Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

xxx xxmoon xx

I was given this... article, I think they called it. I remember in Dema they called it a journal. But I'm no longer a citizen, and I don't think I have been in a very long time, so I will assimilate.

They tell me this will last the year, whatever a year out here is, and they will not give me a new one before then. Even if I lose it, which is fair.

I am to write in this. Whatever I deem important, or whatever I want. So I guess I will write the important things here.

My name is Torch. I am named after the constellation Torchlight. I used to be a citizen of Dema, a city of concrete walls and floors. I have not been there in a long time. I am an amnesiac. I am a bandito, and it is not what I thought it would be. There is something wrong out here.

I am twenty years old. I am missing twelve years of my memories. I try not to think too hard on it.

xxx xxmoon xx

Last night I dreamed I was walking rocky terrain that was slippery with mud. I think we were somewhere in Trench. There were three torchbearers in front of me. Which was strange enough, because as of right now there was only one that I knew of. There was another pair of footsteps behind me. There was stairs in front of me, slick with months old algae and water, so I turned around to help the person behind me but they weren't there. I felt like I lost something. I don't know

xxx xxmoon xx

I guess the bandito who got the pen before me died, because I get it two days earlier now. I don't know why this is the thing that bothers me the most. Its a normal enough pen, writes in black, smooth ink mostly, but sometimes dirt gets in the ink.

Having routines in the camps, let alone in Trench itself, is almost impossible; the rarity of watches and batteries, and the unpredictability of weather make it hard to count the days and nights. The pen in itself probably wasn't crazy important, but what it meant to us, to be able to put thoughts on paper is just invaluable.

Now, my internal clock will be off for two days, as will everyone elses, who gets this pen after me. It is strange to be more upset about this than a fallen comrade, even if I didn't know them.

xxx xxmoon xx

I saw someone get smeared for the first time today. But it was strange.

It was in the old fjords, where glaciers used to stand. There was a creek down at the very bottom, and in the middle of it, floating, was a person. They didn't seem to be hurt or dead.

They stood up, shook the water off, and kept walking with confident, if a bit weak, steps. I had never seen anything like it. Even the older banditos still watch their feet when walking in the fjords.

My ears aren't trained enough to hear it yet, but the older banditos are so they heard it first. They turned their heads to the east, where moments later I saw the white horse with a red robed figure on their back, and it was only after this that I started hearing the hoofbeats.

The person kept walking undeterred. It was fascinating. It was horrifying. Who were they? What are they doing here?

"What are they doing?" I had whispered to my friend beside me.

Her brow was furrowed. She shushed me, "We've seen this guy before. Watch."

Now even more confused, I turned my eyes back onto the ground. He had stopped walking. The figure was riding even closer. The hoofbeats sounded like thunder rumbling.

The figure stopped before him and left the horses saddle. It took its hands to his neck, and even from the top of the mountains I could see the smear start to take place.

Here's the strange thing: my whole life, even while I was in Dema, I was told that smearing was violent. that it ripped something from your body, and that you wouldn't even remember why your whole being aches with grief. But this was different.

It was almost... peaceful. And with the yawning mountains, the fast rapids of the creek, and the morning sun in the background, it was almost picturesque. The guy who had been walking seemed to droop with relief, and the figure had held him before walking to the horse.

I didn't know I was holding a breath until they started to leave. I turned back to my friend and she just looked sad.

I met her eyes. What was that about?

She shook her head. I'll tell you at camp, her eyes told me, it's still dangerous out here.

I hate waiting for answers.

xxx xxmoon xx

I never got an answer, by the way.

On the way back to camp there was a rockslide and she got caught in it. Her chest was crushed in, and we couldn't move the rock off her. A few of us sat there as she died, listening in silence while her chest and throat filled with blood. I can still hear the gurgling and choking even now. By the time we left, the vultures were already circling around us.

I just don't understand. The camp leaders all know that that pass is dangerous. When banditos use that pass there is always a rockslide, and always at least one death.

Once is a coincidence, twice is strange, but three is on purpose.

Listen to me. I'm talking like there's a fucking conspiracy. But it is a thought that sticks to my brain like tree sap.

It has been quiet recently, so I guess I have been on edge. More than usual at least. Realistically there's no reason I should be: we have enough food and drinkable water to last us for weeks and we do our chores with the same reliability as always, even if we do have to add extra chores because of banditos dying.

I wish we had, like, a memorial or something. These people matter, don't they? Even if they aren't high on the hierarchal ladder? We all work together, we're comrades (if not friends), we're all fighting for the same thing, right? At least, I hope we are.

I just think we could do more to honor the ones that have had to leave us.

The sky is blue, and I have never felt so alone.

xxx xxmoon xx

I have been temporarily confined to my tent. I am placed under constant supervision. I get told when to eat and piss and shit and do nothing else. "A time of reflection," I was told.

"A sack of shit," I replied. "I have nothing to reflect on."

Being stuck in this tent reminds me of my childhood, short lived as it was. I was six, and our region's Bishop had preached in the square. At this age, even if I had no clue what was happening, I had already known that this was to be a quiet time, where words could wait until you were back inside with your family.

"I don't think I want to die, mom," I had said. You would've thought I had attempted murder. (Which, of course, I very well could've. All forms of self-destruction are welcome, say the Bishops.)

She had yelled at me, and cursed my fullname. I was in shock, she had never raised her voice at me before. We were both crying.

"You will go to your room, for reflection," she told, no, she commanded me.

"Reflection for what?" I had asked. "I got nothing to reflect on."

And then she hit me. We didn't ever speak of it, but never again did I repeat what I had said that day. 

I remember the clawing nausea coming  up my throat. I had hated being stuck in my room. I hate being stuck in this tent. It makes me feel like a powerless kid again, and I bet the leaders know that.

A time of reflection, I scoffed. It's more like a time-out.

I don't remember why I'm in here anyways. Well, I remember bits and pieces, the before and the right after. I should explain.

The first thing: I have amnesia. I don't know what this word means, but I was told that it means there's a gap in my memories. I can remember a few things, like my name and age, and some stuff about my parents, but that's about it. Between the ages of eight and twenty, I don't really know where I was, or what I was doing. I try not to think about it.

