The End Revisited

XXVII.

“ROXANNE!!” Patrick screamed as he fell to his knees, picking up Roxanne’s dying body. As Patrick lifted her head and looked into her eyes, torment crossed his face as he knew that she was soon going to depart, never to see him again. Bartholomew also dropped to the ground, holding his head in his hands as he wept, realizing that he must have inadvertently killed Roxanne in trying to kill The Glare. His desire for peace and unity, started with one more death, was shattered. He was guilty of killing Roxanne a second time, he had sentenced her to death from which she had escaped, only to die at his hand in a twist of fate. Bartholomew was crushed. He could not lead anyone now, he had proven to himself that only death and destruction came from his hand. It would be better for The Glare to lead Tiesa than for him to taint the people with his rule any longer.

“Oh, Roxanne. Why? You had values and stuck to them, you were the one that could have healed the Schism. I cannot leave the track that I am on. There is no future for me, except for darkness. I am blind and cannot see. It would have been better for you to let me die. Why?”

“’Love extends beyond choice. Even to the deepest, darkest crevices where the Light cannot reach.’ Let it heal you, Patrick. You can bridge the Schism. You must.”

“But, Roxanne, why are you quoting old phrases to me? That means nothing, they are simply legends perpetuated to placate the people. I tried to bridge the Schism and have only deepened it. I have nowhere else to turn.”

Roxanne coughed, gasping for air, to reply before she was taken from the world.

“Legends may be truer than we give them credit for. You of all people should know that. Patrick, let the age of Light begin.” As she finished, a smile crossed her face and she was gone, leaving Patrick and Bartholomew alone with their grief.

Patrick sobbed, unable to go on. The Keepers and Light Police that stood at the door were unsure what they should do. Not knowing if this was part of Bartholomew’s face-off with The Glare or not, wondering if they should intervene and finish The Glare as Bartholomew had said needed to be done.

Bartholomew wept silent tears, mourning the loss of Roxanne again, as well as recognizing that the system of Justice that he had operated under had collapsed around him. He couldn’t fit himself into the world that he found himself in. His pursuit of Justice had led to the complete collapse of the Lighthouse, destruction of Tiesa and death of his closest friends. What had he missed? As he thought, Roxanne’s words struck him to the core and he realized that he had forgotten love. That he had valued the Light over all else, not realizing that there was anything higher, that something should govern his use of the Light. That misstep had led him to pursue Justice with no thought of where he was leading himself. He turned to Patrick, still holding the body of Roxanne, feeling only one way out.

“Kill me.”

Patrick looked at him in shock, and stammered something incomprehensible, numbed with grief.

“Kill…me,” Bartholomew’s voice had a note of pleading in it that bit at Patrick.

“I can’t. There has been enough killing in the name of the Light.” There was a slight twinge of regret in Patrick’s voice, as he thought of the pain and sorrow that Bartholomew had caused him. He had wanted to kill Bartholomew for years, seeking his vengeance, but now, something was different. He couldn’t do it. The words of Roxanne kept him from doing what seemed the easy thing to do. It was down to him and Bartholomew to restore balance and heal the divide that had plagued Tiesa for so long.

“Please, Patrick. For Justice to be satisfied.”

Patrick shook his head, unable to regardless of the pleading and the desire that was clear in Bartholomew’s voice. Patrick knew that if he killed Bartholomew, he would be cast back into the darkness that Roxanne’s sacrifice had lifted him from. He would return to the blindness that he had felt, alone, unable to see, driven to violence.

“No, Bartholomew. Justice needs no more blood. Come, we can stop this. We can end the blood and violence, healing the Schism once and for all. Bartholomew, come with me.” With this Patrick extended his hand to Bartholomew, reaching to pull him up, to begin the rescue of Tiesa. To truly begin the age of Light.

Bartholomew shook his head, as tears rolled down his face. As he spoke, his speech was broken up by sobs, rendering parts of it almost inaudible.

