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“What are we doing here again?”
Clancy’s voice came out rough, hoarse from disuse, as his hands clung to the back of the Torchbearer’s hoodie like a lifeline. His fingers, still faintly blackened at the edges from his time in Voldsoy, sank into the soft fabric, gripping until his knuckles whitened.
He pressed closer against the Torchbearer’s back, the steady warmth beneath the hoodie seeping into his chest and grounding him. His knees pressed tight to the horse’s flanks, heels digging into the stirrups as though the ground below would swallow him whole if he loosened his grip even for a second.
The Torchbearer rode like he’d done it his entire life; back straight, steady hands on the reins, movements smooth and confident. Clancy didn’t know how to ride. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. That had been their excuse for sharing a horse, but they both knew it was more than that.
Ahead, three Banditos rode in a loose formation, each with their own horses weighed down by bags of supplies. The quiet clinking of metal and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed through the empty ravine as they followed the narrow rocky trail toward the city.
And there, looming like a wound carved into the horizon, stood Dema, its towering concrete walls etched in shadow, pale under the bruised light of dusk.
Clancy’s stomach twisted. Even from this distance, the city’s presence felt suffocating.
“We’re restocking the safe house by the city walls,” the Torchbearer said over his shoulder, voice calm and reassuring, a low rumble that soothed Clancy’s frayed nerves. “If anyone escapes before we can reach them, they’ll have shelter and supplies waiting. Not everyone finds it, but it’s there, just in case.”
Clancy’s eyes followed the horizon, the faint outlines of the towers cutting into the sky like jagged knives. His chest tightened.
Sensing his tension, the Torchbearer turned slightly, offering a smile. It was small, quiet, and kind, wrinkles forming near the corners of his eyes, the faintest ember of warmth in a cold world.
“We’ll only stay the night,” he added softly. “To let the horses rest. We’ll head back to camp at sunrise.”
He clicked his tongue and tilted his heels gently against the horse’s sides. The steed responded with a steady trot, hooves striking the stone in a rhythm that echoed across the canyon walls.
Clancy jolted with each step, wincing and tightening his hold on the Torchbearer’s hoodie. “When we get back to camp,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “you’re gonna- ow- teach me how to ride without it- ow- hurting my ass.”
The Torchbearer chuckled, the sound bubbling out of him like sunlight breaking through smoke. It was bright, real, and for a fleeting moment, it made Clancy forget about the ache in his muscles, the sting of the past, and the city looming behind the horizon.
Before long, the group crested a ridge of jagged rock, and the safe house came into view; a modest structure nestled into the folds of the barren landscape. It wasn’t much to look at, but that was the point.
The wooden panels had been painted a dull grey, streaked and weathered to match the stone around it. Pebbles and shards of slate lined the edges of the roof, camouflaging it perfectly among the plains. To anyone who didn’t know where to look, it would disappear into the wasteland; a shelter hidden in plain sight.
The horses slowed as they neared the hut, their hooves clattering against loose stones. The Banditos at the front had already dismounted, tying the reins to the hitching posts and unloading packs of supplies from the saddle bags. The soft sound of leather creaked in the air, mixed with the quiet chatter of the group and the distant hum of the wind rolling off the hills.
The Torchbearer gave a gentle tug on the reins, and his horse came to a smooth stop. He swung his leg over and landed lightly, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots grounding the moment. Turning, he reached a gloved hand up toward Clancy.
Clancy hesitated for a moment, but he unhooked his boots from the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. For a brief, heart-pounding second, his balance wavered. But the Torchbearer was there, steady and patient, hands finding his waist just in time to guide him safely down.
When he looked up, the Torchbearer was smiling, the kind of smile that reached his eyes more than his lips. Clancy’s chest tightened, and he forced a small, grateful smile in return before looking away.
The Torchbearer stepped away to join the others, his voice low but firm as he discussed the supplies.
“We’ll check for breaches first,” he said, his tone all business now. “Anything that’s been opened or half-finished goes. We can’t risk contamination or traps.”
Clancy caught the wisps of conversation from where he stood beside the horses. The Torchbearer’s steed, who Clancy had learned was named Ember, snorted beside him. Her coat gleamed a warm chestnut brown, broken only by white freckles across her flank and a pale stripe running down her nose. Her dark mane rippled like smoke in the wind.
He reached out a tentative hand, brushing his fingers down her snout. She leaned into the touch with surprising gentleness, her breath warm against his palm.
Memories of being dragged onto the back of a galloping horse and led back to Dema for imprisonment were burned into his mind, and the sound of hoofsteps still sent shockwaves down his spine. But, Ember had warmed him up, and now, he even helped to take care of her when the Torchbearer was around.
As he stroked her muzzle, she shifted her stance and subtly moved to block the view of Dema rising over the horizon, as if she could sense what he didn’t want to see. Clancy let out a shaky breath and smiled faintly.
