The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins — but in the heart of its strength lies weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.
Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars.

Matthew Stover, "Revenge of the Sith"

It was dark.

Matsuka blinked a couple of times, trying to wake himself up and figure out whether it was the time he should get up already. The first thing Keith used to demand in the morning was coffee, and Keith's needs were to be satisfied before he even managed to speak them aloud.

But... it was dark. His alarm should have turn the lights on as well, so maybe "morning" hadn't yet dawned. The next moment, however, he realized he couldn't hear any sounds that should normally be there. It was never silent in a spacecraft. The doors might be soundproof, and the walls thick, but one could always hear a quiet thrum of machines. The engine, heating and air—conditioning, all of them made some noise. Even computers murmured on their own. In case of power outage — and simultaneous breakdown of standby generators — it wouldn't be quiet either.

And if, like him, one could sense thoughts and emotions of others, it was never silent, regardless of his best efforts to control it. Now he couldn't hear a thing.

He started, and his heart quickened when, as if answering his thoughts, a single sound was heard: a thud he couldn't identify. It rang out and trailed away, and Matsuka wondered if he had just imagined it when his ears became deaf again.

He checked himself the very moment he was about to reach out with his mind. Staying with Keith, he had mastered that instinct more or less perfectly, but know he had almost forgotten himself. But, he realized, he didn't even sense danger, which could justify his actions. In fact, he felt calm.

Cold.

He shivered with cold he hadn't expected. He wanted to pull the blanket over — and realized he didn't feel the bed under him. Suddenly, he didn't know anymore whether he was lying or standing. Dark. Cold. Calm. Such were his all sensations at the moment.

A dream?

He blinked again, confused. He raised one hand to his face — and felt fingertips on the skin of the cheek. He focused, trying to feel the muscles of his arms and legs. He even moved his toes. Everything seemed to be in its place and working.

He almost panicked at the thought he might have gone blind. He ordered himself to remain calm, realizing there was something unpleasant in this thought, apart from its obvious unpleasantness. If he had gone blind... If he had gone blind, then... what? But he could no longer grasp it; it fled, disappeared in the darkness.

Again, as if he had just drawn it, somewhere ahead, in a distance, something flickered. Faint, barely visible, a grey spot in the expanse of black — had he not focused on it so much, he would have believed he was seeing things. A light. So dark it could just as well be an anti-light — but it was there.

Another thud reverberated, followed by yet another, a split second later. The previous time he hadn't realized they were two; they had merged into one.

The light. He had to go to the light.

Go? He frowned, trying to see his feet. Now he knew, felt with all himself, he was firmly standing even though he couldn't tell it only a moment ago — as if he was floating in space. But in space you could always see the stars, at least.

When he concentrated on the light, the cold didn't seem so gnawing; after all, he was a soldier and had got accustomed to any conditions. In fact, it wasn't even gnawing, only unpleasant. Dark. Cold. Empty. None of them could raise the spirits. But there was the light!

He tried to move his legs — a strange feeling since he didn't feel the ground. Was he really getting around? Had the situation been not so strange, he would have smiled. Ah, right, he had been thinking if it could be a dream. The last thing he remembered was going to bed, long past midnight, as usual. To his own bed in the cabin assigned to him, next to Keith's quarters. He couldn't quite recollect to ever have waked up somewhere else before. Assuming, of course, he had really waked up. He couldn't recollect to have been so conscious when dreaming before, either.

More than strange.

He focused on the light ahead, again, and it appeared to him he was much closer now. He wasn't walking, yet he had moved already. Or it was the light that moved in his direction, which could as well be possible in this place he didn't know. He decided to concentrate on his goal, and suddenly — as if many hours had passed in the blink of an eye — the light was next to him. All it took was few steps on the stone floor, and he would be there.

The stone floor. He stretched his arms and — with relief he felt justified to admit — saw them where they should be. He lowered his eyes; his legs were there, too. He turned around and looked into the darkness. It was like a cave with the wall somewhere there, but he had no chance to catch even a glimpse of them.

He looked at the source of the light. He knitted his brow, wondering what he was seeing. A pillar. All the way from the floor to the ceiling he couldn't perceive. Its glow was and was not a light. Brighter than the surrounding darkness, but it was all. He drew closer, looking at the matt surface and postponing the decision of touching it. A column of grey. A cylinder. Did it contain anything? He couldn't see that clear.

