Chapter 50: Stewards of a Dream (Patreon)

[A/N]: Woohoo, 50 chapters! Only fitting that this one is so heavy.

Enjoy!

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For a few tense moments, there was no sound in the pitch-black prison but the echo of Terry’s own breathing.

Then, a swish of cloth as Sol shifted in his cell.

His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

“I’m beyond helping anyone. Last time I tried, I ended up here.” A dark chuckle echoed from the slot, turned to a wracking cough.

Terry hesitated. Was he wasting his time on a broken man?

He tried for a jab, something to spark a flicker of heat in the man’s chest.

“I’ve seen the footage of the attack.” Something shifted in the dark. “I want to understand, Sol.”

Another cough, a harsh clearing of the throat. “Footage can be altered. Don’t believe everything you see.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because what I saw was one of my heroes desperately trying to save a woman who didn’t want to be saved.”

Sol took in a harsh intake of breath. The months in the dark, isolated from reality had chipped away at any savvy or subterfuge, Terry realized. As far as Sol knew, he’d be a prisoner of Necroton for the rest of his considerable life. What would he care for modulating his reactions or keeping secrets?

“You…” His voice was tremulous, sounding aged and tired. “You met Arthur, then?”

Arthur? Terry hadn’t been expecting that. A flush of betrayal filled him, but he pushed it away. I’ll deal with that another time.

Keeping the urge to press in check, he waited for Sol to fill in the blanks.

“I just wanted to know that she was okay,” he whispered. “I engaged Arthur to track her movements. But things…didn’t look right.” He sighed, movement sounding as he turned away, his voice echoing back from the far wall as he continued. “Terrence cut all ties. Boxed me out from her life—from yours. The more I pressed, the more agitated he became…” Sol trailed off, clearly lost in thought.

Terry let the silence linger, his own thoughts finally coalescing into the obvious conclusion.

“You loved my mother, didn’t you?”

He heard Sol whirl around, his voice suddenly filled with a fire that gave Terry hope that the larger than life man he had once admired was still alive.

“Of course I did, boy! I raised her!” Softer now, his words trembling. “I-I raised her…”

He had so many questions, so much he didn’t know or understand. But he felt Sol was balancing on a tightrope perched over oblivion. To press him in the wrong way would shatter what semblance of sanity he still possessed.

Carefully, he considered his next words.

“And me? What am I to you? Why did you send Savage to take me?”

Sol let out a bitter scoff, shocking Terry’s blood cold.

“You? You were simply a hostage, boy.”

“You claim to have cared about my mother?” Terry shot back. “Yet you think using me as a hostage would somehow mend that bridge between you? You can’t be that stupid.”

“Use you?” Sol snorted. “No, I was freeing you. You are Terrence’s hostage against your mother’s cooperation. Isn’t it obvious? Without you in his clutches, your mother would have freed me already!”

Terry sat back on his heels, a soft sigh escaping from his lips.

“No, Sol.” His tone was flat, weary. “I was never a hostage.”

Sol grunted. “What do you know?” A silence hung between them, but Terry could feel the man’s agitation in his aura and the restlessness of his limbs. After a handful of breaths, Sol spoke again, his voice low, yearning, terrified. “Will you ask her to visit?”

Terry’s anger drained away like the plug had been pulled. He wanted to be mad at the man—mad for Sol refusing to take any accountability, for thinking he knew better after a year of solitude, for invading Wichita with aspirations of saving his mother like some white knight from the stories.

The heroes he’d once worshiped were petty, flawed, and too full of themselves to care about the ramifications of their actions. Even before Sol’s mind had been eroded by the dark and loneliness, he had thought it a good idea to come riding in on a wave of power to snatch her and her son from their lives. Arthur’s footage would have demonstrated that they weren’t prisoners, that they laughed and played and enjoyed their lives together.

But it was the hubris of an S-ranker to think he knew better.

“She can’t visit you, Sol.” He let out a slow breath, keeping his emotions tightly lidded.