“Ember’s found herself a new favourite, I see.”
Clancy startled slightly at the familiar voice and turned. The Torchbearer was standing behind them, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“She’s great,” Clancy admitted with a soft laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “My ass still hurts, though.”
The Torchbearer chuckled, that low, warm sound that seemed to make the whole world a little less harsh. He stepped up beside Clancy, patting Ember’s neck affectionately. “She’s got a soft spot for nervous riders. Can’t say I blame her.”
Then his tone softened, and he glanced toward the horizon where the city’s walls loomed faintly in the distance, washed in the orange hue of dusk. “C’mon,” he said quietly, tilting his head toward the hill. “I want to show you something while the others get settled.”
Clancy blinked, curiosity flickering through the haze of unease. “Show me what?”
The Torchbearer only smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upward as he started walking toward the ridge. “You’ll see.”
The sun was sinking low behind the horizon, bleeding gold and crimson across the jagged plains. Shadows stretched long over the ground, spilling between the cracks of stone and the tufts of moss that clung stubbornly to the earth. The air grew cooler, heavy with the scent of wet rock and distant smoke.
Ahead of them, Dema loomed; a hulking shape of concrete and silence, its towers clawing at the dying light. Even from this distance, Clancy could see the faint shimmer of its walls, the geometric lines etched into his memory like scars.
His steps faltered. Pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he slowed, his breath catching in his throat.
“Why are we getting closer?” he asked quietly. His voice was fragile, carrying that edge of fear he tried so hard to hide. The words barely carried past his lips, as though he were afraid the Bishops could hear him even out here, beyond their reach.
The Torchbearer kept walking, steady and unhurried. The flames of his torch burned bright against the dimming sky, casting a flickering circle of light that followed them. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression gentle in the glow.
“You spent your whole life inside those walls,” he said softly. “I want to show you what’s outside them.”
Clancy nodded faintly, though his hands betrayed him; fidgeting, tugging at the frayed sleeves of his jacket. The black stains that marked his fingers had bled into the cuffs, turning the green fabric nearly charcoal.
Sensing his hesitation, the Torchbearer reached out without a word. His hand found Clancy’s, rough and warm from years of work and fire. He interlaced their fingers with an easy familiarity.
Clancy’s breath hitched. No matter how the memories clawed at him, no matter how much of Dema still lingered in his mind, the Torchbearer’s light always found him. It was steady, patient, and impossibly grounding.
“I’ve got you,” the Torchbearer murmured, his thumb brushing over Clancy’s knuckles. “Always.”
By the time they reached the base of the city walls, the last sliver of sun had vanished, leaving the world bathed in cool twilight. The air was damp here, filled with the scent of moss and stone.
Thick vines curled up the walls, winding through cracks in the concrete like veins reclaiming a body. Patches of green moss spread along the base, and bursts of small yellow flowers pushed up defiantly through the dirt, their petals glowing faintly in the fading light.
Clancy stared up at the towering barrier, breath shallow. He had seen it countless times before - running toward it, away from it, through it - but never like this. Never with the chance to just look.
His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. He could almost hear the echo of his past footsteps on the other side, the shouts, the hands dragging him back through the gates. But now, there was only wind. Only quiet.
He turned slightly, catching the Torchbearer in his peripheral vision. The man stood a few paces away, torchlight glinting off his jaw, pride and gentleness written in the small lift of his mouth.
Clancy let out a shaky breath. His problems weren’t gone - far from it - but standing here, he realised he wasn’t facing them alone. The Torchbearer had been there through every nightmare, every jagged thought, every moment he thought he might break. He was the steady flame that refused to go out.
Wordlessly, Clancy reached out and found his hand again. Their fingers intertwined easily, the space between them closing without hesitation. The Torchbearer gave a small nod and turned back toward the path, leading him forward into the shadow of the walls.
“So this,” the Torchbearer said, rounding the corner of the moss-covered wall, “is the East escape route.”
Clancy’s breath caught. The moment he saw it, recognition struck like lightning. The jagged break in the wall yawned before them, concrete torn open. Wild yellow flowers grew along the edges, their roots tangled in the fractures like nature’s victory scars. Beyond the breach, a dark tunnel sloped downward into the earth, the air spilling out cool and damp.
He knew that smell; must, stone, and old water. It clung to the back of his throat and carried echoes of his own ragged breaths in the dark.
“This is where I escaped,” he murmured, voice quiet. “The first time I actually got out.” His fingers twitched slightly, as if they still remembered the feel of rough stone beneath them, the panic of running blind through darkness.
The Torchbearer nodded gently, his thumb brushing the back of Clancy’s hand in a small, grounding motion. “It’s the main exit we use when we send the message that East Is Up,” he said. The torchlight flickered across his face, gold reflecting in his eyes. “The Bishops don’t know about it. It’s the safest route out of the city.”
