I was weightless, floating in the air under a sweet golden sky. It has been decades since the raw strength of a sunbeam fell on my skin.

I beheld a vision.

I saw the monastery we were on, bright as a pearl, singing with the flare of the sun. Songs of praise gave wind to the doves and sparrows flying out of the nave’s rafters. The notes were in their throats as well, so that the heavens filled with the chorus. The granges below me had rich, golden harvests. Farmers wearing sheepskin and leather jerkin scythed rye, oats, and barley. Amongst them were several other curious crops; bright pink and feathery ones, golden curved ones, and little green seeds that resembled beanstalks.

The dark forest that we passed through was lush in this vision. Tones of green rippled like sea waves when the wind skimmed the tops of trees. Then the vision took me to its depths where I saw hares and rabbits bringing purple berries back into their burrows. I saw wolves licking their newborn pups. The trees were not gnarled, but strong and big and tall. Sunlight played on the ground as the leaves rustled.

Aside from the common animals, I saw creatures that were a mix of their traits; creatures that had the antlers of a deer and the body of a weasel. I saw lizards with wings and wolves that stood on their hind legs, their torso as thick and smooth as a young bear. They were like beasts of legend; beasts from the mouths of talespinners and from lullabies of old. Horses with wings. Wolves thrice the size of horses. Serpentine tails in the ocean that flicked saltwater. Half-fish and half-bird creatures that sang sweetly of adventures beyond.

Ducks and swans floated serenely on lakes. Pheasants and peacocks crossed shallow streams. Some sort of beast I did not recognize slithered under swamps and marshes. People cast their lines on the great lake and children rode another beast that looked half a horse and half fish.

“This was supposed to be Rothfield. This was supposed to be the world.” That familiar voice that keeps speaking to me. Deep. Warm. Steady.

Then the sun dipped low on the horizon, fading the sky to black. Just as the moon and stars emerged, thick thunderous clouds obscured them.

The monastery crumbled as the clouds crackled overhead. Songs turned into screams, into shouts, into wails. From inside the monastery, flames burst through and shattered the rose-colored glass-stained windows. Knights with different colored cloaks, wearing differently-shaped armor appeared from the forest, holding great torches which they used to light everything around them. Crops burned into ash, lost to the wind, staining the sky. Then the knights turned onto each other, their swords unsheathed, and pointed to the armor that did not wear the color of their banners. Dark knights wearing colors of crimson black swung their mace towards the shields of knights wearing silver plates, their horses rearing and snorting.

Thieves ransacked the riches of the monastery, their red scarves like ribbons in the burning night. They scampered away carrying small chests and glinting goblets, sacks of gold and even glowing potion bottles. The great flame had burned away the gentleness of the forest and within its desecrated depths, briars and sharp roots emerged—the same ones that bound my brothers. It attacked everyone on sight, save for the villagers who were fleeing for their lives. The forest let them pass, and a few of the majestic, unknown creatures even helped them escape; letting them ride on their backs as they hopped over weeping boulders and falling trees. The trees themselves writhed in agony it seemed, forming into grotesque knots and roots sprawled above ground as if they were trying to escape the forest.

But there was no definite escape from the flames. I flew beyond and looked at the world burning. A great fire ate everything. The mountains crumbled, sending icy boulders downhill. Castles came down; stone pillars and statues crushing the little villages that lived near them. The saint-king name was heard everywhere, either begging him and his holy bloodline to come save them or cursing him as a farce leader.

Then I was laid back on the ground, my feet oddly steady, and a small staff lay on my feet. The one usually carried by shepherds or farmers.

Gaelmar spoke again. “Instead, it would become this world if the Unending Chaos is not stopped.”

“I do not want this,” I cried. I closed my eyes to the vision until I heard the roar of voices, of crying. I only opened my eyes when it was replaced by the soft sounds of birdsong, of lullabies from long ago. We were in a meadow. The sounds of bells were not far.

“The world almost tasted happiness. When my comrades and I were close to ushering this Age of Plenty, the Unending Chaos crushed us at our peak.”

And then, I began to remember. Back at Saint Korbin, before I fell, was a dream filled with voices that bickered. Voices in the pulsing light and encroaching dark.