“Patrick, I can’t. I have fallen too far. My hand has shed too much blood across Tiesa. There is no hope for me.” Bartholomew reached for his staff, pointing the crystal towards his chest, his arm shaking as he raised the staff. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”

Patrick looked in horror and tried to protest, “Bartholomew, no. Don’t do this. You can change, together we can heal Tiesa, without you…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Bartholomew simply shook his head and before Patrick could push the staff out of the way or block the shaft of Light from hitting Bartholomew, it was over. His lifeless body flopped onto the floor. The Keepers and Light Police that had been standing watch ran into the room, a state of confusion ensued. Some simply sobbed, collapsing onto the ground, others ran to the body, hoping that there would be something that they could do to change his definitive deadness. A few ran to The Glare, aiming to kill him, but he dropped his cane and crystal and surrendered to them, so they took him into custody. The few that were not overwhelmed with grief, led a march of The Glare through the tower, which led to the surrender of the agents that had been working for the Glare. With The Glare gone, who would they follow? What was there to fight for?

The Keepers and Light Police cheered as they saw the Glare captured and surrender, but the somber mood of those leading him, caused them to cut their celebration short. Something wasn’t right. There should have been shouts up and down the tower staircase, spreading throughout all of Tiesa, but instead there was moody, melancholy silence. They looked for Bartholomew hoping that their fearless leader would clue them in to the cause of the sadness. As they looked in the crowd, they couldn’t see him. Nervous whispers spread amongst those that weren’t stationed at the top of the stairs to witness the tragedy that unfolded. Some said that he must be hard at work leading the charge to rebuild, while others thought he was just buried in the crowd and they had missed him. A few spread that maybe he was dead, but others refused to believe it, since The Glare had been captured, it seemed impossible that Bartholomew would have been killed and they would have captured him. Perhaps it was an epic battle and The Glare had been wounded severely, although he didn’t appear to have sustained any serious wounds. As the rumors worsened and the despair deepened, the Keepers and Light Police that had not come down with The Glare, descended the stairs, in two lines, holding the bodies of Bartholomew and Roxanne between them, tears running down the faces of many. The worst fears and rumors were confirmed. What had moments before been a tremendous victory was made incredibly bittersweet, by the sight of Bartholomew. Roxanne’s body added depth, but she didn’t carry the same weight that Bartholomew did. Many were confused as to why she was there, since she had been executed by Bartholomew, but their questions were largely swallowed by grief and mourning. They didn’t know what awaited them any longer. They had been so sure, that all would end, either with their dramatic demise or with the victorious triumph of Bartholomew over The Glare. This middling victory singed with tragedy had never crossed their minds as a possibility. They had no one else to turn to. Bartholomew had been the leader, the one that would bring them peace.

Where would they turn? Who would bring them together and help them re-establish the Lighthouse? As the procession went outside, the square was filled with people, forming a circle around the Keepers that stood guard over The Glare and the lifeless bodies of Bartholomew and Roxanne. The crowd waited, the stillness of the dusk air punctured by sobs and the occasional sniffling. The sounds of grief casting a somber air over the entire proceedings. One of the Keepers that had witnessed the death of Roxanne and Bartholomew stepped forward to inform everyone, what had happened.

“Attention. I am sorry that I must speak, what will be spoken. As you have seen and heard, Bartholomew was killed during the attack. The young woman that lies next to him is Roxanne, the daughter of Fairfax, sentenced to execution, but somehow escaped. Her story dies with her. She gave her life for The Glare and her death led to sorrow and grief by Bartholomew and The Glare.”

“Please, call me Patrick,” The Glare said as he lifted his hands to pull off the patch that covered his blind eye.

There were scattered gasps among the crowd as some of the older Keepers recognized Patrick as the same Patrick that had been like a son to Fairfax and had supposedly been killed by an accident in the Radiant Tower, around the time of the Resolution. The Keeper that had been speaking, turned to him.

“Patrick, is it really you?”

“Yes, I had been gone, consumed by The Glare, but I have found my way back, thanks to the kindness and sacrifice of Roxanne.” Patrick could hardly speak the words without the tears beginning to flow and choking his words out through sobs.

“How could this have happened? You should be dead.”

“Yes, but my tale is long and twisted, shrouded in shadow, until love called me back.”

“Friends- We have lost greatly today, but that loss is coupled with a resurrection. Patrick, who had been dead, has returned.”

Reluctant cheers spread throughout the crowd, still consumed by grief and by confusion over Patrick and whether they should be grateful or upset that he remained alive. He seemed to be the cause of their pain and sorrow, but was being praised. Could they forget what he had done?

The Keeper recognized the internal struggle facing the crowd and addressed them again.