The second thing: Collaborators. These are people who collaborate with the Bishops to find the missing. Oftentimes, these are people trying to leave Dema, effectively committing treason.

(Sometimes I wonder if the Bishops talk about Trench so often for this reason in particular. Committing treason could be considered self-destructive, couldn't it? Where does the line end? Do the goal posts keep moving forever? I digress.)

Either way, Collaborators pretty much work as a guard. They gather information to give to the Bishops for rewards, like extra food, or medical aid.

The issue at hand:

This guy, Eric, simply put, is an asshole. He likes to steal and hurts others for some sick satisfaction. I guess no one here understands justice.

He and I were on cleaning duty after breakfast.

He was cleaning dishes. "So," he says, "it's true you don't remember anything?"

I am already on edge. "Yes." I said. "I am missing twelve years of memories."

Now, I've heard a multitude of things about this. I have been told I am suspicious, untrustworthy. It slides off my back like water. This doesn't bother me, because it is a rational thing to feel. But this, to me, was the ultimate betrayal to what I stood for, to what I considered myself to be.

Eric scoffed. "I bet you got everyone here fooled, Torch, but don't think you can get by me that easily."

I remember smiling. Maybe I was baring my teeth. "Do you think it'd be hard?"

He slammed a plate on the ground, which sucked, precious as they are. But I didn't care. Because of what he said to me.

"I bet you're one of those Collaborators." He spat at my feet.

And after he said that, I don't remember much.

I remember the immediate after, standing over his bloodied face. His eyes were swollen and bruised, his cheekbone shattered, and his nose was done for.

A fractured collarbone, and his right arm is broken in three places, from what I could feel, the camp medic told me. You don't look like it, but you've got serious strength, man.

I guess he was trying to sound disapproving, but I could see the gleeful twinkle in his eye.

I have always considered myself to be terrifyingly loyal. There is so little that I know, so little that I remember, that I feel the need to cling to anything that aligns with my worldview. To be called... that word, shatters me completely.

A time of reflection.

Fucking ridiculous.

xxx xxmoon xx

There was another rockslide today, so we're packing up camp and moving on. I won't say it to their faces, but the camp leaders don't know jack shit.

Two of them argue they should stay low to the ground, use the mountains  as cover. The other two argue we should move into the mountains, use the caves as cover.

I say all four of them are jackass-rabbits, running in circles with their heads cut off.

Then, a memory:

I was on a supply run when I was new to the banditos, but not new to Trench. It was me and two others in my group. Our packs were full.

Macayiah cursed. A rockslide had happened while we were away. Our usual path back to camp was blocked with rocks hundreds of feet tall.

She huffed. "I guess we can just... head back to the drop point?"

The other, Jordan, shook his head. "The longer we stay, the more likely we'll be found out."

A thing to understand about Trench, about the banditos: Trench are the banditos, and the banditos are Trench. Precarious and half-thought out plans, at best. I remember watching previous runners never coming back on time, or sometimes being lost forever on the continent.

Why has no one made a map yet? I asked.

Trench has a mind of its own, sometimes. It's alive.

I had shrugged the heavy pack off my back, and rolled out my shoulders. I turned to them, and said, "Don't freak out if I pass out or something."

And then I closed my eyes.

I don't necessarily like doing this, because it always makes my head pound something fierce after. I still don't really know what it is, or how I do it. It feels like I shove my soul out of my body, out of my skull, and then suddenly I see everything.

I can see my body on the ground, stumbling around, and I can see the other two trying to still get my attention.

I turn my eyes forward. Yes, there is no way back on this path anymore. We can't go back to the drop point, and we can't stay out here any longer than we already have. I need to find another path.

I move to the east, maybe five hundred klicks from the rockslide. There, there's an tunnel system old system, that connects to the other side of the rocks. If we go there and through, we should be able to get back on the original trail.

I'm about to get back into my body when I notice the tops of the mountains. I've never seen them before, but they're covered in trees and other vegetation. The tree canopy is so dense that I can't even see where the ground would be.

I float back into my body, and immediately there is a shooting pain in my head. I double over and vomit.

"There's a tunnel route five hundred klicks east," I say, spitting out bile. "We go through it and get back on the original trail."

"Yeah, but what the fuck, dude?" Macayiah exclaims.

I groan again. "Please shut up. We can talk about it at camp."

We did not talk about it at camp. They both collapsed and died from heat exhaustion in the tunnel. I was half delirious the entire walk back.

I clutch my head. That's a new one, I think to myself.

 Jackass-rabbits with their heads cut off, indeed. They're all too busy trying to consolidate more power in the camp that they can't even work together.

"Maybe we can move to the tops of the mountains, where we would be safe from rockslides, use the tree canopy as cover, and use the caves to store other shit in," I say.

One of the leaders, Mark, turn to me. "How do you know about the tree canopy?"

And it's, like, whatever, alright? The suspicion is grating by now, I don't really understand why they don't trust me yet, but fucking whatever.

I turn sheepish. "I can, I don't know, see stuff from above? I'm not sure what it is myself."

The tent silences. And I get it. The few that make it out of Dema tell us what they know of whatever the Bishops do, even if it is old information. What I just said sounds highly reminiscent.

"It's not seizing," I say defensively. "It is definitely still my body, just not my physical body. It's why I'm so good at remembering trails."

I gave them a demonstration. I told them there was a lake that they never knew about, five miles south.

They still don't trust me. Which. Fine. I trust them the same amount, probably.

But they've taken my suggestion, and said yes. So I will consider it a win.

I still don't really know what's going on with the leaders. Any good leader would want to keep their people from harm. At least, I would think so. But then I remember the only kind of leadership they've ever had was the Bishops, and they're not what I would use as a baseline.

Maybe I can do more to help.

The sky is blue, the leaders are as weird as ever, and my head is hurting with phantom pains.

Chapter Text

xxx xxmoon xx

Today was a good day.

One of the supply runners managed to get apples, of all things, and we had brown sugar left over from last month's supply run.

It tasted like campfires and sunshine.

