It has been two full days since Governor Warren had a night of sleep, he thinks as the sun streams through the windows into his study. He won’t let himself. Not because of the nightmares of course, no because he is necessary to the whole operation. There was no reason for the nightmares to even return if he did sleep, everything was in motion now. Better late than never. He stares at the large desk covered in sprawling papers and the blank one in front of him. He can’t remember what he was writing.
Tap-Tap, Tap-Tap. Startled, Warren pulls his hands from the desk and stares at it in astonishment. Tap-Tap, Tap-Tap. He tentatively lowers his ear to be just above the wooden desk. Is there something inside the desk? Is there someone… The door to the Governor’s study creaks open slowly and a young boy’s voice calls out
“Message, sir!”
Warren giggles to himself and lets out a sigh in relief.
“Yes, yes, bring it to me boy.”
A scrawny but tall teen rushes in and deposits an envelope on the governor’s desk, nearly knocking over a stack of books and papers, but catching them just in time. Warren raises his eyebrows as he studies the awkward courier.
“Thank you, boy. Leave now.” The messenger wordlessly lingers for almost a moment too long, as though they are not expecting to be dismissed so quickly. The Governor’s waving hands, motioning for them to leave, motivate them to exit the room.
It’s exhausting, being a leader. A real leader, not like the empty figureheads that lead the other great cities of this world. He is expected to make the decisions and know what is best for all these helpless children, they yearn for his guidance. But they incessantly question him, especially recently. He makes the hard choices for them, sacrifices for them, and still they are ungrateful. He lost half a section of soldiers just this morning, and not a soul has offered sympathy. Once they realize what this all is, the scope of it, they will fall to the ground in sheer appreciation. He has to show them the truth.
Settling back into the large, soft chair, Warren unfolds the written message. After reading it, he lays it on the desk in front of him and then he falls forwards, head in hands. This is bad Warren. You need to act. You did wrong. No, no. You went above and beyond, and you will be rewarded. Reinforcements! Everyone always wants reinforcements!
“Return, BOY!”
The messenger reappears impossibly quick, as though he was just outside the door.
“Return to Lt. Foster, tell him he is to continue his march North, and he is to not leave a single man or asset behind!”
For an everlasting second, with a quizzical expression the courier’s mouth hangs open. Without ever speaking their mind, the courier’s mouth snaps shut and they turn and sprint from the room.
Once Warren is alone, the temperature in the room rises, and each of the streams of light from the windows intensify, forcing Warren to squint as he frantically looks around the large study. He can see small clouds of dust floating throughout the space, as the light grows sharper and whiter. Each breath is thicker and hotter than the one before, until his lungs are filled with rolling fire. Warren falls to his knees and grips his upper legs with both hands until he creates small pricks of blood near his fingernails, stifling his scream. He’s here.
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“Almighty, I am honored by your presence! Why-why have You lowered yourself to come here and bless me?” Each syllable feels like pushing out a hot coal from his burning throat. The voice that answers has no origin, as though the room itself is speaking.
“Why are you here?”
Trembling takes over his entire body and his breath no longer comes to him, the governor tries to recite the lines he has spent so long memorizing. The truth. All that he produces are tears and blabbering, as the heat and weight around and within him begins to be overwhelming. The air, heavy and burning, begins pressing him down closer to the floor, as if he is a piece of meat beneath hot metal, cooking inside and out.
He thinks the words he needs to say. He did not follow the exact instructions, he surpassed them, he went above! More whimpers escape Warren’s mouth. There is no more threat here, none! The people have been shepherded, they are docile and naive. There’s no need to rush, your will can be ensured here from the beginning! The frantic thoughts are a far cry from his planned speech, but he would give anything to speak them out loud. Nothing close to coherent words comes from his lips. He feels a wave of nausea as His gaze rests on Warren, who wishes the heat would finish him off.
“You are wrong to not trust me. Your lack of faith is unfair. I have given you no reason to think so lowly of me. I spoke my will and you delivered your own. You should be gone, wiped, placed with all those who have lost their sight. But remember me governor, I am mercy. I expect exact obedience, no more of this twisting and changing my commands.”
Warren falls over himself as he stutters out all means of thanks, apologies, and oaths of obedience. He is met with thick silence. Sweat stings the governor’s eyes, and a high pitch ringing slowly fills his ears. Specks of black fill his vision, while his lungs fail to refill.
BDOOM!
A blast of air singes across Warren, blowing sweat and tears off his body causing him to desperately cover his face. When he looks up, a circular mirror taller than himself is commanding the middle of the room. He wonders how the mirror caused the gust of wind, when suddenly the air starts pushing again, but in the opposite direction. The governor tries to fight and keep his feet planted, he grabs onto his desk to keep from being dragged. A familiar voice fills the room.
“SECURITY BREACH! EMERGENCY! TO ME, MEN! THE DEVIL HIMSELF IS HERE!”
It’s Warren’s voice, but he is not speaking, it comes from everywhere at once, but it sounds loudest in the direction of the mirror, as though it is originating from behind it.
“ARM THE PRISONERS! THIS IS WAR!”
The books, papers, and everything else in the room remains still, but the harsh wind blasting against Warren only grows in force. He loses grip on the desk and slams into the floor, flailing to grasp the legs of the chair. The voice of the divine returns.
“They hear you governor, they are rushing to fulfill your orders! You need to go to them, join the front lines. They require a man of your skills, do not fail them. Or me, governor.”
The wall of wind starts to burn and tear away at the skin of Warren;s knuckles. He lets out a broken moan as the pain sears and blood starts to slicken his grip.
“Let go, governor.”
Warren knows he cannot hang anymore, he knows he cannot run anymore. With a whimper, he releases the leg of the chair and is picked up, and thrown from the floor. The shrieking man tries to cover his face as he hurtles towards the towering mirror.
He lands flat on his stomach, knocking the air from himself. One breath after another, he tries to avoid cutting himself on broken glass as he regains his breath. Abruptly he notices there is no glass at all, he didn’t hit the mirror. Looking around he realizes he is not in his study at all, he’s somewhere familiar… He hears the bustling main street of Ravha before he pokes his head out the window and sees it. There’s a commotion, people sprinting through the streets, especially in and out of the building he is in.
The pieces start to fall together for Warren, and he has to fight back a panic attack. Which army is he supposed to lead? All that he’s built for these months can't end like this. Maybe it’s about trust, he reasons, maybe he just can’t see the full picture. That has to be it, he thinks, as his soul hardens. He throws open the door of the room in which he arrived, revealing a small hallway and a staircase. He stomps loudly as he descends.
“THE DEVIL HIMSELF IS HERE MEN, STAND WITH ME NOW OR FALL!”