Solitude and Darkness

Ch. 11.

EDITED by the lovely The Fallen Angel of Pain.

~s~s~S~s~s~

Jack was lost.

Though where he was lost, he could not tell. It was some kind of forest, he presumed after a moment of thought and observation. What forest it was, he did not know. There were no animals, no sounds of the wind, not even any bugs to be seen or heard. The trees were gnarled and leafless, their branches twisted and tangled in a messy canopy that prevented him from flying up into the open sky. The cage of branches above him was disconcerting at best, and it made him feel claustrophobic.

'How did I even get here anyways?' he wondered.

He wandered for what felt like miles, his feet not once giving any signs of protest or ache as he continued on for an unknown destination. Twigs and brittle dirt crunched almost soundlessly under his feet, every sound like a whisper. It was as if the forest itself was trying to be quiet, its own dead branches and barren earth hushing one another in a desperate attempt at secrecy. Eerie whispers floated in the wind like dead leaves in an autumn breeze, each one more quiet than the last.

And suddenly, a new sound, this time clearer and closer. It was like the sound of a lone feather tumbling through the air, its aerial angles and soft fibers cutting through the wind in a freefall. Glacial eyes searched the barren woods for the source, but it seemed to be coming from all directions, echoing yet receding from every tree.

A light then, just out of the corner of his eyes. Jack tensed, turning so he was facing the source of the small beacon. He stared in surprise, flabbergasted.

'A butterfly…?' he thought, bewildered.

The light – a butterfly – was of pure gold. It was glowing, its single light illuminating so much of the dead forest. Yet somehow, its light never touched a single tree, as if it was afraid to do so. That, or perhaps the darkness was pushing the light away, refusing to let it be touched. Its gossamer wings beat franticly yet gracefully, its twig-like body bobbing with each beat.

At first Jack thought it was one of Sandy's apparitions. Was he here too? Were the others here as well? Where was here anyways?

The butterfly suddenly turned and started to flutter into the forest.

"Hey wait!" he called as the butterfly started to vanish into the thick woods.

He gave chase, oddly oblivious to the lack of wind propelling him towards the butterfly. He didn't even have his staff with him either…

Further and further he went, chasing the golden butterfly through trees, branches, and thick fog. He tried calling to the insect, but it would not stop or slow its flight – an oddly fitting mindset, considering he was talking to a bug. But that didn't seem to matter to him. All that mattered was that he caught up to it.

'How fast can one bug be?' he wondered irritably.

"Jack…"

He froze, his heels digging into the earth as he skidded to a stop at the sound of his name being said in a hushed, whispered voice. Eyes wide, he looked around for any sign of the voice's owner. But he found nothing.

"Hello?" he asked, raising his voice slightly, "Is anyone there?"

No response. But that voice, how it said his name – it was familiar. Where had he heard that voice before?

The sound of fluttering again, like a child's sigh, and he turned back to the butterfly. It was fluttering stationary a few yards away from him, as if it were waiting for Jack. He frowned, taking a step closer. The butterfly moved a small pace back, but stopped when Jack made no move to follow. He took another step; the butterfly moved. It was only going to move if Jack did…

"What is going on…?" he wondered aloud.

The butterfly bobbed in the air, as if telling Jack to hurry up. It suddenly turned tail and began flying away from him.

"Hey, wait!" Jack called, giving chase once more.

Seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, Jack pursued the fragile insect. Leaping over rocks and logs, dodging and weaving through trees and thickets, he seemed to be getting no closer to the butterfly than he anticipated. If anything, it seemed like it was getting further and further away from him.

"Son of a…!" Frustrated, Jack vaulted over a rock and pushed himself into a faster sprint.

A small part of his brain nagged at him all the while; why was he chasing the thing anyways? Shouldn't he be figuring out where he was? Where the others were? How he got here?

But his focus was entirely upon the hypnotic fluttering wings of the golden butterfly and its gossamer light. Forcing his body into a final dash, Jack vaulted himself from a boulder and into the air.

"Gotcha!" he cried triumphantly, snapping his palms around the butterfly.

He landed roughly and clumsily on his feet, and yet no pain bloomed into his limbs. Sighing, he plopped down onto his rear, his hands firmly cupped around the butterfly.

"Alright you, I got you…" now what? He wondered dumbly.