Though, something about it nags at me. I know Dema has certain foods the Bishops hoard, namely apples. For it to be in our supply drop, it makes me uneasy.

I hope I'm wrong.

xxx xxmoon xx

Something is wrong in Dema.

Now that we're on the mountains, the alarms of a perimeter escape make their way to us now. An added benefit, I guess. It used to be we would hear the alarm maybe once every three moons, but we've already heard three alarms this past moon alone.

We hear it so often that now we've had to make small roaming groups, which sucks and is great because 1. small group means faster movement but also means less defense, and 2. it means we get a rotation of "defending" the camp.

I say "defending" because the only thing out here to fear finding us is bears, at best. Up here under the tree canopy, not even the trash dragons could see us.

xxx xxmoon xx

One of the leaders died today. Mark.

The four leaders left early morning and came back late afternoon with only three. For the first time in my memory, camp was dead silent. Wherever they went, wherever they left his body, the vultures have already found it. It? Him. Is there really a difference? He's dead.

The remaining leaders walked to their tent and have yet to come back out. Two of them, Clyde and Anna, seemed to be grieving. But Jada, who has been a bandito longer than anyone here, had a quiet air of smug satisfaction.

Immediately, there was lightning up my spine.

Three moons ago, we got camp settled on the mountain tops. We had a great vantage point of the valley, and in the distance, you could see the lake they previously knew nothing about.

Now that the leaders knew I wasn't totally lying straight to their face (again, whatever), they asked me to do more. They trusted me more. Jada in particular wanted to use me to make maps.

I thought we couldn't do maps because of how much Trench changes, I said.

Just to see how it works out, she assured me.

Clyde and Anna were pretty indifferent about it. They said it would only start if I was cool with it. But Mark was seriously against this.

It's genuinely nothing against you, he told me fervently, but we have no one to double check those routes unless they're on site, and we don't have that kind of manpower yet.

I guess the leaders had a rule that votes had to be unanimous (which brings up some serious concerns I have), because that was the last time we talked about it.

Two hours after they got back to camp, Clyde stepped out and beckoned me forward.

He wouldn't meet my eyes.

xxx xxmoon xx

Each time, it is harder for me to stay awake. I can hardly keep anything down, and I'm so dizzy all the time.

Everytime I get back into my body, I feel worse. I think I'm dying.

I thought it was suspicious of him at the time, but maybe Mark knew what kind of person Jada was. I wonder if anyone else has even an inkling of doubt. But I don't think so.

This doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel good. There are other camps, but I don't think anyone here knows, not even the leaders. Do I tell them? I wonder if the others know about us.

My whole body hurts. It feels like my head has been crushed in. And it's so warm. I don't want to say it out loud, but I'm scared. I'm so scared that I want to explode with the fear and panic in my gut. I wonder if the next time will be the last.

I'm tired. The sky is blue, and I am dying.

xxx xxmoon xx

It has been too long since I've been able to write, let alone been able to even hold a pen. I guess I could've asked someone to write for me, God knows Clyde has felt guilty enough that I could've asked him, but the less I have to do with the leaders right now, the better.

Not that I've seen any of them recently. I've been in and out of consciousness for weeks now. The camp medic told me my heart stopped beating. It wasn't hard to believe him, because I felt it. I was unconscious, sort of, but I felt my body. I've never been able to do that before. I guess pushing my ability did work.

I was just below the clouds. If I focused enough, I could feel the cold mist. It might snow soon. I was following an old road. There was smoke about two miles away. I remember I was going to look at it. But there was a tight, sharp pain in my chest.

I don't think I've ever felt physical pain in this form, nothing so real. I've only ever felt things lightly. But this scared me. I thought my body was being stabbed. I was gonna die and I wasn't even in my body.

I'm fine now, I guess. There's a pull in my chest now, though it only feels like a pulled muscle, and only when I move too fast. I'm still too shaky to really do anything.

There are two leaders now. Jada is dead.

Apparently, she left camp alone and a supply run found her. It's definitely suspicious, but I think the camp doesn't care all that much because there's been no response to it.

That's fine by me. Good riddance, I say.

The sky is blue, my body is bruised, but I am still breathing and alive. 

xxx xxmoon xx

With Jada dead, I've been able to take a real break. It's been a few weeks, but I can walk longer distances by myself now. Sometimes I push myself too hard and it feels like my heart is gonna give out. I'm frustrated by it and I'm trying to have compassion for myself, but each day, it's getting harder.

I'm not even sure why I agreed to it so easily. What loyalty do I truly have to the leaders? Or, what loyalty did I have to the leaders? I guess the only one I could have any kind of loyalty to was Mark, and that's only because he was suspicious of me in the first place.

It's a question I find myself thinking over and over when I lay in my tent doing nothing. Do I owe my loyalty to the leaders, who make the major decisions for this camp and for these banditos? Do I owe it to the people around me, my friends, my comrades in arms?

Do I even owe it to myself? Can I?

Sometimes I feel so lost out here, even if I see everything.

xxx xxmoon xx 

I keep having these dreams. It's just me in them, and the feeling of home. I've never had one of those before. I'm alone in these dreams, but it feels empty. It's like someone is missing. 

Everytime I wake up, I feel like I've lost something.

xxx xxmoon xx

I've snuck into Dema. There's old tunnel systems that run here from Trench.

The air here is different; it's heavier somehow. It's hard to take in a full breath. I constantly feel on the verge of a panic attack. There's bones in these tunnels. I don't like it here now anymore than I did as a kid. But at the same time, I have some kind of latent affection for the place, sick and twisted as it is.

I was born and raised here. My parents got married here, they loved each other here. They loved me here, too, I'm sure of it.

I don't know what happened to them. I don't remember. Is it better to know or not know? Maybe to know. Sometimes the night air smells the way my father did after working in the old hospital. Sometimes I see a flower in Trench that my mom would've loved.

I'm not actually sure why I'm here. How can I be nostalgic for this terrible shit hole? The rot of the system seeps into the very ground here, straight through the concrete.

I've been sitting in this tunnel for I don't know how long. My legs feel heavy. I'm scared.

Is it the place I miss, or the few memories I have attached here? Do I miss my parents?

