Monday rolled around far faster than Lance would have hoped. The day was like normal, but the shadows were acting differently. They kept their distance more and the stole a lot more glances as Lance walked by them.

Strange. Not bad but strange Lance thought. The treatment continued the same as normal until the end of the day. Lance was in a good mood after all that had happened and was not bothered, until Alice didn’t show up at the gate.

“Maybe she got held up by a teacher?” he moved to the teacher lounge, a place he’d never actually been too. Having so many adults in one room terrified him.

“Has Alice Monte been here?” his quiet voice broke the concentration of a few teachers.

A shadow, at a nearby desk, stood up and came over to him.

“Alice Monte?” the shadow’s hand went to its chin. “Oh, you mean the transfer student. No, no one called her in here today.” His fist plopped down not his plan like a stroke of genius had struck him.

His friendly masculine tone shocked Lance, but negative thoughts soon took over. Too many witnesses to be mean to me huh?

After suffering a disappointing adventure, he walked down toward the lockers. He listlessly walked toward his one. He noticed something white sticking out of the corner.

“What the heck?” To Lance, something being in his locker was old news. He always got the occasional bug or stink bomb, but a letter was new.

He examined it closed half expecting it to blow up. Hie gingerly took his finger on the crease and opened it.

The large bolded letters were the first catch his attention. The message was clear.

The letter was a challenge.

“Come to the school year at six o’clock, or else.” His blood froze as he read it out loud. He didn’t dare guess what the what else was. Then a strange smell caught Lance’s nose. It was coming from his locker.

He opened it, and a white glove fell face down on the floor. Lance felt his pulse race.  Inside the glove was a picture.

Please be wrong, Please!!

Lance flipped the picture. Dread and fear pierced through him like bullets. His hand tightened into a fist.

“Why?” the question hung in the silent hallway.

In the photo, Alice was face down. Her hands and feet were tied. Blood visible on her forehead. He didn’t need to wonder if it was hers. The slide of the photo was dabbed in it.

Lance looked at the glove for a long time. One of the school rare rules were issuing a challenge. The school board saw fights as an extracurricular activity as pope might learn magic or something not random points thanks to their “Door”. But one such dual stood above all of them.

A magic duel, or to Lance a public execution. Of course, not everyone had or even could use magic. The “Door” granted knowledge and nothing more. Magic was just a byproduct of that knowledge.

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But he was scared for a different reason. The school chose the white glove as an issue because it was a sign of an honorable fight. Meaning if he didn't show up he would be further down than trash.

Lance punched the wall.

What can I do? I have no magic, and if I showed up, I would die. A duel was different from a fight. People could get killed or seriously injured, and no one would bat an eye. Because interfering in a dual was a grave offense. Since the two or more fighting made the choice of their own free will.

The stares he got today made it clear. His felt numb. Lance had to choices before him.

It was no easy choice. Getting invoiced meant suffering worse pain than he ever experienced before.His heart felt tight.

Or, once and for all, killing his heart by leave Alice to her fate.

To run or fight? Why Do iIhave to choose?!”

Lance gripped his skull.

“What can I DO!?” he yelled. Going meant death. Leaving meant giving up on everything. The small happiness he had would die forever and he knew he would never go back.

Fear and anxiety wormed their way into his heart. He was nobody. A flicker on a screen. He felt his heart grow cold.

I could just run. Leave forever and never come back. Surely That would solve it.  He tried and tried, but his brain refused to accept the pitiful solution he came up with

“Hey!” A new voice restored in his mind. “What are you doing here so late!?” Lance didn't catch the last part.

His fear took over. He did the one thing he had done his whole life.

He ran.

Lance flew through his front door. His foot caught, and he fell face first on his wooden floor. The impact didn’t hurt too bad, but even still Lance couldn’t get up. He was in always like this. His only choice was to run.

“Why can't I find joy. WHY!!! What have I don't to deserve this?!” He cried out, but on the silent halls of his house answered.

He wanted desperately to blame someone. He couldn’t blame “god”. That was too low for him. He could only blame himself for not trying harder.

I am pathetic. I should have never gotten close to her. Yet he still tried to get up from the ground.

Do I think I'm some kind of hero! I can't do anything!

He flipped over and looked at his ceiling. It only raised his annoyance.

“Why did I have to live alone?! What does everyone else get a happy life, but I am left alone to suffer?” He saw a picture of his father on the wall. “Fuck finding a cure I JUST WANT A FAMILY DAMN IT”  He yelled and yelled, but no answer ever came to his pleas. His voice finally stopped after a few more shouts. His throat ached.

If I went to fight, I would die, but if I don’t....Lance thought trailed off. I shouldn’t think of it. I need to live. I shouldn;t go.

Was he willing to die for a person he had only met five days ago? Lance stretched his arm out and felt the familiar wood of the box. There before he lay the pocket watch.  It was a mistake.

Warm memories infect his mind. Tears streamed down his face.

Potential to give me strength?  Alice’s words boomed in his head. Even if it is pathetic and miserable as long as I can do something!. He clung to his desperate thought as best he could.

Lance moved his hand forward and grabbed the pocket watch in his hand. He rolled over and looked up at it. It was his only option. He begged the object.

“Right now,” he closed his eyes. “Someone I love is being hurt,” he spoke to the pocket watch. “If you do have some power or something in you. I ask that you give it to me!” His father had never used such words before. If even the slimmest possibilities exist.

Nothing came. Not spark of power, nor some hidden gift.

The pocket watch just sat in his hand, the hand on his clock still stuck in place.

I guess it is a pipe dream in the end. Maybe if I died today, the pain would go away forever. Bearing nothing, but his negative thought, Lance placed the pocket watch in his pocket and walked out the door. The steps he took were hollow and faint.

The world was dyed black.