He suddenly paused, and looked up. He wasn't sure if he should be frightened or cautiously relieved at what he saw.

It was a gate. A simple, wrought iron gate of angular spikes and blackened metal. Around it was a gnarled arch made from two trees, and beyond it…was nothing. It led to nowhere, and was attached to nothing. It was just a simple gate stuck out in the middle of nowhere. And yet…

Jack frowned, looking from one side of the gate to the other. He could see the forest beyond the sides of the gate. But when he looked at the gate itself, and past its iron bars, he saw nothing but black. The fog around him seemed to bend and pulse through the gate's bars, as if it was the door to a sleeping creature's mouth, and each breath sucked it in, then out in slow puffs. The gaping maw of the gate was looming over Jack as if beckoning – daring – him to go through.

A flutter in his hands then, and he looked down, having forgotten about the trapped insect in his hands. The weak fluttering in his hands was worrisome, and he carefully opened his hands.

His scream somehow got caught in his throat by an unseen claw that refused to let it leave his mouth.

Crushed. His body was absolutely crushed. The body was mangled and bent at odd angles in a few places. And the blood…

'It…it's everywhere…!' Mouth wide in a soundless scream, Jack could only stare in crazed, wide-eyed terror at the broken Boogeyman in his hands.

Black blood flowed from small parted lips, and wings made from gossamer and dewy gold tears were torn. The tiny man's body shivered ceaselessly as he fought for breath that refused to fill crushed lungs. Jack felt like he was going to be sick, but could only freeze up in terror as bloody gold eyes opened and looked up at him.

Those eyes – so different from what he had been used to seeing in the past. Fifty years ago, Jack had only seen malice and contempt in those golden eyes. But here, in the palm of his hands, those eyes expressed pain. There was a plea in them, an unknown sense of questioning.

Shakily, Pitch's mouth opened, and he said,

"Save me."

Jack screamed…

And then woke up…

Sitting up in his suddenly too warm bed, gasping for air that was far too thick, Jack swallowed around a lump in his throat. Lurching, he retched dryly over the side of his bed, but nothing would come up. His mouth watered as his body tried to force something, anything, out of his empty gut. And yet, still nothing would come. It became apparently so to his body, as he slowly started to calm and collapsed in exhaustion back onto his bed. His body wracked with tremors, Jack could only stare dazedly at the wall by his bed.

Slowly, as if afraid of what he would see, he brought his hands up into his line of vision. Nothing. There was no blood, no broken wings, no body in his hands. And there was no sign of Pitch Black anywhere in his room.

He was alone.

Trying once again to swallow the wretched thing lodged in his throat, Jack sat up and looked around his room. He could vaguely recall how he had gotten there in the first place, but could not pinpoint when he had fallen asleep. Sometime after he had left the infirmary, Jack had simply gone back to his room to think. And somewhere during that time, he had fallen into a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep.

He sighed shakily, reaching into his hoodie pocket. He gently touched his fingers to the cold metal chain and key still hidden within, for some reason unwilling to look at it. He just had to know it was there.

What did it even go to, he wondered. A box? A door? Some other thing? He honestly did not know. Yet another thing to add to his growing list of things he didn't know. How he wished he wasn't so naïve, so powerless and clueless as to what was going on. He wished someone would say something…!

Jack startled suddenly as a knock sounded at his door.

"Jack?" a familiar Russian voice called. Jack tensed, pulling his hand out of his hoodie pocket.

"Uh, come in?" he called uncertainly.

The knob jiggled slightly before it turned and opened, admitting North. The Russian took a brief survey of the room, as if he expected someone else to be in it. Humming, he shut the door behind him and looked over at Jack.

"Were you talking to someone in here?" he asked. Jack blinked.

"Uh…no? Why?" he asked.

North crossed his arms, quirking a brow. "I heard you talking a moment ago."

"Well, it wasn't me," Jack said uncertainly, "I was asleep a moment ago."

North still looked unconvinced, and took one last scan about the room. When it became apart that no one was with them, he turned back to Jack with a concerned crease in his brow.

"Jack…" he started softly, "I think it is time we talk."