Do I miss my parents?

I feel sick. I want to go home. Where is that?

xxx xxmoon xx

We've gotten two new banditos.

They're five and six. A brother and sister.

I've thrown up three times. I can't stop shaking. 

Something is terribly wrong in Dema. 

xxx xxmoon xx

The year is almost over. I have been made a leader. There are three of us now.

I'm still not sure where my feelings stand on Clyde and Anna. I'm not really sure if they have a backbone, but they must if they were made leaders in the first place. But when we talk, I can't help but remember the fear I felt when I thought I was dying. I can't help but remember how close I was to dying.

For the most part, I am able to push past it. I think they're expecting me to retaliate in some way, which makes me wonder what really went down with the original four. But, it's fine. As long as they don't pull that shit on me.

Being a leader is fine, I guess. It makes me wonder just what in the hell the others were doing, though. Why were we making such dangerous runs for supplies when we live in what is probably the most abundant part of Trench? I will concede for the medical supplies; but for meat, for water? Were they making it hard on purpose or are they just brain dead?

For my sake, I will hope they are brain dead. If they, the previous leaders, were working together to slow the rebellion effort (at best), or working with the Bishops (at fucking worst), I might lose it a little bit. I'm not entirely sure what they did to Mark, but I know very well what happened to Jada.

My name is Torch. I am around twenty-three years old. I am an amnesiac. I am a bandito, and I am making the best of it. I am a camp leader. And I have killed to protect my freedom.

Chapter Text

xxx xxmoon xx

It's been a bit hectic here recently. There hasn't been any new banditos, not here at least, but the dynamics of the camp have shifted in the moons I've been a leader. Clyde and Anna, the two remaining of the old crowd, have been trying to oust me. Unfortunately for them, the others like me better. I try not to be smug about it.

xxx xxmoon xx

It's nighttime, always, in these dreams. There's a warm orange light; a fire, I think. I'm straddling someone's chest. My hands wrap around their throat and I hold them under the water. I move my hands in opposite directions, like I'm trying to wring their spine out. They thrash and thrash, their legs kick, their arms scratch at my face. It feels warm. Blood.

Finally, there's a loud pop, and the movements stop.

Silence. A warm, approving hand on my shoulder.

And the sick twist of satisfaction deep in my gut.

xxx xxmoon xx

In Dema, there's this stand-light that consisted of nine nodes, I guess to symbolize the Bishops. It was mandatory to have. It would light up everytime someone completed their Vialism trials. It uses something called electricity.

Not entirely sure how, but we got it working, sort of. I keep thinking that it's broken, but I don't think it is. Since we got it running, the light hasn't gone out even once.

xxx xxmoon xx

With spring, comes the torrential rage of the clouds. We've had to move into the caves below for the time being, but it's not so bad. Being in closer quarters has inspired more... I'm hesitant to say kinship, because I hate some of these people. But I guess they're not all that bad.

Some days tempers run a little high cause we can't really light fires in the caves, but the younger crowd has taken it upon themselves to entertain everyone. There have been plays and tea parties and dramatized arguments.

Those two kids we got last year, the brother and sister; their names are Connor and Navi. They're named after constellations like me, and when I told them that, they said I must be their missing big brother.

I broke out in a sweat after. Life out here is so harsh, even to us older banditos, and I don't know if I should embrace them all the way or just let it go. Would it be more cruel to them to not give them this familiarity, or more cruel to me when I have to bury their too small bodies one day (there's no way I could live with myself if I left them to the vultures like we do everyone else)? Which could I stomach more?

I push it to the back of my mind, mostly. They sat in the rain for a few minutes and I almost ran myself ragged with fear of them getting sick. Maybe I've made the decision already.

xxx xxmoon xx 

Recently, I've been thinking about the other camps. I'm more than sure they don't know about us, but I'm starting to get the feeling that Clyde and Anna knew. Every time I suggest a small group should go scout a new area, close to the other camps, they both shoot it down almost immediately.

I wonder how they know. They'd have to have a map somewhere, right? How else would they know where the camps are. But, also, there's the fact that these other camps don't move. Ever since I first saw them, they've been in the same grounds. I wonder why our camp has to move so much.

I'll have to figure it out somehow.

xxx xxmoon xx

I haven't been sleeping as much as I'd like to. Everytime I sleep, I dream. I haven't been enjoying my dreams recently.

I'm always alone. There's always the feeling of home. Someone is always missing from these dreams. There is always the sound of laughter, mine and this missing person.

It makes me agitated when I wake up. Restless. Hands always outstretched for something I can't even remember.

Instead, I keep myself busy. I make new maps. I watch the other camps. I stare at my tent flap with the incessant light of the Vialism nodes.

Something has to give.

xxx xxmoon xx

Something gave. Anna is dead. Clyde won't look me in the eyes.

xxx xxmoon xx

Now that it's just him and I, we get along pretty well.

The sky has been turning more golden at night, so I think spring is almost over. With summer will come berries to forage, so I'll have to set groups soon.

My little sidekicks turned seven and six, Connor and Navi, respectively. They didn't know the specific date, but said they knew they were older when they turned golden. I know they meant the sky, but it opens a hole in my chest to know that they came into the world already golden.

Clyde and I don't butt heads as much as I thought we would. We're actually pretty similar, which scares me a little because I didn't think I could be so... abrasive? Aggressive, maybe.

But it's going pretty well I would say. Since there's only two of us now, we've had to delegate some things to three others: Kiah, Nate, and Olive. Me and Clyde are doing the heavy lifting, but those three only do stuff like count medical supplies and go through our food supply to see what's still fresh. They don't see anything super important, like previous leaders' articles. Which makes me super hesitant to write anything, much less sensitive information.

I will just burn my articles before I die. No other way around it.

xxx xxmoon xx 

There's a loud thud and crash. Cold water. I look down and there's drumsticks in my hands. The water is so cold. I'm gonna drown here. There's a guy with pink hair in front of me. My heart gives a sharp tug, and my vision darkens. The water is over my head and my lungs burn. I swim out the window, and the water is somehow colder. My arms are so weak. My chest is turning inside out, and my lungs are scorching.