“Is it truly Gaelmar I speak with? This is not a trick from the Chaos itself? Are you truly the one they call The Kind Flame?”

In response, the light from my heart fanned out, like flames of the sun. I was filled with hope and love, the love that I felt for my brothers, the love he felt for his fellow Saints.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “What does a Holy Saint want with a grey child?”

“Ryne. You are my hope.” The way he called my name was so soft. It was as if his voice caressed my cheek. “The Unending Chaos had taken the greatest of us and tricked him. I put a stop to him. I do not know what I did, but somehow, I have managed to trap us all in limbo. Centuries must have passed since the Chaos swallowed us. In all that time, the Chaos rejected the brightness in us. It cannot act again to consume the world with us inside. Until one night when it was summoned yet again through dark means by a member of the Saint’s Order no less. A man of the cloth that wanted power and revenge.”

Gaelmar, The Kind Flame, showed me the scene that I had forgotten. An old man through the stony mountains. Blake. “I know only so much,” Gealmar said, “only snippets of his life that were important to the summoning.”

I saw Blake being cast out by the Saint-king for heresy or blasphemy. He wanted power, he wanted companionship, and he wanted revenge for his monastery when the holy knights dismissed his work of necromancy. He had gotten scrolls, somehow, by excavating where the Saints buried their documents. And the Unending Chaos, the Great Darkness, touched him when he performed his projects. It was still unclear how he managed to get those scrolls, but it was enough for contact.

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The Unending Chaos told him to get others, and the faces of my brothers swam into the vision. Wilbur in sleek dark leather robes wearing a pin of the school he was in, stirring a cauldron before it exploded. Woodrow, bright red hair in the wind, running through a field with a sword and dagger in both his hands. Ealhstan, wearing the armor and clothes of a noble, bright red and brown, overlooking the construction of a castle. Swithin, orphaned in the wilds, raised by a kind priest and farmer-wife. Knox, lying in a decrepit tower, empty of servants, looking over the goblet he was drinking at a painting of his younger self. He had been handsome too, once.

In turn, they called out to him in desperation. And Blake heard their cries. He gave them new lives by taking away their old ones, except for Knox who wanted revenge.

And then, Ryne saw himself coming out of the darkness, naked and clothed quickly with Blake’s cloak. The darkness spoke to Blake.

Do not let him remember he is of the flame.

So, I was made docile and weak.

Use him as a conduit. Harvest prayers from the people and offer them up to me. Harvest their bodies and spirit in my name. Corrupt the Kind Flame’s Hope until the flame in him is extinguished. As he weakens, you will grow stronger. And more dark gifts will I give you. You shall be one emperor ruling across the desolate land I shall give. With my power, we shall cut the saint-king where he sits and usher in a new era. One where you will decide its shape.

“And what of you, Great Darkness?”

I shall be content watching the light fade from the world. The Light. We cannot completely conquer the other. I cannot swallow the light just as much it cannot snuff me out. But I shall have my fun for millennia to come and watch heroes of light try. What fun. Maybe you can live long enough to see such entertainment. Over and over again. And the Chaos swirled around Blake, turning his eyes black, robbing him of reason.

And the vision stopped.

“I am sorry, Ryne,” Gaelmar said after a long pause.

“That is what we are up against?”

He does not speak. “That was what should have happened. But you broke through. With your love for your brothers giving you strength, you have awakened me. I do not know what would happen now. So long as Blake and you exist, the darkness will wait. And it will continue to fester the land.”

He showed me the present time. I saw cities near the most important kingdoms build their walls. High walls that were impossible to scale, as thick as five cottages. The people inside were fearful, clutching onto one another’s arms. All those who were able-bodied needed to work in rotations, their open palms accepting copper coins or pouches of grains, barely a fraction of the portion supposed to be given for a family. What remaining light fell on the world did not fall over the small cottages inside the walls of the city. Great castles were at the heart of these cities. Inside the castles, he showed me corrupt, faceless nobles locking their warehouses with sacks of grains and barrels of salted meat.

But Gaelmar also showed me other nobler rulers too. They ruled kingdoms smaller compared to the grander cities, but their people were full. Their walls still had many drawbridges to allow transport and trade to other neighboring cities. Horses brought in wagons of weary people, clothes torn and ragged.