He hesitated and then strained his eyes again, still trying to figure the thing out. He made two steps towards it; he was no more than half a meter from the object. Yes, it seemed quite material. A glass? He was under the impression something flickered on the surface. Or under the surface. He moved his face closer, trying to look inside. He squinted and then drew back. He couldn't really believe it.

The wall seemed to be alive. When he looked closely, it appeared to be a water curtain. No, it was like a glass with water flowing down. He could see tiny droplets streaming down, one by one, irregularly, merging into one and then branching again. As small as pinheads. The light was coming from behind them.

The third thud pealed, and now he could clearly hear both sounds: the first one softer, the other sharper. It seemed somewhat familiar, but he couldn't really care about the auditory perceptions now since he was focusing on what he was seeing. He bit his lip in a sudden determination and moved his face closer to the column of glass — such was the easiest way to call it. He squinted, trying to look through the incessant droplets.

His shock was so great he almost stepped back. His eyes widened, making the vision get blurred again. Exasperated, he looked inside the container — it was its proper name — again. His heart pounded when his sight fell on what the glass cage held.

A man. Very young. In fact, still a boy, fourteen years old at the very most. For a moment, Matsuka was able to see him very clearly, then the silhouette got blurred, and then the vision was distinct again. The boy was looking ahead with his round violet eyes — the first colour Matsuka was able to distinguish in this dark space. Black hair encircled the beautiful face, its lips stretched in a cynical sneer that didn't suit such a young person. The light that wasn't a light kept coming from the boy's small frame.

Matsuka drew closer, fascinated after the initial shock was gone. He wanted to see as much as he could. He put his hands on the smooth surface — he didn't know if it felt like a glass — and pressed his forehead and nose to it. The figure inside moved, the dark hair waved and then, though the boy never opened his mouth or focused his gaze (he was still looking ahead, in the past, in the future, and whatever he was seeing remained a mystery), Matsuka heard his clear voice.

"I'm Seki Ray Shiroe, who defied the System and was killed by the puppet of the System. I only wanted to be free. I wanted to remain myself. I wanted to run to the hills and see the horizon. To always see the horizon and look at the sunset. To choose what to do the next day. To be a human and decide about my life. To keep my memories for ever. Keith Anyan shot me in cold blood. Did you know? Did you know he isn't a human? He was programmed by the Computer, and it's the Computer he cares about, always carrying out Her will. I saw it. I saw the place where they created him. A system application. A soulless puppet. An android...

The voice trailed off. The world — vision and sound — had got blurred the very moment Matsuka had heard Keith's name and moved back from the column. But no, the boy's words were still ringing — in his mind. A grievance, full of regret and sorrow, and hatred, and superiority. Matsuka shook his head, trying to cut himself off the transmission he didn't want to hear, he would prefer to not have heard — but then he realized he couldn't. His mind was firmly closed, yet the boy's lament was still echoing in his head. He took two steps back, suddenly completely sure that Seki Ray Shiroe, whom he had never met and hadn't heard of before, was... a Mu.

The heart leapt in his chest, painfully.

Why are you telling me this? he wanted to ask. I don't want to believe you! he wanted to call out. What can you know about him? he wanted to question. He isn't like this! he wanted to convince. He didn't say anything, though, since the boy's eyes were so bright, and — behind the grief — there was suffering in his every word. And disappointment. What was Keith Anyan to you? he could ask, but only lowered his head instead. He had never been strong enough to dispute. After all, Keith had always sentenced the Mu to death without hesitation; he had seen it countless times. Keith had been giving the orders of extermination as dispassionately as if he was pressing the delete key. A system application...

He clenched his fists, trying to overcome the feeling of sadness. Somehow, Keith could be a source and a reason of sadness even to him.

He didn't hear that voice any more. Now it was easier to believe he hadn't heard it at all. He focused his sight for he didn't want to think. Again, there was only a grey column in front of him, its contents invisible, hidden behind the curtain of tears. The light wasn't really a light. He blinked. Once he had grown accustomed to it, he could spot something brighter from behind it. He walked round the pillar, never approaching it, and stopped in front of another. The grey could have many shades, he realized. This column was the same as the other one — and it wasn't. Its surface wasn't flowing with water; the trails of smoke moved under it. Or was it a sand?

