The shadows envelop my stomach as the evening air settles in. Around me, the woods begin to quiet as the light-dwellers begin the long trek home. A titan, Deifos, peaks through the canopy above, his glimmer dissected into beams that shine down in scattered waves.
In the breeze, the light almost dances across my skin as branches collide and leaves pass to and fro awkwardly over each other. Each moment never quite the same, but a sequence of events that inevitably leads to the same conclusion: the titan is where he should be. And the leaves. The breeze. The light-dwellers. The branches.
The shadows.
When I laid down here, they were only kissing my feet and Deifos hung directly overhead in the clearing. The space between the foliage acts as the beacon where his glow, behemoth and scorching, gently brushed its hand down upon the earth. Now he hides. Not completely, just enough to give us a reprieve from basking in his glory, but not enough so that we forget that he's always there. He understands, I imagine, that we would grow tired at staring at him for long. Even we, his chosen brothers and sisters, could not handle that with our mortal eyes.
Come nightfall, the shadow-dwellers will rise from their shelter and begin their strange rituals, weaving the paths that the chosen ones take when they lose sight of what Deifos has given us. The shadows are their domain. But they have not tamed me yet. It is not for lack of trying. The darkness is our enemy, yet as long as the glow of the titan remains, it holds no power over us.
For now they remain in slumber as Deifos retains his grip on this part of the world, but it is ever shrinking. He cannot allow himself to see any part of his dominion unchecked for long. Inevitably, he leaves some place behind in the darkness — but never for long.
In time, it will be winter. Most shadow-dwellers cannot survive the chill of the solstice and burrow themselves away. Others have adapted and continue their hunt.
The night-guards will often tell us stories of what happens when Deifos falls behind the horizon. They speak of an inky black abyss hovering above speckled with tiny balls of light, some burning with passion and wrath, others dimmed and fractured like a spider's web muddied and tread-upon. It is as if a million titans observe us from afar, keeping their eyes on us while Deifos observes some other corner of the world.
It helps the children sleep soundly as the shadow-dwellers reign. But the rest us of know; even if these other titans are as benevolent as Deifos, they could never protect us from the shadow-dwellers. We cannot allow ourselves to become complacent. Without the light of Deifos, we can never truly be safe.
Some in the village, mostly the older children, curse Deifos under their breath.
The shadows kiss my lips. Soon it will be dark. Already the first of the shadow-dwellers are beginning to stir from their slumber. I can hear their footsteps surrounding me. It is not safe here anymore.
I rise from the ground, throwing my pack over my shoulders, and suddenly the warblers fly overhead. Black and white feathers soar in perfect tandem towards the nesting grounds. They cast a shadow on the earth as they fly. As do we all, I suppose.
Beyond the trees to the west, Deifos continues its descent. Smiling, I head towards him. I cannot hope to reach him, but he will guide me home.
The following excerpts are taken from a hand-written journal, recovered alongside several other artifacts in the Alba Torrangan ruins by a team of archeologists. The journal was in rough condition, with multiple burns and tears as well as several pages ripped out or otherwise made indecipherable. While it was initially believed to have little value, several members of the archeological dig realized that the text contained information on events that took place far after the collapse of Alba Torranga. It was theorized that this journal originated from a separate dimension COME UP WITH A BETTER BACKSTORY
Accordingly, the journal was delivered to Dr. Ramona Calth, Researcher of Interdimensional Communications at Harper's Point University. As she is the foremost authority on EXPAND THIS
The world is gone. It was destroyed by my hands. A fitting punishment, I suppose, to be cursed to wander its bones forever.
September 14th, 1987
…no. No no no, I can’t do it, I can’t fucking do it…
September 16th, 1987
Shit. Okay. I guess I gotta say it now. Alright. Here goes.
Today I set James free.
September 21th, 1987
Feels like there's so little time left. Already I'm starting to forget things, things that happened long ago— it's difficult to remember. I listened back to my tapes today and I was struggling to picture it in my head, even though it's my own goddamn memories.
No point in looking backwards anymore. It’s taken me long enough to accept what's happening now. I barely understand any of it, but I think I’m ready to start preparing for what's coming.
Oh, I should probably say this, just in case. If you've found these tapes and you're hearing them now, please— deliver them to Alyssa Trevisani in Fall Creek, Minnesota. 980 West Chamberlain Road. I don't care who else hears this, I just want to know that she has them. That's good enough for me.
And Alyssa, if you’re hearing this now— hopefully you’re listening to this one last. Shit, I need to label the rest of these— anyway, I want you to know why I won't be coming back.
I know what you’re thinking. It’s not James. Or, I suppose, it’s only partially about James? I know, it’s confusing. You’ll see what I mean soon.
Alright. On the morning of September 14th, I woke up lying in mud in the backyard. I was sore as hell, and my mouth tasted like bark. No idea how I got there. I mean, I fell asleep in my fucking bed, you know? And I wake up and I’m suddenly covered in mud and grass and shit, and my head's throbbing like nothing else.
So I try to stand up, and my legs are in so much pain that I can't support myself and I fall back into the mud. There's something caught in my throat, so I start coughing it up, and whatever it is ends up in my mouth. It's round and hard and it feels smooth, but I can't tell what it is. I spit it out, and it lands in the dirt beside me. It was a stone. Freaked me the fuck out.
Eventually I get the strength back to stand up and limp inside, because I needed a fucking shower. So I'm running to the bathroom— I take a second to cough up another stone into the kitchen sink, then I keep hobbling over there. And I don't even make sure the water's hot before I get in there. I mean, it was a full-on Arctic blast and I didn't give a shit. I just needed to get all that gunk off me, but it's so hard to do that when you keep fucking retching up rocks every other minute.
And then my arm begins itching, right? That's normal, at least, I'm thinking. I go to scratch it— and I felt this, I dunno, gentle coarseness that's peeling back against my fingers. I look down, and where I'm pressing on my arm, there are feathers. Brown, speckled with white, inky spots.
Mourning dove's feathers.
Fuck, I don't know if this'll make sense, but seeing that shit growing on my arm, I felt— happy. Like it's the final piece of a puzzle that's been stumping me since I found that nest in James' room all those years ago. I sit down and the water's pouring onto my face and I'm still puking up stones. And I'm crying and I'm fucking smiling, and I keep saying to myself: "I get it now, James, I get it now."
I'm sitting there in that shower for hours, and outside there's a sudden gunshot somewhere in the distance. And I felt the urge to fly.
So that's it. When I'm done recording this, I'm going straight into the forest to… well, see what happens. I'm not coming back to the house. Too many bad memories there, anyway. Don't bother searching for me, you're not going to like what you'll find if you do.
I'm sure you're asking why. Let me tell you. I took care of James for six goddamn years as he transformed. It broke me as much as it broke him. I can't put you through that too.
Just look to the skies, Alyssa. Maybe one day, you'll find me there.
Lost, never found and seldom forgotten.