“Come now, Patrick is one of us. He strayed, but the work of the Lighthouse drove him away. He wanted to save the Light and desired all to partake of it. He may have been misguided and blinded, but there has been a change of heart. We must welcome him with open arms. No longer can we separate ourselves by petty differences. All that love the Light should live together. The Glare and the Keepers with the League. We all wanted what was best for Tiesa and what was best for the Light. As long as we continue to exclude those that challenge our beliefs and assumptions, we are doomed to failure. That much has been made clear. The Schism cannot be bridged by further alienation. Only by Love and reconciliation. Come, no one is bound. We have seen enough of Justice. The time has come for mercy.” As the Keeper spoke he turned to Patrick, bound hand and foot, and shattered the bonds with his crystal. He reached out and took Patrick by the hand, raising his arm with Patrick’s.

“Together the Light can conquer shadow. Together, we can truly have the Age of Light.”

The crowd embraced each other, Glare mingling with Keeper and Light Police. Something stirred within them that had been missing. They felt the power of compassion, the loss of fear. They looked past the differences that had brought them into conflict, many realizing that their friends and neighbors could have perished at their hands. Tears of grief mixed with tears of joy as the people of Tiesa realized that they could disagree yet all serve the Light.

As the crowd began to spread, communities were built. The crystals were shared and entrusted to Light posts stationed in high towers above different communities. All learned to care for the Light, becoming mini Keepers themselves. The Lighthouse was left in rubble, while the Light spread, covering more and more of Tiesa.

The End?

XXVI. 

Patrick looked down and fell to his knees beside the body of Roxanne. He was broken. Tears streamed down his face, as he held her dead body in his arms.

“After all that I did, you still gave your life for me. Why? I don’t deserve this. There is no reason for you to be dead. I should have died, then you could have really bridged the Schism. I can’t. I can’t do it, Roxanne. I only see darkness. There is no way out. I am blind and cannot see. I thought that by bringing down the Lighthouse, I would regain everything that the Lighthouse had stolen from me. My sight, the power and position. You. Even Fairfax in some way I thought would return, perhaps just by pleasing him, I thought I could somehow call him back. Yet, everything that happened took what mattered. I gained nothing and lost more than I had to lose.”

“What? Roxanne, is that you?”

Patrick looked up, the tears still streaming as his face hardened into the Glare that had become his trademark facial expression. The pain and the anguish that had been visible on his face became replaced with the hatred and anger that preceded death.

“It was her, Bartholomew, but you killed her. You have taken everything from me. There is no redemption in the Lighthouse, only pain and suffering. A pain and suffering that I have felt far too much of. Your time has come Bartholomew.”

Patrick picked up the crystal that had rolled from Roxanne’s hand as she threw herself in front of Patrick. He tossed it lightly up and down, as Bartholomew stood, his face caving. He felt guilt for the many deaths that he had commissioned, and caused. Roxanne’s death destroying the hope that he had had for the salvation of Tiesa. He realized that he never should have tried to kill The Glare, the time for killing had passed, yet he pressed on. One more. That was what he had thought. That one more now haunted him. He sunk to his knees and bowed his head in submission to Patrick.

“Kill me and serve justice. I have ruined Tiesa and destroyed the lives of innocents. I can do no more for good and deserve death. Please. End it.”

Patrick stood and looked down at Bartholomew, kneeling on the ground. He raised the crystal and leveled it at Bartholomew’s head.

“So be it.”

Patrick walked away as Bartholomew fell, his body sprawling across the floor.

The Keepers and the Light Police gave up, some rushing to the aid of Bartholomew, others collapsing in sobs onto the floor of the tower. A few tried to take down Patrick, but he quickly blasted them with the Light of the crystal, ending any serious attacks against him. He strode down the stairs to find his men had already apprehended or defeated most of the Keepers, with some escaping. He ordered his agents to take no survivors, killing any that struggled, without the first sign of remorse or chance to renounce the Lighthouse and swear allegiance to The Glare. He had lost all compassion. Any governing force that had kept his passions in check was gone. He had no reason to stop from dealing death to all those around him. He wondered what there was to live for, yet was committed to live at the least to spite Bartholomew and the other Keepers that had taken everything from him. He ordered the Light cannons brought out and they pursued the Keepers that escaped, firing the Light cannons after them, with no thought to the destruction that was caused to Tiesa. The city was falling to pieces and Patrick spared no thought to the lives that would be lost or the homes that were destroyed. He would have his vengeance. Now taken out on all of Tiesa. There was no one that was free from his terror. Any order that was disobeyed in the slightest was met with severe discipline, often death. The numbers of The Glare dwindled as Patrick’s crusade to rid himself of guilt and responsibility continued, never satisfied. He felt the weight of Roxanne’s death, as she had died protecting him and sought to cleanse himself from her blood by bridging the Schism in the only way he knew how- sending the other side into oblivion, with no hope of return. The Schism would not be dividing anyone after that, it would simply be an ideological cliff that would pose a danger, not a deep divide among the people.

