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Wyatt Graves

As I play my hand, sighing because I'm pretty sure Earl will win, I notice Rou and Ka slouch heavily as they walk into the car that I'm in. The two massive creatures hardly fit in the train at all, even with the movement. Then, they continue onward to the front of the train to reach Johnny. I think Elizabeth witnesses my confusion as she explains their movement.

"They wanted to leave Bent, but the... incident happened before they could. Johnny said they just want to be dropped off at a forest somewhere in Timberlands."

I nod to her words as I curse at the result of the pool. Earl got a damn royal flush. Lucky bastard. Pushing my chips to the front, not that they have much meaning, I stand up and remove myself from the table.

"I'm going to go check on Virgil. I haven't seen him since last night in the storm."

Earl and Elizabeth bob their heads as Bonfire groans.

"C'mon! Just one more hand!"

I shake my head.

"Nah, I'll be back later, though, if you want to play something else like Monsters And Men."

The manipulator of fire slices a grin at me and throws a thumb up as it combusts into flame.

"Yeah! Frozen? Clumsy? You two up for that?"

Both Bonfire's friends nod enthusiastically, and that's that. Then, I step away and hear Elizabeth and Earl argue that they want to play, too. Smiling, I open the door and amble to the car behind me as I continue moving through them to find Virgil.

I journey three cars back without much suspense, only finding where other friends are like Blake, Silas, Lennox, and more. I give them smiles and waves before I enter the fourth car, but as I do, Blake raises her hand.

"You sure you want to go in there, Wyatt? It's... brutal."

"What?"

My confusion is audible, and Silas points at the door to explain.

"That's the new medical car. All the wounded were moved into there to be with the doctors the past day to consolidate the treatment as they were strewn all over during the evacuation. It's... a little gritty. Why do you want to go back there?"

I place my hand on the knob of the train door, telling them what I'm doing.

"I'm going to see Virgil. I can handle some injured people. They can't be worse than I've ever been."

Silas laughs and nods partially.

"That is... true for physical wounds, but you are more rigid than most mentally, Wyatt. Some... don't recover from grievous injuries. But you're free to do as you want; I ain't gonna stop you. Though... can I take your place at the gambling table? Maybe if I try hard enough, I can get them to throw down actual gold."

I can't help but chuckle a bit at the end of Silas' words, and then I wave goodbye.

"Thanks for the heads up, but I should be fine."

My feet propel my body through the door into the medical car as I head further to reach Virgil. As I step into the next room of the Steam Train, a wave of sights, sounds, and the unmistakable scent of suffering envelops me. Groans and whispered curses blend with the clattering of metal instruments and the hurried footsteps of medics rushing to attend to the wounded. Prix, with her light blue fetters, bustles around at full speed to tend to all the casualties, a half dozen medics behind her toes to follow up and deal with those she can't.

The sight gives me pause as I breathe in a gummy and chemical smell. The air is heavy with the scent of antiseptics and the lingering traces of blood. Rows of cots stretch out before me, each occupied by a wounded soldier, their bodies bearing the marks of battle. It is near impossible to find even a foot of open space to walk. Bandages wrap around limbs, stained with the evidence of their sacrifice. Some soldiers lie still, their eyes closed in silent repose, while others writhe in discomfort, their faces etched with pain. Many of them, some I recognize, are bereft of limbs as they stare limply at the ceiling above.

This is utterly different from before. So many more are here—at least five times as many. So many were wounded... were they like this getting onto the train, or did some get hurt during the escape? My heart sinks at the view before me, but I force motion into my feet to move. I can't be in the way, so I'll hurry through.

But as I stride through, careful not to bump into anyone or anything, I can't help but pay attention to the room.

Moans and cries punctuate the air as the medics administer care, their skilled hands working tirelessly to alleviate suffering. I catch glimpses of amputated limbs, the result of brutal conflict, and the pained expressions etched upon the faces of those who have lost a part of themselves.

I even catch a man murmuring to himself, my sharp ears discerning the mumbling words.

"I'm sorry, Marshall. I don't think I can live up to your hopes. None of us can. We're... we're not you. I... just don't have it in me."

The man who whispers to himself is missing a right arm, and he holds the nub dearly, tears falling down his face. Yet, as I move past, he notices my face, and I see it light up like a blaze.

"Wyatt? Is that you?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Looking closer, I realize who it is. It's Booker, a Captain that Millie saved on the way back. The man fought with me during the first battle when I arrived at Bent, but unfortunately, I remember him missing his arm on the way back. Though, he was unconscious. I nod to him and confirm it's me.

"Yeah, Booker, right?"

He smiles a short bit and holds out his remaining hand to me.

