooves on the rocks beats him to it. Clancy turns. Nova is there, his red cloak billowing in the wind. He stares down at Clancy, his eyes dull and lifeless as he climbs down from his horse. Clancy looks away from his eyes, fighting a smile despite what’s coming next. His hands, long since blackened by the ashes of the glorious gone, reach for Clancy.
Clancy wonders if Nova knows this time is different too, if he knows the smearing has gotten to him less and he remembers so much more. His eyes give almost nothing away when he looks back, except the faintest glimmer of something he can’t quite place. Nova’s lips press together, washed-out pink against black.
A flurry of yellow stops his fingers from curling around Clancy’s throat. His lips part in a gasp. They both look up as flower petals rain down on them. Clancy laughs again, glancing at Nova and his shocked expression for a moment before he runs. He knows what will happen but he runs as fast as he can anyway. His boots kick up water from the stream, splashing on his pants and soaking through the fabric, but he hardly notices. He keeps running.
In the end, he trips once again. He always does. His lip gets caught and drags across a rock as he tumbles. The skin splits, blood pools on his tongue and drips down his chin. He doesn’t care, barely even registers the pain. Instead, he picks up a handful of petals and only realizes he’s split his palms as well when the yellow is spotted with red as he opens his hand.
Suddenly, Nova grabs his shoulder from behind and drags him back. Clancy digs his heels into the ground, making tracks in the gravel as Nova tugs him along. His fist closes over the petals, pressing it to his chest. He gazes up at the Torchbearer, still standing strong at the edge of the cliff, and smiles through a mouthful of blood.
You found me.
He’s taken back to Dema, back to his shoebox apartment, but he doesn’t feel down. The Torchbearer knows he’s fighting once again. Clancy hopes again and again that he knows this time is different.
He scatters the remainder of the handful of petals across his desk when he returns. Most of them mark the way to his apartment, just in case. His busted lip has scabbed over and there’s a trail of dried blood on his chin he needs to clean up, but he takes the time to sit on the edge of his bed and stare at the petals. The dried up flower rests in the center. The bright yellow has turned to a crumbling yellow-brown with age, but it still feels like hope to Clancy.
⚞☀⚟
Clancy tries again and again, over and over. He starts to collect flowers, tries to snag one every time he makes it out just before he’s dragged back in again. The trail of yellow remains untouched, guiding the way right back to his cramped, gray room that feels more and more like a prison cell with each passing day.
The cut on his lip has turned to a scar, running diagonally across his lower lip and onto his chin. It may have healed a little nicer if he hadn’t poked and prodded at it so much that it reopened constantly, but he likes the reminder of his first escape. He feels the tug on his skin every time he speaks and thinks of the Torchbearer standing up on that cliff. He hopes he’ll see him again, close enough to touch.
Nova has taken to keeping somewhat of an eye on him, stopping short of transferring Clancy to his district. Clancy wonders if some part of him is not fully blind to the yellow and can see it for what it is, so he leaves Clancy alone in that way.
Either way, he remains in his apartment and watches the petals, somehow still just as bright, surrounding his other flowers. Some have crumbled away, others are merely dried and faded, but they all remind him of what he’s fighting for.
He dreams more and sometimes even gets flashes of memories when he’s awake. So many of those memories are of the Torchbearer. Of the creases by his eyes when he smiles, the soothing cadence of his voice, the feeling of his hand clasped in Clancy’s. He sees them under the stars, by the water, curled up in the same tent. He sees the lives he’s lived by the Torchbearer’s side, always cut too short.
How many times has it been? How many times did he turn into the very thing he swore to defeat? Once or twice or three? Too many to count? How many lines have been carved into the surface, marking the days, marking the years, marking the cycles?
Clancy doesn’t know. He hardly understands how the Torchbearer keeps trying, how he still believes in Clancy. But he hopes this time will be different. He’s never remembered it all before, the grip is slipping from the leash around his mind. Soon he thinks he’ll be free.