As Patrick continued his quest for solace and comfort, the Light seemed to be gathered in the hands of the few. Patrick gathered whatever had been held by those that disobeyed him and were killed, but he always spread it amongst the people of Tiesa, in memory of Roxanne. He feared the result of the radical social change that she had developed, entrusting everyone with the role of Keeper, worried that he would lose the only thing he had left- his position of influence. Tiesa was in ashes, laid waste by Patrick’s search for absolution in the deaths of any and all that favored the Lighthouse or may have suggested the possibility of such a preference. The circle of loyal followers diminished and Patrick was left increasingly alone with his own dark, shadowy thoughts. Contemplating the nature of peace and Light and where he went wrong.

Patrick was completely The Glare, as all who had known him as Patrick were dead. He sought out those that held any loose allegiance to the Lighthouse or the Keepers and exiled or killed them. He rebuilt the Chief Chambers of The Glare on the coast, where he overlooked the storm tossed sea nearby the cove and cave that had been the founding place of The Glare. The city was stable. Any rebellion was quashed immediately, without warning. There was no place for dissent while The Glare led Tiesa. The Glare worked to re-establish the League, but it never seemed to stick. There was nothing driving it and The Glare became frustrated and ultimately gave up, deciding that there was no need for a competing voice and that The Glare knew best. He sought to master the Light, learning of its intricacies and mysteries, always seeking for what new tricks and benefits he could learn. He often pondered on his place in the scheme of existence, eventually convincing himself that he had truly brought peace to Tiesa and healed the Schism, when no one else could. He was a chosen one of sorts, the savior of Tiesa. One anniversary of the climatic battle that ensured Tiesa’s freedom from the bondage of the Lighthouse, The Glare spoke to the people of Tiesa.

“People of Tiesa! Time has been good to us. The Light has spread and all signs of the Schism are eradicated. There is no longer a divide buried beneath the surface. The Shadow mingles with the Light and harmony is found in that balance of chaos that was forbidden by the oppression of the Lighthouse. You have the Light and the Light has you. I have the Light and the Light has me.”

The crowd was apathetic and doubted some of the rhetoric that often spewed from the mouth of the Glare. For all his talk of equality under the Light, many lived in Shadow. They supposed that was part of the chaotic balance necessary for achieving true harmony and peace, but felt little excitement at his claims of greatness.

“The Light is among you, easily reached and accessible, no longer held distant and out of your grasp because you are unworthy of watching it. The Light is yours, as it should be. The Light that I have is no different than the Light that you all hold in your hands now. While, we have made great strides, there is always the threat of resurgence and rebellion. We must constantly watch, keeping the balance of Light and Shadow. Should too many hold the Light themselves, the balance will be disrupted and Tiesa will spiral out of control. When the black and white mix together all are equally covered in gray, with nothing to lose and nothing to hold above others. Therein lies true peace and happiness my friends. Embrace the Shadow and the Light, seek for those things that were once forbidden, for now everything is yours.

The Shadow allows us to enjoy the Light to a greater extent, by passing through the Shadows, the Light gains greater meaning. Those in the Shadow can more fully love and express their loyalty and devotion to the Light. Opposition is needed in all things, my friends. That tension and opposition strengthens us and binds us closer together. This is the Age of Light.”

The crowd applauded and cheered, enthusiastically accepting his message, as those that had different opinions had drifted into the shadows during the course of the speech, leaving only the faithful and most devoted. As they spoke amongst themselves, they all appreciated what had been said, finding the truth in it, holding their own crystals up to guide their way back from the coast, no contrary opinions were voiced, since there was no need to disagree, they clearly saw the benefit of the Shadows, to help them appreciate their Light more, the opposition served a clear purpose, to help them appreciate what they already had.