Talk, he said. Jack felt himself falter, suddenly feeling very much like a cornered animal. North wanted to talk. This could mean a number of things. He could just want to talk of the situation and what they should do about it. He could want to talk about Jack's outburst in the Globe Room. He could want to talk about what had happened to Hal, and what was now happening to Pitch. He simply did not know; but either way, he was dreading what this talk was going to be about.

"About what…?" he asked meticulously.

North seemed to fidget, scratching the base of his beard. He seemed almost uncertain, nervous even. He looked at Jack oddly with those baby blue eyes, as if searching.

"That depends," he said, "What do you want to talk about?"

Jack felt his jaw clench. He felt like he was speaking to Hal again. He felt like he was being dissected, every iota of his being suddenly exposed and raw before relentless eyes. He had the urge to cover himself, to turn his back and hide everything he held dear close to his chest. Conceal everything, his instincts told him. Don't let them know anything. Hide.

'Fight or flight…' That voice; it sounded like it was remembering.

'But what am I supposed to be remembering?' he wondered with a frown.

Looking at North, he shook his head. "I don't know what I want to talk about anymore…"

North, expression sympathetic, nodded. Gesturing to the bed, Jack nodded and North sat down, his larger bulk nearly pressing Jack into the headboard. The bedframe creaked in protest at the extra weight, and Jack had to wonder if his bed was going to give out under the Russian man.

And then it was silent. No one said or did anything. North had his arms crossed and was scrutinizing the floor, while Jack merely sat where he was, twiddling his thumbs. Was North waiting for him to say something? Or was he trying to think of something to say to Jack? It was all very disconcerting, and Jack just wanted to be left alone right now.

"North, I-"

"Jack, we-"

They paused, staring at one another in surprise. Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment. Well, this wasn't at all awkward, he thought. North cleared his throat and nodded to Jack.

"Ah, you first," he said.

"N-no, I'm fine. You go ahead…" Jack said uncertainly.

North sighed, but nodded. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, as if mentally choosing his words. Jack was slightly grateful for this, but also feared just what North was going to say.

"Jack, the Guardians and I…" – he paused again, furrowing his brows – "We…it's difficult to say, but…we are sorry."

Jack stared, dumbstruck. No, North could not do this to him right now. His head was too full of thoughts, and his heart swirling with a storm of emotion. He didn't have the mental ability to accept any form of apology from North, or any of the Guardians.

"North, no, don't. Just, this isn't your fault-"

"But it is," North said sadly, refusing to look at Jack, "Jack, it was we who decided to keep things quiet around you."

The frost sprite frowned. "I don't understand…"

"When you first became Guardian, we listened to you tell us about how lonely it was for you during those three hundred years," North said, "And although you tried to hide it, we could tell you were greatly hurt and upset with us for not acknowledging you in some way during that time. It was only after we needed something, that we got you involved…"

"And yet, when trouble brewed for them, the Guardians summon you after three hundred years of solitude, and you make it your business." Nature's words bit at his consciousness like a rabid wolf.

"After that, and you left for your lake for a while, we spoke together. We were so shocked at how much your isolation affected you…" North shook his head, remorseful.

"We were so, so ashamed," he said quietly, "We are the Guardians of children, and yet we had failed to protect and give joy to one of our own children."

At any other time, Jack would have been a smidge insulted at being called a child. But in the end, he knew he was a child. He was but a mere three hundred and fifty years old. North and the others were ancient, centuries older than him. And the other spirits were far beyond his years. Compared to them, he was the naïve little brat who could not make up his mind or do anything quite right. He was the child that left messes for others to clean up. That attention-starved boy with no sense of awareness or self. He was simply a child…

"But how does that fit in to you not telling me these things…?" Jack finally asked.

"It is…complicated," North said carefully, "But more than that, it was selfish of us."

"We did not tell you more of our world because we were afraid. We feared you would resent us even more, would go off on your own and leave us if you found out that our world is so much bigger than we made it out to be," he said, "Our world is wonderful, Jack, but it is also full of sorrow and pain. There is a line that divides us all, a horizon, in which we are the Moon's servants, and the dark spirits are the consorts of the night. We are light, they are dark…"

North looked up at the skylight, eyes lighting up with that spark of wonder he always held. And yet, it was dimmer than it usually was, quieter. It was like the curious, yet cautious, questioning of a child. That look when a child looks up at the night sky, and wonders, 'is someone out there?'

