Alone
She was the only one left. The other Heroes were gone.
"I should have gone out into the dark and found your body that night," Lucien grunted. "But I was hasty. I let the bloodline flourish."
Sparrow tried to move, but her body was being held by a dark light - her strength, skill, and will ebbing off as the old man spoke.
"And you have flourished."
He walked towards her. Sparrow felt the blood rushing through her body, urging it to move and strike him, shut him up. But the body wouldn't respond.
"This time is different," he smirked.
My sister's murderer is in front of me. Sparrow's thought ran across her mind. He's standing in front of me, and there's nothing I can do. His face was inches away from hers. She could feel his hot breath, fueled by his sense of vengeance. She closed her eyes when he leaned forward.
"The last of the heroic blood will flow out onto this hilltop," he whispered in her ear, "just as it now spatters the walls of your family home."
Her eyes shot open. Her heart raced dangerously. No, no, no, she thought.
He stepped back to take a good look at her face, contorted with grief. "Your husband and child are dead."
The pleasure he got off those words pierced her more than any weapon he could have chosen. He had said 'husband' – maybe, maybe he meant Alex. Alex was easy to find. He was well-liked by the people of Bowerstone Market. But he was no fighter.
And still, her heart kept beating, because there was a chance that Tim had survived. Serenity Farm was outside space, concealed by the Demon Door.
There was hope still.
"I would have left it to one of my soldiers to do the unpleasant deed, but past experience tells me that one must be absolutely certain of these things…" Lucien raised his Blunderbuss, aimed at Sparrow, and pressed the safety notch, preparing the weapon. He watched her, unable to read the emotions written in the face.
And he shot.
Her dog jumped in front of her, receiving the impact. A tear rolled down Sparrow's face. My friend, she cried silently.
Lucien kicked the dead dog out of the way and spat on it. "Pitiful creature. Misguided and weak." He stood at arm's length from Sparrow, and looked at her sadly. "The last time I killed you," he spoke, almost nostalgically, "it tore my heart out. Of course, you were only a child."
He pointed the gun at her face.
"But then… So was I."
He shot again.
Unerringly, this time.
Her sister had planned activities for a day full of fun around the farm: tending to the chickens, shooting bottles, getting rid of beetles… It had been great, but Rose was beginning to get tired, and thus encouraged little Sparrow to go to bed.
Little Sparrow had put her nightgown on and got into bed, but when she put her head on the pillow, something felt odd. There was some music outside. Faint. Gentle. A forgotten melody that time had almost managed to erase.
"It's nothing, little Sparrow. Go back to sleep," Rose's voice sounded a little irritated. Maybe she was too tired. Sparrow didn't want to bother her – Rose had always been so nice to her, so she went back to bed. But the tune got stuck to her like apricot juice in your hands in a summer's day.
Sparrow ran down the stairs and out of the farm. The music box. It had to be the music box that Rose had bought that fateful day in Old Town. Why was the music box so important to Sparrow? The music box brought back bittersweet memories of a time in which she and Rose were really close. A time when the winter was so cold that it hurt your body and your soul. A time of laughter and of hunger.
"Where are you going?" Rose's voice sounded sad. But the tune was drawing little Sparrow to the key to the mystery. The music sang, "Come to me, little one, and I'll show you what has been and what could be."
"No!" Rose's desperation grew. "Don't go! Don't leave me alone again!"
Again? Little Sparrow turned around.
"Noooo!" Rose screamed, and a dark red cloud dragged her away. Sparrow got scared and ran, ran, ran away.
Dead bodies littered the passage, every single body maimed in a different way. Alone in torture, but together in death. Bodies on fire lit up the path, and Sparrow pressed on, climbing up the steps of a long-forgotten place. A tower on the verge of collapsing, holding together so that she, Sparrow, the last Hero of Albion, could collect her prize.
The music box, shining like the sun, was there for her to take it.
Little Sparrow put her hands over it, and the voices appeared. The ghosts that had accompanied her for so long. Rose's sighs, making a wish, marking the end of childhood. Theresa's voice, enlightening her, separating her from a normal life. Hannah's sobs, blaming her and herself, raising awareness of mortality. Mad-dog's congratulations, gloating in her victory, and his partner, Murray, reminding her that whatever she did would one day be forgotten. The Commandant's warning, leaving her weakness exposed. The Shadow Judge, taking over her soul with temptation. And at the centre of it all, Reaver: hero, victim, traitor. She couldn't decide in what order – he was still a mystery to unravel.
And Lucien spoke to her again.
"The last time I killed you, it tore my heart out. Of course, you were only a child. But then… So was I."
The sound of the shot went on ringing in her ears. She woke up, the music box lying next to her. She took it firmly and ran towards the main hall, her need for justice clutching her heart, making it beat faster and stronger than ever before...
"Do you think a mere trinket will save you?" Lucien snorted. "Do you think anything can?"
Reaver's fabled perfect shot hit Lucien, killing him instantly...
Scraps of moments, flowing around, flying away. There was nothing left but a choice. The Needs of the Many. The Needs of the Few. The Needs of the One. If only she could be sure that Tim was alive.
She made her choice.
She ran down the lanes of Oakfield and went through the Demon Door.
There was nobody there, nobody waiting for her. They were gone, forever.
She sank to her knees and cried.
She was alone.
...