Just as I break the surface, I wake up.

This same dream. For three weeks. I think it's a memory. Is this why I object to going near deep water? Why was I holding drumsticks? I sure can't use those out here. Why was the water cold, and who was the guy with me?

I hate waiting for answers.

xxx xxmoon xx 

There's a sickness going through the camp. Guess summer is officially here.

It wasn't so bad last year, but it's hit a lot of us this time. Three have died already. I've moved both Connor and Navi into my tent. They both seem to be fine so far, and God willing, they will stay that way. We've cordoned off a part of camp for the sick, to ensure it stays contained.

Summer could not have come at a worse time. I was gonna tell Clyde about the other camps, finally. Talk about divine intervention; I don't think I was really ready to give away any information. I still want to find that map before I get even more ahead of myself.

I hope I get to write a little more soon. Means I get an actual break for once. 

xxx xxmoon xx

I should stop putting things out into the world, I think. 

Clyde is sick. So are the kids. 

Out of the three of them, Navi is hit the hardest. In the silence of night, I can hear the wheezing of her lungs. Connor has a slight fever and light coughing. The camp medic tried to tell me to put them with the other sick, but I couldn't stomach it.

Clyde can get some of his work done before he starts to get tired. He seems likely to pull through, though I've heard some pretty nasty coughing from his tent recently.

In the weeks since the sickness started, I expected for it to get me. A light cough, a slight fever, maybe even a little sweating. But. Nothing. I am perhaps the most healthy I've ever been in recent memory.

The medic tells me it's because I was probably exposed to this sickness before. In Dema, I don't remember anyone getting sick during the summer.

I almost wish I could give this newfound immunity to Connor and Navi. I almost wish I was their blood brother, because maybe they'd not be sick right now.

It's been a little under two hours since my last entry. Clyde is down with a high fever. I'm hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. Connor's fever is yet to break, which I find gut wrenching, but it hasn't worsened, at the very least. His breathing is a little worse, but there's no wheezing.

Navi is not doing well. She has to sleep sitting up now, because when she was laying down, her breathing would stop. My article is balancing on my lap, pen in one hand, my fingers on her pulse with the other. It's erratic. I don't know if I can hope for the best with her, because I think it will be crushed.

An hour later, and Connor is the same as Navi. Clyde's fever broke. He's sitting up now but still has a slight cough.

He will be fine, the medic assured me. 

And the kids? I ask. I don't even look him in the eyes. 

And the kids. He says this mournfully. 

xxx xxmoon xx 

I buried them both under the golden sky. I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. Born golden, and died golden.

I haven't stopped laughing, but it hurts.

It hurts.

xxx xxmoon xx

"Torch," a voice whispers. A finger pokes my head. "Torch, wake up. The sun is rising."

I open my eyes. This is a memory. I know it in my bones. The face above me is someone I know. His name... it escapes me. It's on my tongue, in my heart. I feel like I'm home. 

He smiles. "You were super tired last night, but I thought you wouldn't want to miss this." The sunlight makes his hair look like molten gold.

"I wouldn't want to miss it for the world, Clancy."

When I woke up, I vomited. My body still hurts. My ears haven't stopped ringing. I know I wasn't on top of things today, but I've been too distracted by this.

Is this who was missing from my memories? This... Clancy? His voice sounds so familiar. My bones echo with his voice. Clancy. Clancy. Clancy. Just writing his name, my vision tinges the same golden brown of his hair. And the feeling I had...

I didn't know I had one of those before. A home. Not a place, not a thing, not an empty word. Him; Clancy.

Clancy.

Chapter Text

xxx xxmoon xx

"The torch, too, which he held, was hissing with a smoke that brought tears to the eyes, and as it was, it found no flames amid its waving..."

My nose twitches. I'm so comfortable in the grass, under the sunlight. Clancy was reading to me.

"... impatient to behold her, turned his eyes; and immediately she sank back again. And now, dying a second time, she did not at all complain of her husband: for why should she complain of being beloved?" He heaves a sigh.

I open my eyes. The wind is still. The world is quiet. The sky is so blue it makes my teeth hurt.

Peace, I think to myself.

"I wouldn't turn around," Clancy says. "If I loved a person that much, I would do anything to bring them back."

"Isn't that the whole point of it all, though?" I ask. "That he loved her so much that he wanted to save her, and that he loved her so much that he couldn't?"

Clancy rolls his eyes. He stares at me. My heart is pounding; can he hear it?

"Would you turn around?"

If it was you, yes, I would always, immediately, I don't say. Can you hear my heartbeat? It sounds like your name.

"Depends who's behind me," I say instead.

xxx xxmoon xx

I've been thinking about him a lot recently. Clancy. Or, at least trying to.

Thinking about him makes my head hurt, and certainly not in a good way. Not that any kind of pain is good, it's all just... it's all just Clancy at this point.

I wake up. Clancy. I piss. Clancy. Eat breakfast. Clancy. Mourn for the kids. Clancy. Deliberate over the camps. Clancy. Talk to Clyde about starting something for crops. Clancy. Clancy. Clancy.

It's driving me insane. It feels like there's bugs underneath my skin. It feels like a vulture's beak is poking through both my eyeballs and slurping the juice inside my skull.

I fucking hate. I just. Hate. I can't even force a dream with him in it, because I don't remember how I know him. I don't want to sleep. I want to sleep all the time.

xxx xxmoon xx 

We run, hand in hand. Everytime, my laughter feels like a call. Without fail, his laughter is a response. We stop under an old streetlamp.

It's like the light is flickering in the morse code of my thoughts. I love you. I love you. I love you. Can you hear me? I think we might be the same person.

xxx xxmoon xx 

There's some ugly little creature growing in my stomach. I don't like it.

I'm angry all the time, angrier than I ever remember being.

I want to bash my skull in and rip out my intestines until that ugly creature is dead.

xxx xxmoon xx

Everything is on the tip of my tongue. Everything.

I don't feel like writing today.

xxx xxmoon xx

I'm on bed rest.

A few weeks ago, I packed a bag and left to find a good place to plant crops. Clyde agreed that while Trench is abundant in most things, it is not sustainable to us or the environment we live in.