He showed me the saint-king, face obscure by the candlelights close to him, sitting on his throne, his cheek resting on top of his knuckles. And the darkness, always the darkness, smiling in the night, nipping at the people and laughing at their misery, inching closer and closer. No monastery and sanctuary were safe. I felt it claw my chest.

I took it all in. “You haven’t answered me. What do you want me to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

I did not know what to say.

Gaelmar spoke gently. “You may go, or you can stay. You will always be welcome here. I cannot bless like I used to, but you can make a fresh start here. You and your brothers. A small portion of the granges will be fertile. Crops will grow. Your youth and longevity will still remain, so long the essence of your Night Abbott is with you, and as long as my spirit is caged in the Chaos.”

“My long life… are they yours?” I remember the Saints keeping their youth as well. But that miracle was not passed down to their descendants, not even their powers, or else the land would be ruled by a whole other kind of elite. And there was no guarantee that these elites would not be more corrupt than the ones we have now, even if they were descended from so-called saints. “What does being your hope mean? Was I created from nothing?”

“You can withstand the sun because of me. And you can work with the darkness because you came from it, too. But you are not directly me. Just as you are not directly of darkness. You are your own person, made of flesh and blood and wonder and mischief, and who knows what supernatural abilities you may have.” Gaelmar paused. “And you are too young to be burdened with this. I can take this burden away from you.”

The flame pouring out of my heart siphoned out and formed into an orb floating in the air. Swirling around it was a dark mist. It was like the sun being chained around the cloud of night.

“Say the word,” Gaelmar said, “and I will release you. My flame will find another worthy soul, a vessel that is willing. Preferably someone of age. And you can live the rest of your life with your brothers here in Rothfield.”

“You will not get angry?” My voice sounded so small. I remembered the fear I felt under Knox and Blake’s stare.

“No, Ryne. I will not get angry. So long as you don’t harm anyone, though I know from your own heart that you will never do that. You can make this monastery into your own.” As he said that, the monastery shifted from its brightness absorbing the sun to one of dark obsidian, reflecting the moon and the constellations that decorated the sky.

I can relieve myself of a burden I did not ask for. I can live in a secluded home with my brothers, but… the flameheart pulsed in front of me. His hope in my heart. My connection to him. It could wander for a long time, hiding in the dark woods or anywhere where Gaelmar can wait for a worthy soul. Someone stronger and had abilities to best the perils of the yawning darkness. Against miasma and mire and whatever else. But how long would that take?

The Chaos said it planned to vanquish the Saint-King sitting on his throne. If we don’t do anything now while they’re dormant then it would be too late. My brothers’ separation would be for nothing. And something inside me, just a small minuscule thing, wanted to punch the Chaos in its ugly face. I hated how it used people to make me small.

I breathed deeply. Even if I do accept this, I do not know if I can do anything about it. I held the flameheart closer. “Will you guide me, Gaelmar?”

“Every step of the way. I’m not the type of Saint to leave someone with nothing.” The orb swiveled around me, bumping into my forehead. “My voice may be silent from now on because of the strength I am forging with you under the last remaining essence of my comrades here, but I won’t abandon you.”

Then he said something that sparked my own hope for myself. “Besides, as I said, you have your own identity to forge. You have your own special traits to discover. Who knows what the Miracle will grant you? You are now free to decide who you are and grow with your brothers. Trust them, Ryne. Let your bonds strengthen you all.”

My brothers… their voices filled me now. “You are stronger than you know, Ryne. Don’t let Knox or anyone else tell you otherwise.” Ealhstan and Woodrow and Wilbur said. Encouraging me, their voices sprouting from the flame Gaelmar was passing onto me.

“I choose to stay.”

As soon as I said it, the flame burst into all the colors that were kept from the world. Deep reds and blues and purples. I had to close my eyes from all its vibrancy and hues. But I felt the heat glow wider, receiving me into its core as I received this responsibility. It felt like stars were etched onto my skin.

“Then be warm and welcome, Ryne of Rothfield. I offer you this place as a sanctuary for you and for those who would need it. I leave it under your care.” Then a soft breeze blew on my hair. I opened my eyes to see a hand parting the locks over my eyes. I saw a smile, warm as a summer’s day. “I bless you, Ryne. Let your days be filled with light.”