Jack felt his hands grip his knees, his jaw tight. But he made no move to respond, and instead listened as North continued.

"We did this to try and protect you, and to a degree, it is true," North said, "But truly, it was we who were afraid and selfish. We wanted to make up for those three hundred years, to show you how wonderful our world was. We did not want to lose you to the night, and wanted to keep you under the rays of moonlight.

"We did not want you to see…how sinister, yet beautiful, the night is. And when you told us of how Pitch made the offer to join him…we were terrified. We did not want you to willingly walk into that dark world. That place, filled with darkness and silence, of creatures foul and fair…"

"So you figured if you told me how awful it was…"

"That you would fear it, and stay away." North nodded, confirming Jack's words. The Russian looked over at Jack pleadingly then, eyes swimming with a whirlpool of emotions.

"Jack, we only did this because we were selfish, and wanted to keep you to ourselves," he said, "And we are so sorry for it, because in the end, our silence has hurt you once again. We never, ever, meant for any of this to happen…"

Jack did not know what to say. His head felt like it was going to explode after those words left North's mouth. He stared at North with wide, expectant eyes. Yet inside, his heart was pounding, and he could feel the beginning sparks of anger starting to light.

"And the Moon?" he asked, voice shaking, "What did he say about it?"

Again, North's expression nearly had Jack wanting to fly out his window. The man had never looked so broken, so ashamed in all of Jack's time of knowing him. Those wide, baby blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and he looked at Jack as if he had done everything that could be done wrong to the frost sprite.

"It was Manny's idea, his order, that we not speak of the dark realm which opposes us…" he said softly.

Jack felt his blood freeze, as if his own powers had rebelled. He was back under his lake again, drowning in the freezing cold water, alone. His knuckles somehow became even whiter as he squeezed his knobby knees, nearly dislocating the caps. He felt like he had dropped into an inter-dimensional pocket, and was floating in a vacuum. The Moon…had told the Guardians to keep these things from him. The Moon had told them to keep Jack as childish as he looked, and all for the sake of…what?

"Perhaps he took more than just your memories…" Hal's voice had suddenly become sinister in his mind, his words like the hissing allure of a snake.

"Why?" he asked, his voice unbelievably calm.

North laced his fingers together between his knees, frowning at the floor. Jack waited impatiently, nearly wanting to scream at North just why they thought this was okay. Why they thought that he was so vulnerable and soft of mind that he would just…abandon them like they feared.

North sighed, shaking his head.

"Because we are selfish," he sighed.

Jack felt his once frozen blood boil over, and he stood up and faced North.

"No, you don't get to do that anymore, North," he said, his voice cracking, "You don't get to give me these vague answers anymore. You already confessed why this was all going to shit and why I'm such an oblivious idiot to all this. Now tell me; why?!"

North looked up at Jack imploringly, mild surprise at his outburst apparent in his eyes. But he said nothing, and Jack started to tremble. Why? Why all these secrets? He thought they were all friends now; a family. What reason was there to be so afraid of whatever truth they were hiding?

Jack felt himself breathing harder, and he pointed a shaking finger at North.

"Why? Why keep this from me, truly? What are you so damn afraid of?!" he shouted.

North winced at the shout, but still, he said nothing. But after a moment, he closed his eyes and put his forehead into a propped up hand on his knee.

"We are selfish…" he said, "And we cannot tell you why."

"Why?! You have to tell me!" Jack snapped.

"We cannot…"

"Yes, you can! Just tell me…!" Jack felt his throat and chest constrict, his eyes burning. This wasn't fair, this wasn't right…!

But North, he had to break Jack's heart. He shook his head.

"I cannot tell you," he said, "Because I am selfish…"

Jack had had enough. With shoulders shaking, and teeth biting painfully into a bottom lip, he turned and picked up his staff. He didn't look back as he rushed for his window and opened it. But before he could jump out, he scarcely heard North say something ever so quietly.

"I am sorry, Jack…"

Jack would hear no more though. Without looking back, he flew out his window and left the North Pole…

~s~S~s~

He didn't know why – or even how – he ended up in Burgess. But he did, and somehow, the dried up and desolate forest he used to call home no longer felt like home to him. The trees were all missing either all or a large majority of their leaves. Small animals that once used to prowl through the trees or skitter on the ground were not present, all either choosing to hide out somewhere, or were simply gone…

The frost sprite landed with silent feet on the ground, not even making a sound as he crushed dried and dead leaves underfoot. He looked around, suddenly lost. Where could he go from here? Why was he here? Why did it no longer feel like home to him…?

