A Hero In The Dark

Chapter 135: Choose Hope

I look up through the gaps between my fingers; try and find the source of the sandy grains.

But fail.

It is too dark to see and it hurts too much to focus.

I hear a voice. Through some sort of communication device somewhere in this space. Causing it to sound disfigured and disdained. That, too, I am unsure of where it comes from.

"It was a mistake to betray us. Now you have left us no choice."

It is a girl's voice. I only realize who it is when she finishes.

"Magdalena?" I question weakly in my attempt to prop myself up on my forearms and hands. "Is that you?"

"So, it seems you are still able to recall some parts of your memory. Have you had any troubles with recollecting your past human?"

I was better at ease in the silence of my tiny compartment. Noise only makes the ache worse. As if someone is taking a drill to my head. Yet I still try with everything to understand.

"Why do you keep calling me human?"

There is silence. I am mostly grateful for it; it brings a sense of ease to my mind. Though I wish it didn't take so long to get an answer.

"A useless question," she says then. "Have you not noticed my origins as of yet? Why, I know of yours. After all, the both of us share a history."

Her origins? I don't understand. Share a history?

What does that mean?

"What is there to notice?" I ask, oblivious to what she is trying to have me figure.

"Perhaps this will help you remember," she says, and adjusts her tone into a deeper one with a cough. "Surrender or die!"

And with those three simple words, it strikes me cold. Like having a snowball covered in ice thrown at my face. My blood runs cold and, for just a split second, the pain in my head seems to be forgotten.

"A Mogadorian," I say in dread. "You're a Mogadorian."

"Oh, how the truth does not set you free," she says, and I can tell that on the other end from where Magdalena stands or sits behind the communicator, she is smirking.

Magdalena is a Mogadorian? How did I not see it before?

And as I mentally curse myself for being stupid enough to fall into their clutches yet again, I get the same excruciating pain radiating at my skull. As hurtful as it was before.

When it lessens, I ask through short measly breaths, "What- what did you do to me?"

"Oh, just a simple parasite of my own invention," she answers. "Bea instructed I inject it into you just in case you decided to turn on us. A wise decision, and now look at you. Trapped in a pit full of sand unknowing whether you will live or die. Legacies unavailable and friends unaccounted for. Do not worry however; your misery will be ended soon."

In that moment, I don't care for the pain my body faces. I tighten my fists and grit my teeth; sit up and glance up.

There must be a camera in here. She must be watching me; watching and listening. She will see and she will hear.

I close my eyes and scream, "Bitch! Let me out!"

She does not nor does she reply.

Instead, the sand continues falling. I cough when it enters my mouth, gritting my teeth through the grainy sensation.

Only then do I bring myself to stand, using the metal wall for support.

I rest my palms on the smooth cold steel and listen for anything that might indicate that there is life outside my small compartment.

I bang on it loudly, hoping somebody will hear regardless if they are near or not.

The sand fills the small chamber quickly. It has already buried my ankles. My ankles and the scar. It is warm where the sand overlays the seared flesh. I don't know what to do.

My legacies are not responding. My Eneration will not light. My telekinesis does not register. My telepathy seems useless. My head buzzes with such immense pain. My ears ring and my screaming and banging on solid steel does nothing to alleviate that; only worsens it.

I don't know what to do.

I don't see an exit; I don't see anything that can help me.

There has to be a way out.

If only I had my legacies. If only I could connect with Lorien.

I close my eyes, willing my Eneration to come, pleading to Lorien for its help. My chin tucked into my chest, I mutter, "Please. Just long enough. Long enough to get out. That's all I need."

It doesn't come.

The sand is almost at my waist now.

I bang my fist harder on the iron. Harder. Louder. Longer. Desperate for someone to hear. Desperate to survive. Hoping that anyone will come to my aid.

Although it is too dark to see, I am sure my fist has turned red at the number of times I have hit it. I can feel it throb.

I can feel it throb, yet I continue my banging and yelling.

"Let me out! Let me out! Please!"

Nobody comes. Nobody.

I am alone.

The sand reaches my breast. It is warm; warm even through my dirtied shirt.

Alone. Powerless. Hurt. Frail.

No one knows where I am; not the Loric or my family or my friends or my Chimæra.

I am going to die here.

That is the thought that stops my fist from moving; from pounding repeatedly on the steel-plated wall. I rest my head against it, lean my forehead against its cold surface, and close my eyes.

The sand covers my throat. Soon, I'll be completely buried and running out of air.

I can't believe this is how it ends.

I wish I could see my family again. I wish I could see Pixie. I wish I could see Nine and Five and Marina and Eight and baby Liam and Six and Sam and Malcolm and Ella and Crayton and Lexa. I wish I could see the Chimærae. I wish I could see the Human Garde. I wish I could see John, as I know him not as so from my dream.

I wish I could see Henri.

Henri. His voice still echoes in my mind, "Don't give up hope just yet. It's the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope."

I remember him speak those words so earnestly so long ago. I remember it so well, even with whatever Magdalena did. I remember.

I want to have hope.

I want to believe that everything is okay. I want to believe that I'll make it out of here. I want to believe that I'll see them all again.

I'm trying to keep hope alive, really trying. But the only thing that comes to mind, are my family's faces.

My Mother, my Father, my Brother.

They will never know what happened to me. They will never know why it happened. They will never understand why I didn't come home. They will never see what I am truly capable of. They will never get to know the boy I love.

"No," I decide with one final breath in. "I can't let this be the end."

I don't know how I'm hoping to get out of this, but I choose hope.

I will always choose hope and I will never let it go.

I promise.

The sand blankets my cheeks, heating my skin. And I breathe in through my nose what I hope isn't my last deep breath.

Then, it is over.