I think Trench is my home. My second one ever.

Sometimes the love and affection I have for this wild and vast greeness gnaws at my insides.

I had been thinking about crops for a long while, but honestly I had no fucking clue how plants worked. I know it needs sun, water, and dirt and that's about it. So I had to kind of experiment with the seeds. I thought most fruits grew in the ground, but they look like tree saplings now. I hope to have it give fruit in under a year. After watching the seasons out here for so many years, I think they'll fruit seasonally.

Anyway. Bed rest.

Food had been running a little low, so I was doing my... weird thing (some people are calling it 'Navigation,' based off the constellation. I'm not too fond of it, but I digress.) There had been little food so I voluntarily took rations. I think I need to repent.

There was this untouched grove of apples five or so miles east of the camp.

"East is up," Kiah told me as I was leaving. "Good luck, Torch."

Whatever the hell that means. A few of the banditos have said that to me, specifically, over the years, so I know it's not a secular thing.

When I left, it was raining and fog clung to the ground. But when the sun rose (Torch) it turned the fog gold, and the grass had never looked greener.

(Wake up, Torch.)

It takes a lot to make even a one mile hike out here. The jagged rocks, the slick and old concrete stairs, and all the mud makes Trench hard to navigate. (I don't know what that word means.)

Three days into the hike, my rations were very low. I had no water. And I was sleeping fitfully or not at all.

The dawn of the fourth morning in Trench is when I saw him. Clancy.

Standing there, staring at me.

I couldn't believe it. Here I was, slowly losing my mind over someone I barely remember, and here he was. Standing in front of me.

My heart in my throat, my stomach falling out of my ass, I stood on wobbly legs, frantic to get to him.

And then I stepped through a rotting log of wood. My leg extended to compensate for balance, and when my foot landed, there was a loud pop and crack.

It didn't feel too bad so I just pulled myself back up. But when I looked to see Clancy again, he was gone.

I cut my losses and walked back to Trench. By the time I got back to the camp, my left ankle was black and hot to the touch.

So here I am. Stuck like an invalid when I really just want to get back out there. I know it wasn't real. But... the elation when I saw him. The relief I felt, so intense that I could've fallen over, of the hope I felt that I could breathe easy again.

It makes me sick. I wish I never felt it. I wish I could hold it in my hands forever.

xxx xxmoon xx

Excerpt from a previous leader, Michael, 8 years ago:

Bad tidings from dema. Bishops gaining more footing, somehow more and more people make it out tho. They kept telling us that "the compass lies." Still no clue what they mean.

... they won't talk about the other camps. what is going on? ... i think the other leaders are ....

I hate reading other leaders' articles. It's like I'm learning a new language everytime, but there's very little to do when your ankle is broken in six different ways. The medic had to rebreak it in certain places, which was fine. I've always felt little to no pain. He looked at me like I was a freak, and that got a laugh out of me.

I don't laugh much these days.

And I was right. There is something wrong out here, and I think it's specifically in this camp. Clyde is the only one left of the old crowd (they call it the "lost generation" since so many of them died so quickly), so I'll have to find the time to talk to him about it. See what he knows. God, I hope he knows literally anything.

Other than reading, I go out to the river and let my ankle float. The water is always cold, which feels great because now my calf is starting to feel a little warm.

It's peaceful to sit here. There's a waterfall down the way, and I can hear the water crashing from here. Sometimes there's fish, but mostly its dragon flies and butterflies.

Peace, I think to myself.

xxx xxmoon xx 

The crops are well. The fruit trees have flowered and fruited. Now, we'll have a supply and won't have to go far for it.

The creature in my chest is still ugly, but it is quiet. That's the best I can hope for right now.

Every once in a while, I'll see him. Staring at me, always. The emotions in his eyes change. Awe, relief, sadness, desperation, terror, and horror. Never the same one twice. It's bugging me out. I keep looking over my shoulder for the looming spectre of his body, but it seems to happen when I least expect it. It always knocks the wind out of me.

My monthly trip to the kids' gravesite went well. I had to have someone come with me though, on account of my still broken ankle. It doesn't really hurt to walk on it any longer, but when it rains it twinges. This month, the flowers growing around them are a golden-yellow color. Like their first sunrise and last sunset. It's strange, because last month, the flowers were so blue they made my teeth hurt. But they're relatively undisturbed, so it's fine by me.

Sometime in the new year I'll be asking Clyde about that one article entry. I never did find that map of the other camps, but I've made my own, so I hope it's sufficient enough.

Regardless of what he says, I think I might make contact with the camp closest to us. Whether I'll go out as a leader or on my own as a child of Trench, remains to be seen. I hope he is amenable, because I don't think I would be the most spectacular fighter in my current condition.

It would be a better death for myself than I would've ever dreamed, though.

Chapter Text

xxx xxmoon xx

My name is Torch. I am named after a constellation. I used to be a citizen of Dema, a city of cold concrete walls and colder floors. I have not been there in a very, very long time. I am an amnesiac, but I am getting better everyday. I am a bandito, and a camp leader; but there are some things even I can't fix.

Come what may, this will be my last year. Last year as a leader, as a bandito, as a person. I have grown weak and tired and hungry. I can no longer sustain this fight and my own.

xxx xxmoon xx

The rain soothes me. In the distance, the mountain peaks are purple and are crowned with clouds. My body is sore and heavy. My legs are trembling.

I look down and there's –

It's him. Clancy. He's dead. There's a gaping wound in his chest, and mine own pangs in sympathy.

Immediately, I am enraged. Who killed him? Who took this from me?

There's bile in my throat and I turn to vomit. That's when I see it.

His still beating heart, like it's never been in his chest, is nestled comfortably in my hand.

xxx xxmoon xx 

I've been asleep for a week. I dreamed the entire time.

The rain had come down non-stop. For the first time since I stepped foot into Trench, the first time I ever left the city walls, I lost my footing on the slick rocks.

The medic tells me I had a pretty nasty concussion. Clyde tells me he's the one that found me, and said he was "duty bound" to return me to camp. Everytime he sees me it's like his eyes bore into me. Like he's waiting for me to say something.