As those that thought differently kept quiet in the Shadows, not a part of the group. They had yet to see the greater light that The Glare offered, wishing instead for the simplicity and relative peace that had accompanied the Lighthouse. No one sought them out, they left them in the dark, unaware of the greater vision of things. They simply hummed along doing their work, hurt by the distaste shown towards them, yet unable to join with the Light holders that kept them in Shadow, not wanting to shatter the world that they had before them, but every once in a while they would come by and shine the Light brightly in their eyes, talking about things that they never knew or seemed to destroy what they had heard. The Light seemed to give them an ego boost that led them to say whatever they wanted, without thinking of the consequences.

The Light collected in pockets, leaving most of Tiesa in Shadow. The implications were dire. The Glare may have been oblivious to the trend as he remained in the Chief Chambers, alone, kept to himself. He had lost much of his charisma with the death of Roxanne. He clutched her crystal that had become his at all times, placing it atop a cane that he used to walk, not out of necessity, but simply to have it close by. The Light pockets were high in approval of The Glare and those that were lucky enough to be given Light crystals when The Glare executed or exiled rebels, quickly left the Shadows for the pockets of Light, it often not taking long before they forgot what it was like to left in the Shadows, criticizing them, but recognizing their necessity to the perpetuation of the Light as a means of differentiating them. They fully embraced the idea that both Light and Shadow were necessary, advocating for full equality and representation. The Glare brought down the Light, casting it among all of Tiesa. The Shadows continued to grow, but that’s as the Light splinters…

Redemption Returns

XXV. 

Roxanne ran. And ran. And ran. She wasn’t really running anywhere except away from the tower and The Glare. She couldn’t handle the death and destruction that characterized his rule. It was too much to see the murder of a close friend, Thaddeus. She had nowhere to turn, with the recent revelation that the League was simply a front for The Glare. She had truly hoped that her time with Patrick would have resulted in the healing of the Schism, but he pursued a course that to her seemed destined to only widen the gap and ultimately lead to his destruction. She thought about seeking out the Keepers, but wasn’t sure if they were planning on action or were simply trying to lay low, out of observation, until they could integrate themselves back into society. She also didn’t want to lead any of The Glare, who may be following her, to them by accident resulting in the death of more of her close friends. She felt alone and friendless, the one friend that she had had left, a killer, through and through. No matter what she could have done, he would always be the same, he was beyond her ability to help, to rescue. Yet, she still cared for him and hoped that he could do what he had said he would. The equal distribution of Light for all. That was something worth fighting for and believing in. Perhaps her departure would hurt him enough that he would change his ways and rectify the mistakes that he had made, freeing the imprisoned Keepers and innocent people of Tiesa, working to implement the plans that she had been making with him before she fled.

Roxanne seemed destined to lose all that she loved. Her father was killed by a man that she admired. Her best friend sacrificed herself so that she could truly heal the Schism. Roxanne feared that Erin’s sacrifice had been in vain. How could she possibly heal the Schism now? The Glare would take action and couldn’t cooperate with her, the League was basically non-existent and she didn’t know if the Lighthouse remained in Tiesa or had any hope or plans of restoring order to the city. Should she have stayed? Looking past the evil and cruelty of The Glare, striving to be a voice of reason and good in the darkness? No, she couldn’t handle it any longer. She belonged elsewhere. Her efforts to change The Glare from the inside had been ineffective. Perhaps she needed to change it from the outside, but not with violence. That was the way that Bartholomew had begun to use and The Glare continued to use, that Roxanne believed only insured their destruction at the hands of the people that they marginalized. No, it needed to be an open dialogue between leaders of both groups, something that wouldn’t lead to the use of violence or anger.

Could it be done? Could she find the Keepers and help them reach a consensus with The Glare that would bless and enrich the lives of all that lived in Tiesa? A glimmer of hope grew inside her as she now had a directive and a mission. She needed to find the Keepers and help them to reach some sort of agreement with The Glare.