"Thank you for saving me. I know Colonel Millie carried me, but you're the one who found me."

I shake his hand, thinking back to when I noticed his green chains on our mad dash to the train.

"Of course, I'd save you, Booker. Anyone who'd do anything less would be awful."

He grins slightly at my words, but it seems to be tinged with a lingering melancholy. Booker pauses for a second before shifting his arm to my metallic one.

"Thanks, kid. I appreciate it. Maybe I can be like you and overcome this disability. I heard that you've been missing your arm for almost a year?"

I nod to him, hefting the effortless strength within the arm made by Earl.

"Yeah. It's... it's been hard. I won't lie to you, Booker. But... it's not insurmountable."

The man, hardly five years older than my seventeen, seems to relax at my encouragement.

"Thanks. These docs', they tell me that I can't fight again. You did, though. You think your buddy Earl could make me an arm, too?"

I can only smile wryly at his question and reply honestly.

"Probably not, Booker. It took him months of work and thousands of dollars of materials. If you could pay, I'm sure he'd be willing, but he's the busiest person I know, from working on medicine, to weapons, to helping strategize."

Booker lowers his head sadly, groans filling the silence in our stead as the doctors tend to them. Sighing, I place a hand on his shoulder.

"I--I'll see what I can do. A simple replacement arm should be far more inexpensive compared to mine. Earl had to make it to keep up with me, after all."

The soldier wraps an arm around my body as he hauls me into a hug and whispers into my ear.

"Thank you so much. I don't want to live crippled."

Smiling, I pull back after a moment and give him a wave as I start to move, forced by a nearby medic needing to pass through.

"I'll see what I can do, okay? And I gotta get going, Booker! See you later!"

Then, I stride away as he waves back to me, our meeting a slab of happiness in the gloom of the dark room, lit only by the scarcely open windows.

And as I make my way through the crowded space, I offer nods of acknowledgment to those I pass, a silent gesture of solidarity in the face of adversity. The weight of their injuries, both seen and unseen, hangs heavy in the air as I reach the other side of the car and put my hand on the knob.

Before I leave the room, I twist my head, taking in the suffering. This is why I fight, no? To stop this from happening to more people? To my people?

Biting my lip, I open the door and enter the next car. This one is far less depressing and is simply the resting quarters for the medics and those with some medical training who are helping. The half dozen currently sleeping get their own car as they need the rest the most, besides the wounded, of course.

I tiptoe across the room, using Ether to muffle my movements so as not to wake the unconscious medics fighting to recover their energy. And after just a few moments, I move on to the next room, finding who I have been searching for.

Virgil sits on a cushioned chair, a rarity in the train, with his legs kicked up onto a window, his feet dangling outside, letting the wind stroke them. On the other side of the room is a sleeping Nora as Aron and Victor quietly teach Esther how to draw with pen and ink.

The man with Sigils of darkness detects me first and points out the window. I extend an eyebrow as he pivots his body and clambers out, tendrils of shadows concentrating his force and keeping him steady. Curious, I simply throw a wave to the three awake, who are drawing, and follow after the eldest Boone sibling.

A Leash wraps around each of my hands as I copy his actions, using the tethers around the window frame to steady myself. But I'm not as naturally agile as him, so I use Chainlink Boots to keep myself upon the steel of the massive vehicle. The wind bites at my whole form, swathes of gusts endeavoring to lift me into the sky, but my Ether fights it off, allowing me to get atop the train.

And once I'm atop, I face Virgil standing at his full height, a dozen tenebrous whips keeping his balance. He doesn't allow me to ask questions as he throws out words of his own, shouting over the mighty wind that devours sound.

"We never did get that duel, huh?"

What? What does he mean by that? Sure, we never got the fight that we spoke of, but that was months ago. Does he really still want to fight? What's the point? And how? We're on a moving train?!

I scream over the wind back at him as I use my right arm to tether myself firmly with a Leash that extends and wraps onto a window frame over and below us. Additionally, Chainlink Boots roots me onto the roof, the Ether digging into the steel below.

"What are you talking about!?"

Virgil, the man clad in his clothes that cover his skin all over from the sun, pulls down the cloth that guards his face. Behind him, far in the west, where we are heading, is the setting sun that is unable to bite into and combust his face. I've always wondered why his Absolution left him with such an awful effect, but I figure it is in exchange for the power. Because, frankly, his is the best Absolution skill I've ever seen.

To pass through anything? It's... nuts. Sure, when he first acquired it, sufficient Ether could strike him, but with his wit, he's found a way around that. By Flickering downward, he can dodge attacks entirely by entering the earth, and at the same time, he can offset the Ether with his own, allowing him to still pass through some skills that should hit him otherwise.