The Articles from the previous leaders are gone. Clyde tells me they were washed out by the rain. I don't believe this, obviously, but I am still wobbly from the concussion so I can't do anything.

I still see him. Clancy. He stares at me, even now as I write this.

xxx xxmoon xx

Clancy keeps me company most days now.

He's always there when I look up or to the side. He's even there when I close my eyes. Others don't seem to notice him, but that suits me just fine. He is, for lack of better words, mine.

Sometimes, I find myself having whole one-sided conversations with him. Sometimes, I'll make a joke and laugh hard and go to pat his shoulder before my hand passes through the air, and then I realize what I'm doing with stunning clarity.

Most times though, I don't really care. I don't care that Clyde thinks I'm (even more) insane than I used to be; or that Kiah thinks, with pity, that the kids' death finally broke me. I certainly don't fucking care that Nate and Olive think they should just put me down like a rabid fucking dog.

It all doesn't matter to me. Because here's Clancy, staring at me, always, and within sort-of-arms-reach.

xxx xxmoon xx 

There's a dagger in my hand. I test the sharpness against my own hand; a drop of blood wells up almost immediately.

There is a dying animal laying in front of me. A cow, I think Clancy told me. Its baleful eyes stare me down. I try to search for the emotion that's in its eyes, in its body language. Awe? No. Fear; close, but no. Acceptance, maybe. Love.

"I promise you it's sick," Clancy tells me. He guides my hand and the dagger tip to the things chest. "If anything, it's a mercy killing. You must put it out of it's misery, Torch. Who else but you?"

My hand dips a little, but with his words, my resolve strengthens. Who else but me?

The first cut is like a hot knife in snow. 

xxx xxmoon xx 

I think I might be sick, which is a little shocking, because in every memory I have stored and locked away, I've never been sick. Not even the summer sickness that descends upon us with a vengeance.

Spring has come light and airy, a very clear opposite to the other years of the constant downpour of the clouds. The air is lighter than ever, and feels charged with electricity.

Some are happy to have no rain, while others are not jumping for joy. I am one of those. The river we used to water the crops by irrigation have dried up since there's been no rain. We've had to resort to using buckets and pails like the olden days.

Fuck, listen to me. Olden days. I'm not even twenty-six.

It's fine. Minor solution to a real big problem.

I need a big solution to a minor problem. This sickness. It disgusts me.

The medic threw some really big words at me, and tried to water it down for me. and while I appreciated the fact he wanted me to understand, it was irritating me that I didn't. Something about... factory nerves in my nostril? Which sucks fucking hard, because the only factories I ever knew about where the ones in Dema. And I certainly didn't want those anywhere near my body.

Another word he said was allergies. Something about factories, my nose nerves, and allergies. I don't really grasp the true concept, but from what I understand, I just have to break my nose. No more allergies, no more sickness.

Big solution to a minor problem. Perfect.

xxx xxmoon xx 

I found him. Clancy. He's at a camp not even twenty miles away from me.

Away from me. It's not right. It's not. They seem to love him. It's not right, they shouldn't love him. Why do they? What has he done? 

I have to get to him. I have to get him.

xxx xxmoon xx 

I watch him. Constantly. It's like the inverse of him watching me. I push my abilities further and further everyday. I watch while I eat; while I do chores; while I try find more water because our crops have not been producing much fruit; while I try to allocate enough fucking food so the banditos don't revolt and eat each other.

I watch him while I'm awake and when I'm sleeping. I can do four things at camp and still see him in bird's eye view.

I'll get to him. I'll save him.

I can't wait to see him again. I just have to be patient.

xxx xxmoon xx 

It's slow going, but it will be soon, I think.

I keep pushing and pushing my abilities. I feel the same as I did a few years ago, after Jada had died and I got a real break. My chest keeps hurting, and my heart feels like it's being tugged out of my chest. There's a sharp stab of pain when I move too fast or stretch my arms out too much.

But strangely, I'm not afraid of dying this time, if indeed I ever was. Maybe I was scared of dying before seeing Clancy again.

An added benefit of my watching him constantly is that my abilities have peaked, I think. I can use my other senses now. Smell, touch and hearing. Used to be I could only feel faint sensations, but now it feels so real, it's like I'm there in person.

I have a bag packed as soon as the coast is clear. No matter what it takes.

Soon.

xxx xxmoon xx 

"Your father and I have to go somewhere for a while, darling," my mother says shakily. Her trembling hands frame my face. Tears fill her eyes.

I am fourteen years old.

"Okay," I say, my throat dry. The Bishops have turned off water in the city. "When will you come back?"

Her face crumbles and she starts crying in earnest.

"I'm sorry!" I say hurriedly. "Please don't cry."

My father places a hand on her shoulder to push her away. He kneels in front of me. I have always taken after my father. Silent, solemn. His face is stern and weary.

"Son, I need you to listen to me carefully," he says. "We don't know if we will be back, but you will be just fine. The neighbors down the way have agreed to take Connor and Navi, so you don't have to worry about them."

"You're taking them away from me?" My voice cracks. "My baby brother and sister?"

He sighs heavily. "You must do this," he says. "As God told Abraham, as a father to a son, you must do this."

"Okay," I say.

And then I never saw them again.

My mother and I argued once when I told her I didn't want to die, but truthfully, I don't think she wanted to either.

xxx xxmoon xx 

It's time.

I knew I couldn't just up and leave. I had to have a real and true, God honest reason to leave. Some people are a means to an end, and I have no qualms about this.

I killed Clyde. At dawn, I held him under the water on shore of a riverbed not too far from camp. I twisted my hands around his neck like I was wringing out a cloth. He scratches my face. It feels warm: blood. He stops moving and I feel that sick twist of satisfaction in my gut. It's like a warmth spreads through my body.

If someone finds him, it's no sweat off my back. Don't think they'll accuse me anyways.

I packed light. Heavier on food than anything else. An extra Article if I need it. Some clothes. A dagger.

I leave quick. I slip a few times on the rocks, and I have to stop a few times because limbs have cut my legs. I almost don't care but the fear of infection stops me.