*

Bartholomew sat amongst the remaining Keepers and Light Police, absorbing the information that buzzed around him, even without his sight. He was determined to restore the Light to its proper position, in Radiant Tower, in the midst of the Lighthouse. To do that, The Glare must fall and be completely overcome. Bartholomew knew this, but others that worked with him did not. They hoped that the Light could simply be raised back over the city and that all would fall back into place. There would be no need to actively destroy The Glare, as the raising of the Light would bring about their ruin. This was partially true, but would only cause The Glare to fight back more fiercely. Both the Keepers and Light Police and the forces of The Glare were heavily wounded after the ambush and attack. Neither side was fully strengthened, although the Keepers had the advantage of what they felt was moral justice on their side, to defend those that had been killed in the name of The Glare for supporting the Lighthouse that may or may not have had any sort of allegiance or tie to the Lighthouse. The terror that was being inflicted upon Tiesa was cause enough for retribution. All seemed to miss the similarity to the terror that they had inflicted on Tiesa prior to the take-over of The Glare. All that is, except Bartholomew. He remembered and wanted The Glare gone, but knew that the leader, The Glare needed to fall before the organization would disintegrate. And the organization would likely collapse upon itself without a head, without the leader that shared its name. Bartholomew wanted as little bloodshed as possible feeling remorse for the deaths of Erin and the treachery of Roxanne. He knew that responsibility for her fell on his shoulders, as the one that sentenced her to death and effectively outcast her when she ended up surviving. There was nowhere else for her to go than the Glare. She was a traitor sentenced to death in the Lighthouse and she knew that the League was being watched. Why, Bartholomew thought to himself. Why did I do what I did? We could be in a much better place if I had listened to those around me. Instead I killed those closest to me and that could do the greatest good. Fairfax, Roxanne, Erin. Thaddeus is likely dead after saving my life. Would he have saved me, had he known that I was Bartholomew? The cause of the destruction and collapse of Tiesa? I know not. I can only hope that he would forgive me and has done so. The time to act was now. They would invade the tower and head straight for The Glare’s lair, holding him hostage and using him to bargain for their safety and the future of Tiesa.

Bartholomew was drawn into his thoughts. He finally committed to action and knew that he must address the Keepers and the Light Police to present the plan that needed to be enacted immediately.

Bartholomew stood and brandished his staff, shining Light into the sky. A sure signal that he wanted to address all that supported the Lighthouse or opposed the Glare. The people began to gather, waiting with anticipation to hear what Bartholomew would share with them. They were hoping that action would be taken soon, that he would lay out a grand plan for the recapture of the Lighthouse and ultimate rebuilding of all of Tiesa.

“Friends, I hope that we can regain Tiesa and spread the Light once more over all that are in need. Protecting those that need protecting and hearing the voices of all. As the Chief Keeper, I forgot the purpose of the Light. I thought that it was to bring glory to me. I wanted loyalty and allegiance, prosecuting and killing those that I had once called ‘friend’. The Glare, who claimed to want all to have the Light, to do with it as they wished, now does the same. Bringing in those that disagree and imprisoning or executing them. We cannot have this. We cannot lurk in Shadows, afraid for our lives. That is not living. The Glare must be stopped. He has taken the lives of our friends and family and will not stop until we are no more and all of Tiesa praises his name. The equality that he spoke of is only possible with diversity of thought, something that Tiesa needs desperately and that I unfortunately did my best to squash before it could become anything worth thinking about.”

The crowd was unsure how to respond to the remarks of Bartholomew. They weren’t expecting the guilt-ridden speech that he gave, confessing his sins and deepest, darkest secrets. Things that they may have been aware of, but never knew until now. He was open with his flaws and hoped for something better. Perhaps people could change.

A green cloaked figure was approaching the gathered crowd from a fair distance. She was drawing closer, but seemed unlikely to reach the spot before the speech would end.

“Keepers and Light Police and all of you that are here today. We need to destroy The Glare. If we can capture him, we can control the entire organization and save Tiesa. Action must be taken immediately. The patrols are out in full force and they leave the tower vulnerable and largely unprotected. It is unlikely that many prisoners are kept after our escape, it seems that The Glare would rather execute those that disagree with him than give them a chance to change their minds or escape from his clutches. We will spread ourselves out around the tower, with a large force going in through the main door and charging their way to The Glare. We’ll cover all of the secret entrances and exits and be stationed around to warn each other of danger and any approaching patrols. I will confront The Glare myself.”

Gasps came from the crowd and leaders amongst the Keepers and the Light Police began to protest, “No, Bartholomew, you can’t even see. You have done your part already. You don’t need to do more. We’ll take care of it and if you want to see him, we can bring him here to you. You don’t need to be in danger, in the middle of the fight.”

Bartholomew raised his hand to silence the crowd.

“You are too kind. I must do this. It is the only way I can achieve redemption from the transgressions of my past. I brought Tiesa into this dark place and I have the power and responsibility to bring it out again. I will confront The Glare and I will be in the center of the fight. There is nothing you can say or do that will convince me otherwise. We leave immediately.”