Yet, the man doesn't wait long to speak. He merely shows his face and stares at me before enunciating over the wind. His words are soft, yet they are carried by Ether, delivering them to my ears without effort. While he speaks, the light scars on his face are shadowed by the sun behind him, and I can see his regret.

"I've been falling behind you, Wyatt. For a long time, I was a guide to you, but eventually, we stood on even ground. But after seeing you fight those Angels, combat the winds, and rerail the train, I've realized I've fallen behind. Soon... soon... I won't even be able to help you anymore. I'd be surprised if you weren't an Angel by year's end. Meanwhile... I---... The most I can account for is to be a shadow, watching your feats from afar as minor help."

He pauses for a moment, a crinkle in his face. I want to tell him it's not like that and that he's still super valuable to me, but the man doesn't let me get a word in, speaking over me.

"Th--"

"We've never really fought. At most, we had short scuffles where I taught you how to fight better, but there was nothing more than that. But... Wyatt? I don't want to merely be a useless shadow. In the siege, I hardly made a difference. Earl, Bonfire, and Blake were far more instrumental than I. And I know it's dumb. We've not known each other for all that long, bordering on eight or nine months, but seeing you struggle while I can't support you, is like rewatching Vernon all over again."

As I stand atop the fast-moving steam train, the wind rushes through my hair, and the sound of the engine roars in my ears. The rhythmic chugging and hissing of steam blend with Virgil's words as he glances down, his eyes darkened by a deeper shadow than his Ether. Feeling that he just wants to be the one speaking, I wait during his pause. And as I do, the train approaches and enters the nearby forest, the rails running beneath the trees.

The train hurtles through the dense foliage, and I am greeted by a mesmerizing display of vibrant colors. The leaves, kissed by the golden rays of sunlight, dance in a gentle breeze. Rays of sunlight filter through the canopy, casting a dark and sickly glow as we continue forward, seemingly copying Virgil's mood. My focus is fast torn from the leaves as my friend speaks again, pouring his heart out.

"I want to see if I can keep up. I know you're a Graves. I know you're unique. I know you're strong. I know you work hard. I know you never let yourself stop. I know... I know so much about you. But... after what happened with those Angels, with Marshall, and with the train, soon, you will be too far for me even to watch."

As the train barrels forward, I teethe on the edge of my lips as I think. The rhythmic thumping of the wheels against the tracks becomes a heartbeat, syncing with my own. Finally, Virgil ceases, angling his head to gaze at me. I attempt to reassure him with a raised voice to combat the wind, but I momentarily realize that it's not going to work.

"I can't leave you behind, Virgil. We've fought together more than anyone else. You... you always have my back. When we fought the Pygmies, I didn't even have to look behind me. I knew you were there. When we fought inside Bent against those Angels, I didn't worry about the injured one. I knew you'd manage it. When I fell off the train, I wasn't worried for the others as I saw you handling it. You always do. Anytime I need aid, you're there. Anytime..."

I trail off as he simply sighs and shakes his head at me. The man waves his hand outward at the forest as we move, the skin of his palm brushing against a particularly close leaf.

"For now, I am. But... when you reach Marshall's strength? Or even Tomas and Johnny's? I---... I won't be able to help."

Another pause ensues, leaving us in hefty silence as the train continues. The train snakes its way through narrow passages between the trees, its path seemingly guided by an invisible hand. The forest, once serene, transforms into a blur of greenery and motion with tinges of darkness. I hold tightly to my skills, feeling the vibration of the train reverberate through my body.

And I bite my tongue as Virgil continues.

"So... I'd like to try and prove myself. I know you believe in me. But... it's not enough. I failed my parents. I failed Vernon. I failed my family. Had Abraham not shown up... I fail everyone, and I worry that one day, I will fail you, too. So... can you give me this chance, Wyatt?"

Immediately, I inquire what he means.

"This chance to what?"

Virgil lifts his mask, shoving his face back into darkness as his goggles shield his eyes and his hood blackout his neck.

"To beat you. It's stupid. It's dumb. And yet... I know if I win a fight, I'll be more confident. I want to be worthy to be your shadow, Wyatt. Just as Eli does all the unscrupulous things that the Prime cannot, I will do them for you. But... I want to be worthy."

I can hear his teeth grind as Virgil shuffles back, raising his arms for combat. Sighing, I do the same. Why won't he understand? He doesn't need to be worthy. Who got this into his head? Fuck. Fine.

"How far are we going?"

Virgil shrugs as I know a smile is under his black cloth of a mask.

"Until someone can't any longer."