He wants to prove he can deserve this faith the Torchbearer has in him.
He spends his days drawing out maps of Trench, forming shapes that feel deeply ingrained in his mind, and writing anything that comes to his mind; poems, contents of his dreams, words he wants to say to the Torchbearer when he finds him again, what he’s seen during escape attempts. Sometimes he doodles in the margins, stars and plants and flowers and even once a poorly drawn dog. Anything to pass the time.
Time stretches on. Clancy waits, but he doesn’t stop planning his next escape.
He returns to his apartment one day after his nightly meal in the communal dining hall of his district and finds a folded piece of paper on his desk. A yellow flower rests atop the letter. The skin around his scar pulls as he smiles, a soft and hopeful thing. He gently moves the flower to the desk to pick up the letter.
The handwriting is one he’s read countless times before. It sends a warm feeling through his chest.
Clancy,
There is much I wish to say to you, but as I sit here, putting my pen to paper, I realize I don’t know how best to say it all. Maybe it’s better suited for when we can talk face-to-face. I’ll say this, though. You remember me, I know it. I think you might remember the past, too. Our past. You smiled when you saw me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how you looked at me. You can feel it too, can’t you? This time feels different. I think it might be.
Come to the courtyard at 2300. We will be waiting.
Covering you always,
TB
With shaking hands, Clancy folds the letter closed and presses it to his chest. Tears prick at his eyes but do not fall. His heart sings.
The sun set not too long ago, bathing the city in darkness. He has some time. Clancy gets to work, packing away his meagre belongings in a bag, ever so gently sweeping the flowers from his desk to a small pocket of the bag. His journals are added last. He really doesn’t have much, but what is there to have in Dema? Certainly, there is no life to be had here.
It doesn’t take long for Clancy to grow tired of waiting, and tired of pacing the length of his apartment. He hoists his bag over his shoulder and opens the door without a glance behind him at the barren room he’s leaving behind.
His building is as quiet as ever as he makes his way out. Dema has never been a place for much noise anyway. He stays quiet, creeping through the halls, then through the streets. The moon and stars are never visible in the city, so Clancy walks in near darkness, the flickering, dim lights above the buildings acting as his only visual aid. He finds his way to the courtyard anyway, relying on his muscle memory.
It’s empty. A cold breeze blows between the buildings surrounding him. He shivers, wishing his clothes were warmer, wishing for the comfort of green and yellow.
Suddenly, the wind dies down, and the city grows impossibly silent. Like the whole of Dema is holding its breath. Clancy’s heart beats faster, his eyes flit around the courtyard, begging for a flicker of warm torchlight.
He gets it.
The soft echo of boots on cement reaches his ears. Shadows cast on the walls shift with the movement of flames. Clancy’s heart pounds away like a war drum in his chest.
Just like before, in the ravine, it’s like there’s an overlay in his mind’s eye of the times this same scene has unfolded. He was afraid before, but he isn’t now.
A hooded figure approaches, holding his torch in an unwavering grip. A few other Banditos follow, but he barely glances their way when someone so important is right in front of him. The light from his torch shines in his eyes, almost black in the cover of night yet still filled with an indescribable warmth. Clancy doesn’t feel cold anymore.
The Torchbearer pulls down his bandana and smiles, something timid and hopeful and soft.
“Clancy,” he starts. His eyes dart around Clancy’s face, stopping at the scar on his lip, stretched awkwardly by the smile growing wider by the second. “Clancy,” he says again, softer.
“You found me,” he breathes. He laughs wetly, shakes his head, then flings himself at the Torchbearer. His arms wrap around his waist, holding him tightly to his chest. The Torchbearer gasps and his torch falls, but he seems to not notice at all with how quickly he holds Clancy back, just as tightly. “You found me,” he repeats, equal parts relieved and disbelieving.