“West is the official entrance,” he continued, his tone steady.
Clancy’s gaze flicked westward instinctively, his stomach twisting at the memory. “That’s where Nico brought me back,” he said quietly. “And where they sent me out again for the Assemblage.”
He paused, eyes distant as he recalled the oppressive geometry of the city, the endless corridors that all led to obedience. “What about North or South?”
The Torchbearer’s expression darkened slightly, thoughtful. “North is heavily guarded. There’s a patrol post up top, a vantage point for the guards when someone runs. They’ve got sightlines on nearly every approach.”
Then, a small spark of warmth broke through his seriousness. “But South…” He looked at Clancy with a faint, knowing grin. “South is different.”
They began walking again, boots crunching softly against the gravel and moss. The light dimmed as the sun dipped further, staining the sky violet and rust.
“South faces the Paladin Strait,” the Torchbearer said, voice low and rhythmic, almost soothing. “It’s forgotten, mostly. No ships come in anywhere but Port Vial on the West side, so the Bishops don’t bother with it. Too exposed, too open. No one’s supposed to cross that way.”
Clancy listened, the tightness in his chest loosening little by little. The longer they stayed near the walls, the less his body screamed to run. The Torchbearer’s steady pace helped.
“Which means…” Clancy began, glancing sideways with a flicker of curiosity.
“Which means,” the Torchbearer said, grinning fully now, “we can explore the old abandoned southern watchtower without anyone breathing down our necks.”
A small, involuntary laugh escaped Clancy’s throat; soft, but real. The sound surprised him. He felt something pulse in his chest, an old thrill that bordered on reckless. The feeling you get when you know you’re doing something you shouldn’t, but you want to anyway.
Finally, they reached it. The southern watchtower stood in ruin, a jagged wound in Dema’s concrete shell. The hole in the wall looked as if a sledgehammer had taken a swing at it.
Chunks of stone lay scattered like fallen teeth, and thick vines twisted through the fractures, curling in and out of the hollowed entrance. Lichen hung in pale green spirals from the archway, swaying gently in the evening wind.
The Torchbearer reached up and brushed the hanging strands aside, his torchlight spilling over the entrance. “You first,” he said, offering a mock bow and a crooked smile.
Clancy smirked, stepping past him. “Oh, my brave prince,” he teased, voice light despite the tension that thrummed beneath his skin. The Torchbearer laughed quietly, the sound bouncing warmly off the cold stone as they slipped inside.
The air within was cool and stale, thick with the scent of dust and old wood. The Torchbearer’s flame flickered across the walls, painting them in gold and shadow. Clancy instinctively pressed closer, shoulder brushing against his. The vast chamber before them stretched into darkness; overturned tables and splintered chairs cast long, ghostly silhouettes. Cobwebs shimmered faintly in the firelight, strung like gossamer curtains across the corners.
To one side, brittle papers and yellowed pages lay scattered across the floor, curling at the edges as if they’d been soaked and dried a hundred times. To the other, a staircase rose into darkness, its wooden frame warped and crumbling. One step was cracked clean through, and the stone beneath looked uneven, threatening to give way at any moment.
“Romantic,” Clancy muttered, his voice echoing far louder than he intended. He cringed at the sound.
The Torchbearer exhaled through his nose, the hint of a laugh ghosting through the quiet. “Come on. Let’s take a look around.”
They moved slowly through the tower, the torchlight bobbing like a heartbeat. Clancy stayed close, never straying more than a few feet away. The deeper they went, the colder it became, until the chill sank into his bones and that old, familiar unease began to coil in his gut.
The Torchbearer crouched near the scattered papers, tutting under his breath as he sifted through the brittle pages. “Looks like old newspapers, logs, maybe some ledgers. Nothing we don’t already have copies of.” He rose, stretching his back before glancing toward the stairs. “I don’t like the look of those steps, but if you want to check up top, we can try.”
Clancy shook his head quickly, arms wrapping around his torso as if to keep himself from trembling. “I think we’re good down here. I-I know it’s abandoned, but it still…”
“Gives you the creeps?” the Torchbearer finished gently, stepping closer and taking his hand. His thumb brushed slow circles against Clancy’s knuckles, the motion grounding him back to the present.
Clancy nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t been this close in a long time, but it’s like it’s all still there. That feeling that someone’s just waiting in the shadows, ready to drag me back.” His voice broke slightly on the last word.
The Torchbearer’s expression softened. “I know,” he murmured, tightening his grip. “The fact that you’re standing here at all means something. You faced it, and you’re still breathing. I’m proud of you.” His gaze was steady, shimmering faintly with reflected firelight. “And you’ll never have to do it alone again. I’m not going anywhere.”