He hesitated. After all, he didn't want to go through that again; he didn't want to hear similar complaints that were so easy to believe even if he wished otherwise. But he was here... maybe to learn more? Carefully, not to touch it, he drew closer. Smoke and sand... Smoke or sand? Eddying, swirling, it kept vanishing and reappearing, flickering with red. Matsuka blinked; his eyelashes might have touched the smooth surface. Red grains, pellets, dots... droplets? solidly packed, tough, trapped.

The light was coming from behind them. A warm and real light, like fire — but how weak! It wasn't a blaze of explosion Matsuka had seen so often. It was a single flame, going out every moment. The light was about to disappear, to become... the same anti-light that radiated from the first column? He didn't want it to happen. He would go; there was nothing for him here.

The flash of red caught his eyes again. It hypnotized. The light twinkled stronger. He let out his breath he had been holding. He looked inside through the blurred trails, trying to glimpse the inside at one time, preparing himself for another shock — that didn't came. Instead, Matsuka felt another pang in his heart, for the figure trapped behind the curtain of bloody threads he recognized at once. He didn't hold back his hand from brushing against the glass surface. He didn't believe he was to hear an accusation.

"We are friends, Keith and I," said Sam Houston, no hesitation in his voice. Then he smiled, warmly and sincerely.

How different was this Sam! A mature man, not a child in a grown—up's body that Matsuka had known until now. Stocky, with red hair, trustworthy. A man who believed in Keith. Matsuka felt a smile stretching his lips. The soft light penetrated his chest, warming him up in that darkness, warming him up after Shiroe's words. Keith did have someone who could call him a friend! Androids didn't need friends, Seki Ray Shiroe! He wanted to reach inside, to touch Sam and give him — get from him — that faith.

But Sam's smile faded, and his figure got blurred. The light grew dim, although it was still brighter than the anti-light. Let it stay this way, let it stay this way... Matsuka clenched his fists, moving back from the pillar, when the sadness was back. He looked inside himself. He barely knew Sam, but this light was real. It was alive. Let it shine as long as possible.

He blinked, raising his eyes. The third pillar grew up before him unexpected once he had gone round the previous. It was almost a bright day here. The light it radiated was like a star, so sudden and so strange in the darkness Matsuka had just been in. A pillar of light, warm and bright like a sun. It was driving away the obscurity, their border a constant struggle no—one wanted to lose, to give in even an inch. They were in ideal balance, although Matsuka remembered that then — there — was only darkness, with a single spark in it.

The dazzle diminished, and the glare softened, revealing a perfectly smooth surface. Matsuka looked — and his eyes grew wider once he saw it. It wasn't what he had expected.

His heart beat hard in the same second the thud did in the darkness fighting the light. An absolute accordance.

He put a hand on his chest, and the person in front of him did the same. He was standing before a mirror. He was seeing himself, radiating the light of the day. The same fair hair falling over right — left, in the mirror — eye. The same bright eyes. Jonah Matsuka's reflection was silent, but if it could talk, he knew what it would say.

A dull thud — a double heart sound — rang in the silence again. As if Keith Anyan was waking up, evoking the instant, instinctive thought, He will kill me.

His reflection was regarding him peacefully.

No, he won't.

He wouldn't.

The awareness of that fact was soft and alleviated the pain caused by the sudden realization.

Keith was sleeping in his bed, in the next room, just like Matsuka did in his. Somehow, in his dream, Matsuka had slipped into Keith's dream — or his mind. Keith kept his mind tightly closed even — especially — from Matsuka, but when he was sleeping, this control could have grown weak. Matsuka kept a tight rein on his mind, but when he was sleeping, it had once again wandered where it... pleased?

Dark. Cold.

Matsuka shivered; his heart pounded painfully, echoing in that other one again. That other heart was beating so slowly, so very slowly...

Keith's mind was dark and cold. Lone. It was exactly as dark and cold, and lone as Keith himself. It figured. Matsuka had never, not even once, seen any light on Keith's face — its shadow, at most, when Keith was looking at Sam. Matsuka couldn't not heard what others kept saying behind Keith's back, both his subordinates and superiors. It was, in fact, only one word: a monster. With no heart, with no soul, capable only of cruelty in carrying on Mother's orders. An android. A puppet. An application. Such was his mind.

Matsuka knew what his reflection would say. 'But he saved me. He let me stay by his side. He let me save him, many times. He's the only one that I trust."