He shook his head, tired and uncertain. Holding his staff loosely in one hand, he trekked an invisible pathway into the woods of Burgess, unsure of where he was going. But he did not care at this point; he just had to move.

North and the others had lied to him, kept things from him. And for what? For some huge reason they could not voice to him? Because they were, as North put it, selfish? What did that even mean? Why would the Moon allow this…?

Jack paused and looked up at the bleak, cloudy sky. He could not see the Moon, and the Moon could likely not see him. Somehow, this both enraged and comforted Jack. He had to wonder if the Moon was using the overcast sky as an excuse not to face Jack. Or perhaps there was simply no helping it. There were clouds, but no rain. It was desolate in the sky…

Without so much as uttering a sound, he moved on. Weaving through willowy trees and over large rocks, his mind would just not turn itself off.

The Guardians were not the only ones at fault here, he thought. He himself was also to blame. They never told, and he never asked. But there was more to their world than just the Guardians. Why had he not just gone to someone else for answers? Like Hal, or Harley, or if he was desperate, Patrick. He should have stopped and asked himself; what is there besides myself and the Guardians? Why was he so sure that, despite seeing other spirits, the whole universe revolved just around the Moon, the Guardians, and himself? Why?

'Because you are a child,' the voice said, 'And good children do not question their elders…'

The tone the voice used was odd, as if it were trying to convey both sympathy and irritation all in one. But he supposed it was right, again. Yet at the same time, he honestly could recall no reason as to why he never spoke up or asked anyone about their world. Whenever he tried to think back on why, he drew a huge blank. It was like chunks of his memories – his emotions – were missing.

Jack paused suddenly, catching something out of the corner of his eye. A light – a golden light…

The winter sprite's heart throbbed painfully, and he looked down at his hands. The pale appendages shook, despite having nothing within them besides his staff. There was no tiny, fragile, fae-like body. There was no blood, no crumpled wings, and there were no eyes looking up at him as if he were the very devil himself come to destroy all everyone ever loved; there was nothing. They were empty.

He looked up again, catching the dim light coming through a thick outcrop of trees and shrubs. He swallowed dryly, wondering if he should check it out. The light was flickering ever so slightly, dancing with shadows and shade alike. Was there a fire in his forest?

'Go…' The voice soon vanished, locked behind a barrier in Jack's head he simply could not open.

A bead of sweat crawled down Jack's temple, and he quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie. He gripped his staff tightly, pointing it towards the shrubs. Carefully, he slid it through, and pushed the foliage to one side, revealing the source of the light.

Candles.

They were everywhere. On large stones he did not recall being there, on the ground, in dead trees, it was like seeing a hundred stars out in the open clearing. All of them had a strange, yet calming, golden glow to them. They were unlike any flame he had ever seen – eerily yellow like the sun, yet strangely subdued, dim, unobtrusive. They were as silent as the sun was loud and blaring with its blinding shine.

Eyes wide, Jack stepped out of the shrubs and into the clearing. He looked around, noticing other things had been mysteriously placed within the clearing. Stones of varying colors and sizes were piled up in different areas, strange runes carved into them like charms. A wooden chime hung from a low branch in a tree, its hollow pipes oddly lonesome and still without its wind. Parcels and other strange boxes and items had been placed in the center of the clearing, wooden plaques scrawled in some kind of Asian kanji propped up against rocks. Wards were placed on trees and hung on wooden poles, and the ground in the clearing's center hosted a variety of gold and black silks. Just barely, Jack could make out tiny gems and crystals, and bottles of strange liquids settled in the silks and softer soil.

Wandering closer, Jack could see, plain as day, just what was at the very center of the clearing, surrounded by these strange and silent treasures.