“Please, if you’ll just convince her, I promise to—”

“No!” His voice was more forceful than he had intended and he took another deep breath to center himself. “Not won’t, Sol. Can’t.” He felt the man’s emotions stir, an anger setting in his aura. Sol thought the Emperor was blocking her visits. He nipped that train of thought in the bud, letting some of the heat in his chest imbue his words. “She’s gone.” Deja vu struck him so powerfully, he nearly fell back.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind.”She’s gone. Don’t you get it? Gone!”

He felt himself recoiling, his heart pounding in that memory. It was pounding in the now, as well.

Watching the memory as if it were playing out before him, he saw his father sigh, closing his eyes.

Then, those fateful words.

“She’s dead, Terry.”

But she hadn’t been dead—his father knew that. As hard as it had been to tell Terry, it was easier than the truth.

“Gone?” Sol asked, oblivious to the memory consuming Terry’s thoughts. “She escaped?”

There was so much hope in that question. So much hope that he almost let the man have it; almost told him an easy lie, rose to his feet, and left him to simmer in those thoughts—like his father had done to him.

Almost.

But for some reason, in this moment, that felt like the most cruel thing he could possibly do. The easy way out. The guiltless way out. It had all the hallmarks of altruism and Terry understood now how these powerful rulers of the world convinced themselves they were heroes; they wrapped the truth in beautiful lies and felt the giving joy as their victims soaked in ignorant bliss.

A hero—a true hero—wouldn’t mask the uncomfortable truth. They would face it head on and let it wash against them; a bulwark against the violence and loss and injustice of the world.

That thought crystallized inside him, feeling more solid and true than anything else he’d ever felt.

This is what being a hero means. Doing the hard thing. Not protecting others from what they can’t handle—that isn’t a determination we should make. Instead, help them face their reality head-on, shepherding them through the pain or loss or anger.

A hero isn’t someone who works from the shadows or shields people from the truth. A hero is the light on the horizon signaling dawn. The night ends. The dark times pass. We must believe that. It’s the hero that reminds us.

Otherwise, hope is lost.

He didn’t know how long these thoughts percolated, but eventually, Sol’s voice pulled him up from that vortex.

“If she escaped…why are you still here?”

“I don’t know if she escaped, Sol. I don’t even know if she’s dead. All I know is that she’s gone and she hasn’t come back. And with her, hope for Wichita—and Topeka. Hope is gone and only the night remains. Vampires roam Wichita, stealing its people for food. Topeka is a warzone—the inflection point for a conflict between two arrogant old men with too much power. And my mother, who once stood as that beacon of hope, is nowhere to be found.” He wanted to curl up, just lay there in the dark and forget the truth of it all. But he squared his shoulders and shred the beautiful lies with his words. “It falls on me to take up her mantle, Sol. I will stop the vampires, feed the starving, and bring light back to Wichita. No one else is willing or able to shoulder that responsibility. But I’m not so arrogant to think I can do it alone. I need your help.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any that preceded it. Terry’s skin flushed, his heart pounding physically in his chest, his breathing quick and shallow. He didn’t know why he felt this so powerfully—only that he did. But a part of him worried that Sol would laugh at his conviction, dismiss him as the boy he was, rather than seeing him as the person he could be.

He couldn’t penetrate the inky black to gauge Sol’s reaction. But he heard the man shift in thought, his lips parting to speak before the words left his mouth. Terry braced for the derisive laugh he knew was coming.

What he didn’t expect, was the raw emotion bleeding into Sol’s words.

“You remind me of her.” Terry heard the hitch in his voice. “I think…” He cleared his throat, fighting against the obvious tightness restricting his words. “I think she’d be incredibly proud of you, Terry.” He felt stunned at that, unable to process the shift in Sol’s tone. A moment passed where neither spoke.

Then, Sol broke the silence once more.

“What can I do to help?”

***

As Terry left Sol’s prison, he felt both a bone-deep weariness and a flush of conviction. The S-ranker hadn’t offered up the perfect solution to address Flore’s absence, nor the unending night infecting Wichita.

But he had given Terry the seed he needed.

With a thought, he pulled up his newest cataloged Skill.

 -

New Skill Cataloged: Light Shift (D)

Use aura as a filter to shift the wavelength of light across the electromagnetic spectrum.

Error. No appropriate Affixation slots available.