He turned back and looked in the darkness. It was starting right behind his back. He looked in the light coming from the reflection. It was so bright he had to blink. Or the tears were cause by another sensation.

The pain in his chest wouldn't go away. He squatted, shrinking and pressing his face against the knees.

Dark and cold. A mind that had forsaken its humanity. That had believed it wasn't human, but an android created for the purpose of enforcing Mother—computer's will. To what should he be loyal? To who? Not to the humans, if he wasn't a one himself. Androids didn't need feelings. They were like the computer terminals connected to the central unit. Keith Anyan had consciously abandoned all that was human. He had become a monster, for he couldn't be anything else.

The tears were flowing without a break. Matsuka clenched his fingers on the fabric of his clothes.

Deep in his mind — in this cold darkness — there was a living heart. He didn't knew about it, did he? He didn't realize it was there. Maybe he had simply forgotten. A heart with three candles in it. One had long since gone out and was now emitting only anti-light — even so brighter than darkness. The second one was already fading, but it still flickered. The third one was burning evenly, and Matsuka knew he would do anything to never let its light die.

Keith Anyan was not a machine.

'He is a soulless puppet. He shot me in cold blood!' the mute, accusatory voice of Shiroe rang out.

Matsuka shook his head.

"Then, why are you here?" he asked loudly. But the memory was only a memory and it didn't exist to answer the questions.

Seki Ray Shiroe fell silent behind the curtain of tears that kept flowing in Keith's heart, maybe since the day of Shiroe's death. Maybe since the day Keith had forsaken his human awareness, sent it in space along with a single shot — to never smile again.

Dark hair, stubbornly combed back and constantly falling on the forehead. The piercing gaze of the icy cyan eyes. Lips, pressed tightly together, and the wrinkles around them. Matsuka had always believed — wanted to believe — there was more behind that closed, unappealing face. He had never judged Keith. He wasn't there to criticize the man. If anything, he had been saddened by the fact that Keith had been giving in to the darkness — and he hadn't realized Keith had been in the darkness long since. Now he knew that, had Keith ever opened himself to him — still, he had no reason — he wouldn't have seen the heart, for it had been forgotten. Now he knew what he couldn't grasp before: why Keith had let him stay by his side.

Raising his eyes, he regarded his bright reflection, drinking in the greatest — unconscious — mystery of Keith Anyan, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart and failing miserably.

Against logic, against his beliefs, against the idea for that he kept annihilating the ones like Matsuka — he called them monsters — Keith had let Matsuka live and placed his life in Matsuka's hands. Every day, he had been looking death in the eye, maybe even wanted Matsuka to end what he might not consider living, only working of a machine. Maybe, deep inside, he deemed it to be fair this way, even though he never let Matsuka forget that one mistake would cost him dear. Such was Keith's consciousness.

What he didn't realize — for his mind was only a cold darkness, and his heart had been denied — was the wish to atone for his sins, maybe only one, abiding in him like a single thorn. Death of Shiroe, who had been a Mu and whom he had killed, and the tears had never stopped flowing. He had atoned for it, oh, he had long ago atoned, Matsuka was sure of it like his own name. He had atoned for it with Matsuka's life, letting him live, trusting him and protecting him — just like Matsuka did for him.

Neither of them was a monster; they were just humans.

The dull pulse was thumping now in accordance with his own.

He closed his eyes with a sudden resolve that must have dwelt in him since long, along with the desire for happiness of the only man he held dear.

Some day he would bring Keith to the light. He would do anything so that Keith would find his heart, look at it, see it, embrace it and become a human once more. And then... It was so simple. Then Keith would reject the System he had been unconsciously defying even now and would finally be free.

He smiled, as if responding to Keith's smile he could so easily imagine. There was nothing bad in crying, but he wished he could wipe away those tears and make them stop flowing, once and for all. He wanted to be a warm light, consoling and supporting. He would start tomorrow.

He said goodbye to Shiroe. He said goodbye to Sam. He nodded at his reflection. It was time to go. He looked inside himself and found the path to the life. His last thought was clear: meeting Keith Anyan had not been a coincidence. He could give himself to such a fate completely.

The next day he was to learn about Sam's death. The very next day the last candle was to go out; its light was to explode like a supernova and illuminate the darkness, not leaving even a single shadow.