The hole in the ground, where Pitch's once lair laid. It was surrounded by candles and trinkets, the gemstones giving off colorful yet subdued light from the candle's glow. Surrounded as it was, Jack could only picture a black hole dragging planets and stars into its abyss in a swirling mass of chaotic beauty. A whirlpool of darkness and pinpricks of light…

Inching closer, Jack peered down into the dark hole. It was endless, or seemingly so. It was so dark, so full of that suffocating darkness that would swallow you whole and never let go. It was that kind of darkness that followed you for the rest of your life. As if it was an ink that would permanently stain your very being. And no matter how much you bathed, scrubbed, and scrapped, it would never leave you alone. It would always be there – a stain on your very soul.

But something caught his eye. There, just along the edge, caught between two rocks jutting from the hole's wall. A square, flat, off-white thing. It was just barely visible, despite being only a few feet down. But the darkness was unrelenting, despite how weak it was. It was hungry, and wanted to swallow anything and everything it could.

His own natural curiosity piqued, and somehow unable to help himself, Jack got down on his knees. He reached out, but stopped. He couldn't just stick his hand down there, could he? That darkness would eat him alive, suck him in like the black hole it represented. Frowning, Jack regarded his staff. He looked back down at the item down in the hole, and made up his mind.

Carefully, he took the bottom end of his staff, and lowered the hook end into the hole. He waved it around a bit, and nothing happened. Nothing reached up and grabbed the offered crook, and Jack didn't feel any invisible force tugging on it.

Holding his breath, he slowly lowered his staff until the hook touched the item. Still nothing happened, and Jack was both glad and suspicious of this. But he shook it off. He focused a bit of his power, and froze a small portion of the item to his crook. Once sure it was stuck, he began to pull up.

Only, he couldn't.

"What the…?" Confused, Jack pulled up again. But he once again met with resistance.

He frowned. Did the hook get caught on a rock, he wondered. He shifted into a squat, and pulled up again. This time, instead of just resistance, he was pulled down.

"Hey!" he cried, tugging his staff back up.

He could see nothing but darkness down in the hole, but he could feel that something had a hold of his staff. And it wanted Jack to come in and see it for himself.

"Let…go…!" He gritted his teeth, digging his heels into the earth and pulling back as hard as he could.

He was dragged slightly forward, his heels just barely touching the edge of the hole. His heart pounded in his ears, fear eating him alive. If he did not let go of his staff, he would be dragged in and find out just what wanted him down there. But if he did let go, he'd lose his source of power, his flight, a very part of himself. And he did not want to lose it again.

"I said…let go…!" he snapped.

He suddenly gasped as the thing tugged viciously, and he found himself pitching forward. He was now looking down directly into the hole, eyes wide and all sound aside his heartbeat drained from his ears. Slowly, he was falling, being dragged down and into that eternal abyss. Where there was no light, no escape, nothing but darkness and despair and-

He stopped, his throat suddenly closing as if a noose had tightened around his neck. His first instinct was to reach up and undo whatever was around his neck, but he was suddenly pulled back, and thrown to the ground with a thud. His staff landed beside him with a clank, the collar of his hoodie no longer choking him – how had it been choking him?

Time seemed to catch up to Jack, and in the blink of an eye, he was gasping and stared dazedly up at the overcast sky. His frame shook with chills that suddenly overcame him, somehow afraid, and somehow terrified.

"What the bloody hell were you doing?!" The familiar Aussie accent somehow did nothing to comfort Jack.

Looking up, the frost sprite was confronted with a very disgruntled-looking Pooka. Boomerang clutched in one paw, the other was tightly held in a fist, both arms trembling with what Jack could only assume was the same feeling he was confronted with now. He swallowed, before slowly climbing to his feet and picking up his staff.

"Bunny…" he rasped, unable to think of anything to say. The Pooka scoffed and pointed his boomerang at Jack.

"What the hell were you doing over there?" he snapped, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is now? There could be dark spirits crawling anywhere around here now!"

Jack blinked, not understanding. Why would any dark spirits be here? He looked around, as if expecting some hint to an answer to jump up and surprise Jack. Bunny seemed to sense Jack's confusion, and growled.

"You gala, this is the old entrance to Pitch's lair," he said.

"I know that," Jack snapped, glaring at Bunny. The Pooka narrowed his eyes, ears folding back.

"Which means you should know why it ain't safe here," he said through gritted teeth, patience stretched thin, "The dark souls ain't happy with us, and if they caught one of us alone here, who's to say what they would do?"

"But why would they be here?" Jack asked.