Clancy’s breath hitched, warmth rising to his cheeks. Whether it was the fire’s glow or the tenderness in the Torchbearer’s words, he couldn’t tell.
“That’s… sappy as shit,” he said, a small laugh escaping him despite the lump in his throat.
“Is it?” The Torchbearer tilted his head, his grin softening into something more playful. “How about this?”
Before Clancy could reply, the Torchbearer leaned down. Instinct took over, and Clancy met him halfway. Their lips brushed, gentle at first, then steadier, the moment expanding around them like a held breath.
Clancy’s hand found the Torchbearer’s shoulder, clutching lightly as if afraid the world might crumble away if he let go.
The Torchbearer hummed softly, drawing back just enough to meet Clancy’s eyes. His breath was warm against Clancy’s cheek. “Still sappy?” he teased, voice low and rough from the quiet laughter that followed.
Clancy tried to respond, but his thoughts were fogged and scattered. Words failed him, so he simply shook his head and tugged at the Torchbearer’s hoodie, pulling him closer.
The movement guided them toward one of the cracked stone walls. Clancy pressed his back against it, the chill of the stone seeping through his jacket as he tilted his chin up, finding the Torchbearer’s lips again.
Their kiss deepened, deliberate and aching. It wasn’t new, there had been countless nights like this, whispering hopes against each other’s lips under the flicker of lantern light, sharing laughter and half-asleep confessions in the safety of their tent, but this felt different.
They weren’t in the safety of their shared tent in the Bandito camp, or on a hunting patrol in the woods of Trench. They were within the walls of Dema, breaking the rules and hiding in an old lookout room as if they were teenagers ducking behind the benches at school.
It was sinful. Clancy never wanted it to end.
“Who goes there?”
A voice cracked through the air like a whip.
The Torchbearer broke the kiss instantly, his instincts taking over. He twisted the torch and shoved the flaming end into the stone floor with a soft hiss, plunging the room into complete, suffocating darkness. Smoke curled upward, ghostly and thin.
He moved before Clancy could even speak, arms braced on either side of him, his body a shield against the wall.
Clancy’s pulse thundered in his ears. His hands pressed to his chest as he tried to quiet his breathing. The silence around them magnified everything; the sound of his heart, the faint creak of boots above, the tremor in his own lungs.
“Who’s there?” The voice came again, closer this time, echoing through the stairwell.
Clancy froze. A guard. Someone had heard them.
Panic surged through him like lightning. His thoughts spiraled. If they were caught, if the Bishops found out he’d returned, if they discovered the Torchbearer with him… he could already feel the cold metal cuffs around his wrists, the burning sting of the smear, the isolation of the Towers of Silence. His chest tightened, his throat closing up-
A soft bump to his forehead broke the spiral.
The Torchbearer leaned in, his nose brushing Clancy’s gently in the dark. The touch was grounding, wordless reassurance. He didn’t even realise he had started to panic, chest heaving and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The Torchbearer had noticed, moving one arm up to envelop Clancy’s hand in his. His eyes, even in the darkness, shined with a promise.
You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let them touch you.
Clancy’s breath hitched, but the panic began to fade. He pressed their joined hands to his chest and inhaled deeply, focusing on the Torchbearer’s warmth, the faint smell of smoke and earth.
Footsteps echoed above them. The floorboards groaned. The guard was moving, their boots dragging against the floor as they searched for the sound.
Clancy pressed himself closer to the Torchbearer, burying his face in the curve of his shoulder. The Torchbearer didn’t move, his stance protective, gaze fixed on the faint strip of light near the staircase. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready.
The footsteps grew louder, then stopped.
A beat. Two.
“Oh, fuck that. I’m not going down there,” the guard muttered, their voice muffled but distinct. “Creepy as hell. I’m not breaking my leg on those stairs, either.”
Their footsteps receded, slow at first, then quicker as they left the tower behind.
The silence that followed felt deafening. The Torchbearer didn’t move for a long moment, still listening, waiting. When he finally relaxed, it was with a quiet exhale. He stepped back a little, the faintest smile ghosting his lips. “Sorry if I crushed you there,” he whispered.
Clancy’s voice came out in a shaky hiss. “I thought you said this place was abandoned.” His heart still hadn’t slowed.
“I thought it was,” the Torchbearer murmured, glancing toward the ceiling as if he could still hear the guard’s retreat. “Looks like they’ve upped security since the Assemblage.”
Clancy swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. “Let’s get back to the others. This place gives me the shivers.”
“Agreed.” The Torchbearer slipped an arm around Clancy’s shoulders, guiding him toward the exit. His warmth radiated through the fabric of Clancy’s jacket, washing over him in steady waves that quieted the last of his nerves.
As they walked out into the cool night, Clancy leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “When we get back to the safe house,” He hesitated, glancing up. “Maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
The Torchbearer’s laugh was low, soft, full of relief. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”