Chapter 12: Return
1262 Words
Evander Vale, standing nearby, heard Elian Thorne’s request and silently dispersed the lingering onlookers, granting the two privacy.
“Consider it a reward for solving the Exile’s Gambit,” Lucian Reed replied. “Ask.”
“Was that you playing the harmonica earlier?” Elian Thorne inquired.
Evander and Silas Locke exchanged puzzled glances. They’d expected Elian to leverage his chess victory for something crucial—perhaps about the organization or his path. Instead, he asked about the song? It was beautiful, yes, and obscure, unheard in the outside world. But was it worth squandering such an opportunity?
Lucian looked up, a genuine smile touching his lips. “It was. First time hearing Auld Lang Syne?”
Elian paused. “It was... beautiful.”
“Hmm,” Lucian nodded, waiting until the crowd fully dispersed before adding, softer now: “The founder of our order composed it. Wrote the lyrics, too.”
Elian stood utterly still, speechless. The words screamed in his mind: I think your founder might be from Earth! And the sheer audacity—passing off a classic as his own creation? How long ago had this order been founded? When had that other traveler crossed over?
He pressed further: “Could you... sing the entire song for me? I’d like to hear it.”
Lucian’s expression turned wistful. “I can. But the lyrics aren’t complete. Time, like a long river, washes some things away forever.”
“That’s alright,” Elian said, needing to confirm if the words matched Earth’s version.
Lucian gathered Felis into his lap and began to sing, his voice a low, clear baritone:
“Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and days of auld lang syne…”
He finished softly. “The final verse was reconstructed later. It’s said the original was different. No matter how we try to piece it back, it always feels... lacking.”
Elian stood in silence for a long moment. Then, almost impulsively, he spoke: “What about... ‘For auld lang syne, my dear’?”
“‘For auld lang syne, my dear?’” Lucian repeated, the words hanging in the air.
Suddenly, it felt right. Undeniably so. Lucian saw it then—an ochre sun sinking below a distant horizon, a friend raising a glass in farewell across the miles. A shared moment, then parting.
“Thank you,” Lucian murmured, a depth of emotion in his eyes. “That fits... as if it were always meant to be the line.”
“You’re welcome,” Elian accepted the praise, keeping his face carefully neutral.
Lucian gazed into the middle distance, a touch of reverence in his voice. “Sometimes, it truly astonishes me. Our founder was a luminary. They say he composed countless songs and poems in his time, each destined to be a timeless masterpiece. But they were lost... swept away when the last Era ended. Only this one melody survived.”
“Only one?” Elian’s heart raced. Lucian’s mention of an “Era” confirmed it—the founder had crossed over long ago. An Era wasn’t just time; it was the death of one civilization and the birth of another. What cataclysm had occurred?
“There’s another,” Lucian shook his head sadly. “We know only its name. Generations have scoured the ruins, searching for its score. Nothing.”
Elian hesitated, then took the plunge: “What... what was its name?”
Lucian met his gaze. “Canon.”
Any lingering doubt Elian had about the founder’s origin vanished. Canon. Not just a piece, but a musical form. Earth’s Pachelbel’s Canon in D was the likely candidate.
A thought struck him: Could trading the sheet music for Canon unlock Lucian’s path? But the risk was immense. How could he explain possessing it? And he didn’t have it memorized. He needed to wait. Wait for the Return. Plan carefully after returning.
The conversation ended. Elian pushed through the thinning crowd towards the reading area. Sleep was paramount now, more vital than food. Only sharp focus could navigate the dangers within Penitentiary-18.
He’d barely slumped onto a reading desk when Luther Ward sidled up, furtive and anxious. He hovered outside the area, torn between approaching Elian and avoiding notice, scratching his head in frustration.
Elian lifted his head, expressionless. “Relax. Lucian knows about us. He doesn’t seem to care. Now go. Don’t disturb me.” The reading area, unlike cells, was under constant surveillance—safe. He needed to question Luther about the Thorne Syndicate’s plans, but with the Return imminent, provoking anything was unwise. Send him away. Deal with it later.
But Luther lingered, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Boss, been rackin’ my brain... Gotta call ya somethin’, and ‘Boss’ just fits, ya know? Bet Vincent Thorne told ya ’bout me. Had a rough start, see? My old man sold my real kidney for creds when I was a kid! Stuck me with a lousy synth-kidney.” He thumped his side. “If your own folks don’t give a damn, who will? Then Vincent tells me you handpicked me for this op! Said ya saw somethin’ in me! Blew my mind, Boss! Swear on my life, I’ll walk through fire for ya! Die for ya, even!”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping further. “Just... got one regret ’fore I kick it. Didn’t get much schoolin’, see? Always admired the learned types…”
The rambling grated. Elian finally snapped: “What’s your point, Luther?”
Luther beamed. “Could ya teach me chess?”
Elian blinked. “Why?”
“‘Cause it’s badass!” Luther exclaimed, forgetting his volume for a second before shrinking back. “Boss! You beat a legend like Lucian Reed! How cool is that?”
“Winning a chess game is that important?” Elian asked, perplexed.
“Hell yeah!” Luther said, as if stating the obvious. “Can’t beat the man in a fight! Gotta get my win where I can! Gotta save face!”
The comment struck Elian. Did it imply Lucian possessed formidable combat prowess?
Luther pressed on, his voice urgent. “Never figured you’d get cozy with Reed, Boss. With his pull inside Penitentiary-18... he might know where the Artifact is stashed. And if ya snag his Legacy…” Luther’s eyes gleamed. “The Shadow Gambit? You’d be untouchable.”
The words hit Elian like a physical blow. Artifact. Legacy. Shadow Gambit. Finally, a fragment of his purpose here—find something. And he was embroiled in a deadly contest. But what was Lucian’s Legacy?
“I’ll teach you chess later,” Elian said firmly. “Now leave.”
“Righto, Boss!” Luther scurried off towards the recreation zone like a startled rabbit.
Night. Return Countdown: 00:05:00.
Elian sat on his cold bunk, eyes fixed on the white chronometer etched onto his forearm. Gears within its display ticked down relentlessly. Five minutes until Return.
Would he return? These two days felt surreal—a dream where he’d met extraordinary people and glimpsed a world beyond imagination. Silas’s abilities, Lucian’s presence... they had ignited a fierce anticipation within him. A new world had cracked open its door.
He pinched the skin of his forearm hard, twisting until a violet bruise bloomed. An experiment: What happens if I return injured?
The chronometer pulsed:
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
The world fractured. Familiar darkness rushed in.
Return.
- Writer