"Are you that thick?" Bunny snapped, swinging his free arm out to gesture to the clearing, "Look around you! They've been here, or at least a few have! What does this all look like to you?"

Jack tightened his jaw, but none the less, he looked around. All he could see within the clearing were the various items and dim candles illuminating that strange light around him. Tightly closed parcels made him quite curious, but he did not dare to touch any of them. All the stones, items, even a few foods and exotic fares were present, all from every corner of the cultural compass. The silks and other fine fabrics gleamed like woven jewels in Jack's eyes. And it finally seemed to click for him.

They were offerings.

Offerings, to a lost and fallen King. He was standing on the grounds of a memorial, of sacred items offered up to a King that could no longer accept such gifts. From knick-knacks, to things that looked like they belonged in the garbage, to the finest of fares – all of it was for Pitch Black…

"…when…?" Bunny shook his head, crossing his furry arms.

"No idea. I only checked up on this area yesterday, and there it was," he said, "There's a lot more stuff here from last time. They're frequenting this place, and it ain't safe anymore…"

"But…no one would hurt us, right?" Jack suddenly asked, "I mean, yeah, we pissed them off, but they wouldn't seriously-"

"Let me stop you right there," Bunny said, holding up a paw, "Jack, you need to understand. Dark spirits are as varied and individual as humans. But what they all share in common is wrath, disregard, and a sense of vengeance for their King. Many are as they appear to be; sadistic monsters who would get a kick out of making a kid like you scream."

"But Hal-"

"Ain't no saint," Bunny growled, "He may seem like a friendly bloke, but inside, he's as merciless and nasty as any other beast under Black's reign. You haven't seen what he's like when his fire goes out of control…"

The Pooka's eyes clouded over slightly, becoming unfocused. He seemed like he was remembering something, recalling a long lost memory of which he wanted to stay lost. A shudder wracked the Pooka's frame, his fur bristling in many places. He shook his head and refocused on Jack, but there was still a lingering sense of trepidation in his eyes.

"You best to stay at the Pole," he said, "By now they're watching for you at your lake."

Jack slowly shook his head, somehow unable to fully process what Bunny was telling him. But in a way, the Pooka's words made some form of sense. Jack had no idea what other dark spirits were like. Hal might be some form of exception, or perhaps a good actor. But he could not bear the thought of the Hal he knew as being a farce. From what he had seen of Disliber, Bunny may be right. The Devil was a beast, and acted like one. And Jack did not plan on confronting the Devil again anytime soon – or ever again if he could help it.

Jack became oblivious to Bunny's narrowed eyes and quirked brow. The Pooka tilted his head slightly, regarding something just slightly above Jack. Clearing his throat to catch his attention, he nodded up to the top of Jack's staff.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

Jack blinked, before he looked up at the top of his staff. He suddenly remembered what it was he had been doing looking into the hole. He had seen something, and whether it was from pure curiosity or stupidity, he had tried to pull whatever it was out. And he could now tell what it was.

It was an envelope. Still stuck to the top of his staff by a patch of ice, it was yellowed and crinkled slightly with age. The crease for its long since opened flap was thinned and close to falling right off. It looked like it had been opened recently – if not constantly, what with how worn the paper looked.

Lowering his staff, he gently pried the brittle paper off the hook and regarded it. There was a single slip of paper inside, also looking very much worn and repeatedly folded and unfolded.

"I…" Jack paused, refusing to meet Bunny's obviously scrutinizing gaze. What could he say? That he got it from the hole in which he was pulled from? That it was likely a letter to – or from – a dark spirit?

"It's…" He stopped again, and Bunny seemed to grow impatient.

"It doesn't matter anyways," he growled, waving a paw dismissively, "I came here to tell you you're needed back at the Pole. Now."

"What?" Jack asked, dumbfounded, "Why?"

Bunny's face seemed to take on a haunted look, yet it was distorted with his obvious grimace. Arms crossed once more, his claws dug into furry biceps while clawed toes dug into the dry soil. Ears flattened against the Pooka's head as he stared at the ground; as if daring it to do or say something to him.

He finally looked up at Jack, and the sprite was startled to see the absolute uncertainty and fear in Bunny's green eyes.

"Pitch is awake."

To be continued…

~s~s~S~s~s~

A/N~ Oh wow, no footnotes this time? Weird. XD

~S~