 -

Though the Skill was unusable currently, it had inspired him for one reason: it was the perfect building block for his D-rank Quest. He pulled up the Quest that had been stymieing him for eight months.

 -

Quest Given: [Create a Skill]

Create a new D-grade Skill OR hybridize two cataloged Skills into a new D-grade Skill

Reward: D-rank

 -

He had spent weeks trying to understand those requirements. Creating a new Skill from scratch sounded impossible. But hybridizing two cataloged Skills into something better? That was a task he had been happy to throw himself at. And he possessed two complementary Skills that should have made that task a walk in the park.

Should have.

Metal telekinesis had been his first E-grade Skill and he had worked in the weeks after that to catalog its complement. His weekly sessions with the Iron Maiden had given him the perfect opportunity. A simple lie about his powers had given him unfettered access to her metal liquification Skill. She had been forced to teach him under protest anyway and was all too happy to do nothing but keep it active while he cataloged it.

The result had led to the trap he had sprung on the sanguine elder—what he had called the Iron Maiden, in homage to his reluctant teacher. But no matter how he had tried to finagle the two Skills, he had never managed to make them work together in harmony. All his attempts at hybridizing the two had led to frustration.

With Sol’s Skill, he saw a way forward.

But light shift was only a piece of the puzzle. He needed a way to anchor the Skill without needing to be present. And something about that need had reminded him of Marlon and his gravity-defying pottery. Somehow, the Traveler had managed to imbue his pottery with the ability to create spontaneous portals. He needed the man’s expertise if he was going to put Sol’s Skill to work. He needed to visit Terraform’s Market. And to get there, he needed Vladimir to ferry him.

When he entered Feed Wichita’s headquarters, he felt a tinge of dismay as he took in the lush garden that now spread across its vast space.

As far as he could see, greenery sprouted from vertical racks—a beautiful sight on any other day.

But now, half of the garden lay in darkness. Fluorescent lights shone above, but they merely imparted visibility, not the vital UV rays the plants needed. There were UV lamps setup in strategic locations, but they were the exception, not the rule. The team had made a conscious decision not to rely upon the man-made lighting, as the energy requirement would have made it impossible to hide the truth of the warehouse’s purpose.

Now, he kicked himself for that decision.

The sounds of shouting pulled him away from the garden and he spun toward the office in surprise. Movement flickered behind the windows, multiple voices raised in argument. He rushed toward the stairs, the voices becoming distinct as he approached.

“Feed Wichita is dead!” That was Tristan’s voice.

Terry paused at the threshold.

“You think that’s what Flore would want!” Katie yelled back. “Just pack up and let these people starve?”

“What choice do we have?” Alan asked quietly, his soft voice cutting through the shouts. “Without Flore, the plants will be dead with the week. Our best bet is to harvest everything we can and distribute it as fairly as possible.”

“What’s the point?” Vladimir cut in. “Feed these people for a couple weeks, then what? I say this is the Emperor’s problem—”

“The point is to keep them from starving, you slimy rat!” Tania shouted. “What do you think we’ve been doing the last eight months!”

“Watch your mouth, peasant. Or I’ll—”

Terry pushed the door open, letting it swing wide as he regarded the six remaining members of Feed Wichita. They whirled in surprise, various expressions of embarrassment and shock on their faces.

He let his gaze slide across each of them, before finally lingering on Vlad. The C-ranker didn’t wither under Terry’s stare, but he also didn’t continue his bluster.

Tania, on the other hand, didn’t let her fire gutter out.

“Where in the Underworld have you been?”

He looked at her for a moment, understanding her frustration, but not feeding into it. Stepping past the threshold and into the office, he approached the desk and leaned against it with a sigh.

“Terry, I asked you a question.” She wasn’t yelling, but he still felt the heat lying beneath the words. “Why am I hearing about Flore’s death from them instead of you?”

He sighed once more, then nodded. “I’m sorry about that, Tania. I…I went to visit Sol.”

Her mouth gaped open suddenly, while the others let out gasps of surprise. Only Vladimir had a subdued reaction, his eyes narrowing subtly. Terry noted that strange reaction, but didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Sol’s alive?” Tristan blurted out. He looked between the others, a hint of hope in his tone. “Don’t you get it? Sol’s alive!”

