Chương 75: Morning Light

Lloyd slowly turned and headed for the exit. Continuing this pointless conversation was no use — every word spoken only drove the wedge between them deeper, and he simply had no strength left for another fruitless argument. The hallway around him seemed endless, as if the space itself were stretching out, trying to hold him there just a second longer, the old floorboards creaking softly underfoot with every step, as though the apartment itself were protesting his leaving.

But his Father had no intention of stopping. — Where the hell do you think you're going? I'm not finished talking! Standing with his back to him, Lloyd kept his hand on the doorknob, feeling the cold metal dig into his palm, a sharp, searing contrast against the stifling heat of the apartment behind him, against that heavy, stale atmosphere that had built up over years of exhaustion and unspoken grievances. — I've said everything I need to.

The door swung open, letting in the cool evening air, carrying an unfamiliar freshness, so different from the homey smell he'd grown used to over the years, and his Father collapsed to his knees right in the middle of the hallway, tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving damp trails across his unshaven skin, glistening faintly in the dim light of the bulb dangling from a cracked wire overhead. — How don't you understand? I can't survive another loss. You'll die...

He swallowed that bitter saliva, the particular kind that only comes with tears, lodged like a lump somewhere in his throat, making it hard to breathe, his voice trembling on every word. — Die... I don't want to see my son's living corpse... The door slammed shut with a dull thud, cutting off his father's desperate voice somewhere behind him, as though the entire world had narrowed down to that single sound, before collapsing into total silence.

Lloyd, watching all of this unfold from the outside, stared at the scene with shock in his eyes, even though he knew perfectly well how it would end — the knowledge did nothing to soften the pain rising once again from somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and thick, entirely out of place here, in the middle of someone else's dream, among memories he would have preferred to bury forever at the bottom of his consciousness.

But then, suddenly, the apartment began to collapse, the walls dissolving, blurring like watercolor left out in the rain, the image losing its clarity, dissolving into a hazy, indistinct smudge, soaked in gathering darkness closing in from every direction at once.

A second later, Lloyd was falling into pitch-black nothingness, plummeting, out of control, his stomach lurching with the fall, a deafening silence ringing in his ears, swallowing the last echoes of his father's voice, dissolving them into total, all-consuming nothing.

Faint, barely visible tears trickled down the watching Lloyd's cheeks, warm and nearly imperceptible against his general numbness, as though his body wept on its own, separate from his mind, still frozen somewhere in shock, unable to fully process what had just happened. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The darkness began to break apart, thinning into ragged shreds, tearing into uneven patches of light and black, and Lloyd opened his eyes.

Warm sunlight fell across his face, filtering through the leaves in trembling, golden patches, and a few green leaves lay scattered across him, having drifted down at some point while he slept, tickling his skin with a light touch. Somewhere nearby, leaves rustled softly in a faint morning breeze, the barely audible chirping of unfamiliar birds drifted through the air, and the air itself was filled with the now-familiar scent of pine and damp earth, mixed with the light chill of early morning.

Looking down at him from above was the green-haired Elf, a faint trace of surprise visible in his cold blue eyes, as though he'd been standing there for a while already, watching Lloyd sleep, studying his face with that same calm, detached attention he might give to some rare insect. — Don't mean to interrupt. But it's time to move out.

The Elf vanished from his sight as silently as he'd appeared, leaving behind not a sound, not a rustle, and Lloyd slowly sat up, pushing himself upright with one hand against the ground, damp with morning dew, still feeling a faint dizziness lingering from the dream, a heavy, unspoken weight still pulling at his chest, as though echoes of that conversation still clung to his mind with sharp, invisible fingers.

He ran a hand through his hair and wiped his face, brushing off the stray leaves and dust, trying at the same time to shake off the remnants of that heavy, oppressive feeling the dream had left behind, though he was doing a fairly poor job of it — the anxiety still sat somewhere beneath his ribs, coiled into a dense, unyielding knot. Suddenly he heard footsteps beside him, heavy and measured, accompanied by the faint crackle of flame, as though each step carried its own small campfire along with it.

Lifting his head, he saw the familiar figure wreathed in fire, casting flickering orange light across the morning grass, dancing among the dew-covered blades. — Bad dream? Lloyd gave a faint smirk, though it came out weak, strained, far from any real amusement, closer to a nervous twitch than a genuine smile. — You have no idea.

Brand extended a hand, and Lloyd, grabbing hold of it, felt an intense but perfectly bearable heat spreading across his palm, warming his skin with a pleasant, almost soothing warmth, and with its help he pulled himself to his feet, feeling the muscles stiffened overnight protest with a dull ache, his joints cracking unpleasantly, a reminder of two straight days of nonstop fighting.

After a brief stretch, working out his shoulders and neck, feeling his body slowly come back to life, he looked out over the clearing, bathed in morning light filtering through the scattered gaps in the canopy. Casper stood there in his usual pose, gazing up at the sky again with that same detached calm, as though the night had left absolutely no trace on him, not a hint of fatigue visible on his pale face.

A little further off from the others stood the Elf, staring into the depths of the forest, as though already mapping out the day's route ahead, studying the barely visible trails between the trees with the same methodical attention he might give to a battlefield.

Lorian had become, without anyone quite noticing, something like the unspoken leader of their small team — probably because his decisions consistently turned out to be the most measured, the most carefully considered among the four of them, free of the impulsiveness that sometimes got the better of the others. He turned to face his team and spoke only a single word, short and firm. — Let's move.

The whole team set off, heading deeper into the morning forest, where the first rays of a false, but in its own way beautiful, sun still broke through the treetops.