I keep going. I head north. Dema's compasses have always lied, but I remain true. Steady. It is times like this where I praise Dema and their ideology. They spread this lie through Collaborators of east being a different direction so they are more likely to catch Defectors.

It takes me three days. But between me watching, and my relentless pace, I see him. Alone. By himself. All alone, except maybe not. Because I am here, and I will save him.

I step out from the underbrush. A twig snaps. His eyes fly open.

"Torch?" He says in disbelief. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

I step closer. He stands. "I could find you anywhere," I tell him. "Where have you been, Clancy?"

He hesitates. "After the fire... I thought you died."

I take more steps closer to him. So close. "You didn't think to turn around for me," I accuse.

The dagger in my pocket is heavy.

"No, Torch, I wanted to come back, to search for you, but Nico, he was relentless," he explains to me. "The cycle was too strong."

I spit at his feet. We're standing so close now, I can see his pupils dilated in some emotion.

"I don't care for your weakness, Clancy," I snarl. "But it's okay. I forgive you."

His shoulders slump in relief. "Good," he smiles shakily. "I've missed you, Torch-light."

I wrap my arms around him tenderly. "I've missed you more, Clancy-cat."

And then my dagger slides home. He stiffens immediately and pulls away from me. I stare into his baleful eyes.

"Torch?"

"I would've turned around for you," I tell him fervently. "And here I am."

There's some emotion in his eyes. I search for it. Fear? No. Acceptance, maybe. Love. Terror.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, inexplicable tears in my eyes. He stumbles and I help him lay down. "I'm sorry, but you made me into this. Do you understand? I didn't want to but you made me. I'm sorry."

"Torch, I don't," he coughs, and blood splatters my face, "I don't understand. You loved me. I loved you. Right?"

"Yes," I agree. "But that was the problem."

I slip my dagger out of his chest. I place it inbetween his ribs, and I push it deep into his chest. I begin to saw.

He's crying inconsolably.

"I'm sorry," I tell him again. There's salt on my lips.

"It's... okay." He says. There's a terrible gurgling noise in his chest. "Take it, take it all, Torch, it's yours."

I pry open his chest. His blood is warm and a deep red. His ribs move aside with little issue and then I see it. His heart.

I take it from him, precious as it is. He can't be trusted with it. I will take it for safe keeping.

His breathing is labored, his face pale. The light leaving his eyes. Who else but me?

He dies, chest still gurgling, blood still spreading.

I rock back and forth over his body, inconsolable.

Eventually, I get tired and lay my head on his chest. Just like how we used to in Dema before the fire. His blood slowly cools and congeals.

There, in silence, in the vibrant green grass and warm sunlight, I lay there and wait for God to take me away.

xxx xxmoon xx 

I made it back, to camp, somehow. 

And I think God is punishing me.

Ever since I... did what I did to – to him, Trench has been silent. Solemn. I think a better word is dead, or dying, anyway.

The vibrant grass of spring that I used to spend hours laying in has turned brittle and yellow. The too-blue sky has since been colorless. No clouds at all. Everything breathing and living has died or left.

That creek I used to sit at when I broke my ankle? Dried up. The creekbed is littered with the rotting corpses of the fish I used to think were so colorful and beautiful.... Almost like –

No.

The trees have all gone too. I keep watching the whole continent of Trench, even Voldsøy, and it's like half the trees have gone. All of the foliage is yellow, like a giant pimple in the middle of dark blue-black waters.

I had gone away from the camp, away from all the camps. I just had to get away. I was so jittery and anxious that I kept snapping at the other banditos. It got so bad that Kiah told me to take, and I quote, "a long fucking hike."

She's been made a leader, by the way.

I had sat on the cliffs edge. there was a large canyon in front of me, and far down below was one of the last running rivers in Trench. I was tearing grass from the root when I heard it. The river down below. 

Dread filled my stomach. It sounded terrible. That rushing river gurgled the same way he did when

No.

I don't see water anymore. Now it all looks like the colour of fresh blood. The same colour that I still dream about, forever staining my hands.

We can no longer fish. Everything we caught was rotting, and those desperate enough to still eat them said they tasted like congealed blood.

I think God is punishing me, and it scares me. I would rather deal with the most ruthless Bishop in their most divine-like rage than deal with this.

And in my sleep I get no rest.

The one from last night:

I am laying on the warm grass. After weeks of watching Trench die out, looking at the vibrant grass is an assault on the eyes. The sun is warm above me, and the sky, my most dearly missed thing about Trench, is so blue, my teeth hurt.

Almost immediately I know: this is a memory rewritten.

"I wouldn't turn around," Clancy had said to me. "If I loved a person that much, I would do anything to bring them back."

He turned his body to me, chest puffed out, like he was proud to display the gaping wound in his chest. The cavity in which his heart would lay was empty.

His face was devoid of blood. His pale visage struck terror into me. "Would you turn around?"

"What," I breathed, "what's happening? What is this?"

"Answer me, Torch," he commanded me. "Tell me the truth of it."

"Clancy, I don't understand," I tried to reason with him, "what's happening to me?"

The perspective of the dream changed. I was laying down still, but now I'm below him. He's standing above me, legs on either side of my torso. I can't move, it's like I've been nailed to the ground.

His chest is still cracked open.

"Clancy, I don't..."

He raises his pointer finger to his mouth. His hands, I notice, are stained with blood.

"You killed me, Torch," he croons. "You turned around and ripped my heart out."

I'm thrashing my body around on the ground frantically. "I'm - I'm sorry, Clancy."

"It's alright, Navigator," he shushes me. "I have turned around for you too."

Bitterly slow, he raises his hand. Resting in it, still beating, is my heart.

My movements become sluggish. I look down blearily to my chest, and there is the proof. A gaping wound, there in the middle of the gory viscera of my lungs and my protruding ribs.

We match, I think dizzily to myself.

I always die in my dreams. When I die, I wake up here, in real life, where every waking moment is no better.

I am tense every waking moment. I feel like I'm about to trip upon something. Something greater. Something other. 

Maybe God isn't punishing me. Maybe He's preparing me. Another Cain for Abel. 

Who else but me?