“Terry…” Katie started. “If Sol’s alive, why is Wichita still dark? Couldn’t he dispel the night pretty easily?”

Tania crossed her arms, her lips pursed tight. He sensed her disapproval, but couldn’t deal with it right now.

“He is alive, yes. But he’s a prisoner in my grandfather’s dungeon.”

Katie’s eyes went wide, while Tristan’s face dropped. To Terry’s surprise, it was Vladimir that spoke.

“So the Emperor chooses to maintain this darkness, rather than enlist the help of his enemy.”

Alan shook his head in disbelief. “That’s…that’s ludicrous! His own city is starving!”

“None of that matters,” Terry said. “I think I have a solution to our light problem, but I need your help.” He looked directly at Vladimir when he spoke and the man carefully kept his expression guarded under Terry’s gaze.

But before the man could respond, Tristan’s face turned bright red, his eyes swelling wide.

“Our light problem?” His fists clenched at his side. “Is that what you want to call it? They murdered her, Terry! They murdered her and they ate her! Is that what you mean by light problem!”

“Tristan—” Tania started, but he chopped his hand through the air to cut her off.

“No! Fuck that!” He whirled on Terry, taking five quick steps to close the distance between them. For a moment, Terry thought he was about to be punched by the fellow E-ranker. Instead, Tristan jabbed his finger into his chest. “You think you’re so much better than the Emperor, but you’re not!”

“Tristan, bro…” Peter said softly.

“No, Peter,” Tristan replied harshly over his shoulder. “Flore dies this morning and she’s already old news. All he sees is this farm. He doesn’t care about any of us. We’re just resources to help him on his Quests!”

The room froze, even Terry feeling stunned by Tristan’s boldness. No one talked about Quests so openly, even if everyone had their suspicions.

“Tristan, enough!”

It was Tania who moved to stand in front of the young man. He tried to look past her toward Terry, but she shoved him back, her strength far greater than his.

“I said enough!” She glanced back at Terry with an unreadable expression and he had to wonder if she felt the same about him.

Did they all just consider him a Quest-chaser? Could they really think he had dismissed Flore’s death so easily?

He rose from the desk, feeling the excitement of earlier turn to ash in his mouth.

Maybe they were right? Flore’s death had hit me in the moment, but I had moved on to fixing it in hours. I never grieved her loss. Never let it settle in deep to steal my momentum.

I’d turned callous without even realizing it.

“You’re right.” He said it softly, barely above a whisper. Everyone turned to him and he looked up. “You’re right, Tristan. I…was afraid.” He bit his lip as he tried to find the words for what he was feeling. “Afraid to feel her loss too heavily, maybe? Afraid it would sap my will to move forward.” He shook his head, letting out a deep breath. “I don’t know what I was afraid of. Failure, maybe?” Looking up, he saw Tristan’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I know what Flore meant to you, Tristan. To all of you…to us…”

He turned away, walking to the windows, his eyes trailing over the greenery filling the warehouse—half-shadowed from lack of light.

“Do you see that?” He looked back, catching their confused looks. Pointing out the window, he felt his blood begin to rise. “That’s not just a Quest—” A familiar notification flickered across his vision, but he ignored it. “—that’s not just a token garden to feed my ego!” He whirled around, his breathing coming in heavy now. “That was Flore’s work and it became her dream. Nothing brought her more joy than pulling off a ripe tomato and handing it out to a hungry child on the street.” The looks in their eyes shifted and he pressed forward. “She’d rather die a hundred times over than let this die, too. She may be gone, but her dream isn’t. I want to keep her dream—our dream—alive. Not just for her or me or us.” He pointed out toward the city. “But for them. We're the stewards of that dream.” His voice dipped quieter, his passion drained, his emotions raw. “I love Wichita and it’s dying. This farm might not fix that…but it’s a step in the right direction. And Flore wouldn’t have wanted us to let it die.” He stared hard into Tristan’s eyes now. “I know that for a fact.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then, Tania cast a look across the team before stepping forward.

“I’m with you, Terry. Tell us what you need.”