The crowd roared and scrambled to prepare to leave and attack The Glare once more. This time it would be their last. If they failed, then all would be lost and Tiesa would drown in Shadow, the Light spread so thin that no one could see.

Roxanne continued to approach the camp, but was forgotten by any that had seen her approach in the hurry to prepare and depart. Before she even arrived at the camp, all had left, either to participate directly in the attack or to scout for incoming patrols to warn the Keepers and Light Police of danger that approached. She realized the camp was deserted and saw them moving up ahead in the distance, pushing on to follow them. She followed and grew concerned as they neared the tower and the remains of the Lighthouse. She knew that an attack would prove disastrous for all, as the Keepers were not trained in battle and they were mostly wounded and weak from previous efforts. The Glare, while still recovering from the prison break not that distant in the past, were in much better condition to fight. The patrols may be out and for the Keepers’ sake, Roxanne hoped that to be the case. She began to sprint and take shortcuts, hoping to cut to the front of the attacking mob and talk some reason into the leader. She would push for a diplomatic resolution that wouldn’t end with the bloodshed of hundreds of innocents. There had been enough death and destruction in the battle for the Light already, by both sides. Now was the time for a coming together, not further pushing the divide, enlarging the Schism.

They reached the sight of the Lighthouse and staked out positions at all of the secret entrances and at various vantage points that would allow them to see the most and the farthest into the distance to provide the most warning for any incoming patrols of The Glare.

The crowd descended upon the tower, opening the door and climbing the stairs to reach the level that contained The Glare himself. Roxanne was too late. The guards at what remained of the gates and the door were taken out immediately, overwhelmed by the numbers that approached them. The bravery of the group was inspiring, but Roxanne feared for them and for Tiesa, should they fail. She continued to rush through the crowd, joining with them as they climbed the stairs, pushing through trying to reach the front, but stopped as a crowd of The Glare jumped through one of the side entrances and began to attack them from behind. They were forced to take a stand and fight as the front marched forward, searching for the Glare. Somehow they must have broken through the defenses or snuck up on them. Those on guard outside rushed to fight The Glare from behind. The tight quarters made the fighting difficult and led to Light shooting every which way and blinding many, friendly fire likely caused most of the damage, The Glare blinding themselves, while the Keepers blinded each other. Roxanne ducked down and tried to weave through the legs and feet of the Keepers and Light Police, finding slightly more success. She was pushing upstream, stuck and seemingly doomed to either fight or die there. She shot some blasts from her crystal up at the ceiling, sending chips of rock falling on top of The Glare, not wanting to cause serious harm to anyone. She pushed her way through and had finally broken free, running up the stairs, hoping to reach Patrick before the others found him and did something extreme that they would regret.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she thought about permanently losing another friend in this blasted fight for the Light, all stemming from the Schism that had plagued Tiesa for over a decade. She thought as she ran what she would say. What could she say? She didn’t trust him. She didn’t have faith that he would succeed, yet she knew that his death would only further plunge Tiesa into the Shadows in the pit created by the Schism. There had to be a way to bring them together without death and destruction.

Roxanne reached the floor of Patrick’s office and turned to find him. She saw a gathered crowd of Keepers and Light Police standing near the corpses of a dozen or so agents of The Glare. She sprinted to the office and burst through the crowd to see Bartholomew standing, facing Patrick who was unarmed and alone. Bartholomew had his staff raised, the crystal leveled at Patrick’s chest. Roxanne tried to stop herself, ending up removed, not quite even with Bartholomew or Patrick. She stared in horror and relief, as Bartholomew spoke to Patrick.

“The time has come. The Light may have blinded me, as it blinded you, but in my blindness I truly see. We cannot have peace in Tiesa, unless you are gone. You are the last remains of a rebellious spirit that has plagued the Lighthouse and all of Tiesa since the Schism. Without you The Glare will crumble and we can reach a truce, healing the Schism. I wish there was another way, goodbye, Patrick.”

Tears streamed down from Bartholomew’s blind eyes, as he prepared to end Patrick’s life.

Roxanne screamed in defiance, “NO!”

Before he could register the scream, Bartholomew shot the Light from his crystal straight at Patrick’s chest, but Roxanne flung herself in front of Patrick, taking the shot for him. Her lifeless body crumpled to the ground in front of Patrick.