“Always. Always,” the Torchbearer replies, his voice as soothing as he remembers it despite the tears he’s choking back. One arm wraps around Clancy’s back, the other against his shoulders to cradle the back of his head. Clancy feels so warm, so safe, here in his arms. He takes in deep, shuddering breaths that come out almost like sobs. The smell of damp soil and smoke and golden flowers wraps around him in a second hug.
It feels like coming home.
He doesn’t know how long they stand there, just holding each other tightly and holding back their tears, but it feels like it’s nowhere near long enough when they must pull apart.
“We should go,” Clancy says.
The Torchbearer nods and picks up his torch, left forgotten on the ground yet somehow still burning. “Let’s go home.”
Home. He supposes in a way Trench is his home, where he belongs. But really, he thinks home is wherever he’s with the Torchbearer. Home is in the form of wild curls and twinkling eyes.
But he nods anyway and follows the Torchbearer, their hands clasped together. He knows he’d follow him anywhere.
As they get a move on, Clancy almost expects Nova to jump out and drag him back kicking and screaming, but he doesn’t. They go through the tunnels, guided by torchlight, and leave the city. Clancy is adorned in yellow tape once again. He feels the strength to fight coursing through his veins. He knows it won’t be this easy forever, and that the bishop might come back for him time and time again, but he has the hope that this time around, it’s different. He’s stronger than ever before.
They pass the cluster of yellow flowers outside the city limits, grown out of a will to fight and to live, born from the petals he scattered long ago. Their bright, resilient petals glow under the light of the torches. To him they mark a path of the hope for freedom.
They walk for what feels like ages, all throughout the night. It’s only when the sky is growing lighter that he sees the Bandito camp ahead. Just above the horizon, the morning star shines brightly.
Clancy nudges the Torchbearer, pointing to the horizon when he gets his attention. “Venus, your favorite.”
The Torchbearer sighs shakily and smiles, his hand giving Clancy’s a squeeze. “You remember?” he asks tentatively.
“Yeah. A lot of things, but most of it is just you,” Clancy admits. The Torchbearer is the center of his universe and every bright and beautiful thing within it. It only makes sense that he’s what Clancy would remember the most.
The Torchbearer stops walking. Clancy stops too, about to ask what’s wrong before he’s brought into another crushing hug. He feels the Torchbearer’s frame tremble against his as he wraps his arms around him.
“You remember.”
“I remember.”
“You remember,” he sobs out.
Clancy holds him tighter, pulling his hood down to run his fingers through the Torchbearer’s curls. God, he didn’t know how much he had longed for this, to feel the other in his arms and be with him once again, until now. Until he found him again.
“I had hoped. I had hoped with all my heart that you’d remember someday. And, when I saw you that day, the way you smiled at me… the way you looked at me… I knew it had to be different. I missed you, Clance. So much.”
“I know, I know,” he soothes, his hand steadily combing through the Torchbearer’s hair. Clancy presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I kept on dreaming. I saw every time I was taken back, every time I lost you. But I saw every time I loved you, too. I swore to myself that I’d find you again, that I would make my way back to you.”
“You did.” His arms tighten around Clancy as he sniffles, soaking through Clancy’s shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind. “My Clancy, you’re back, you’re home.”
“I’m home.” He guides the Torchbearer to pull his head up from Clancy’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes filled with love and hope and joy. Clancy presses their foreheads together, shutting his eyes, breathing deeply. “You’re my home, Torch.”
He feels the Torchbearer’s breathy laugh against his lips and he smiles.
As the sun begins to rise, the sky painted with pink and orange hues, Clancy feels warm and he feels alive. It feels like he’s made it through the darkest night, through the pain and fear that’s governed his life for too long. He knows it won’t be easy, that this isn’t the end. But the Torchbearer is by his side. He found Clancy.
Clancy thinks this time he’ll have the strength to win, to break out. He may fall back in again, but he is loved, and he has others around him to hold him up when he cannot stand alone. In Trench, he’s not alone.
The sun has risen, he’s bathed in the gentle glow of the morning, and he thinks it just might be enough.