So far, the last few chapters have taken place relatively close to each other, time wise. Keep an eye out for time skips for now on, which will be revealed through context or dialogue.
It was always like this.
Every night.
When one closes their eyes, they think they can perceive darkness. Even in the dead of night, with no light to be seen, one can close their eyes, and see nothing but pitch. But there's always something; a reflection, or a warmth. An energy that radiates not quite beyond the visible spectrum, but that the human eye can still distinguish. The person may not acknowledge it's there, but if they concentrated, they could understand that not all was obscured from their sight. They could never know just how dark darkness could truly be. Only one who had grown up with sight, only to lose it completely, could ever fully understand what true darkness looked like.
Early on, during those first few days and weeks after waking up in the hospital, Gray had thought he'd understood what darkness looked like; until the dreams began.
At first, he couldn't comprehend how it could possibly be darker than what he experienced everyday, but here...
He thought he moved, as he could feel his legs taking steps that landed on...? There was nothing beneath him, but he didn't feel like he was falling. There was nothing but darkness.
And that sound.
A crackling fire.
He tried to find it, if only to avoid it.
It was too dark. How could he fail to find a fire in the darkness? He was told he'd still have sight in his dreams. But more often than not...
It grew warm. Warmer. Burning. His other senses awoke. There was smoke. Death. Decay.
He was screaming. Here, in the dark, his screams echoed thunderously. It was all he could hear now. He'd be a stranger to his own voice, if not for these nightly terrors.
It was always like this.
Every night.
Something touched him. It was cold, clammy, dead. He jerked away, only to be stilled by the feeling of those same cold, clammy hands over his eyes.
Not Her!
It grew darker still.
Stilled by utter fear, he could only tremble as his hands and feet were locked in place by his own inability to remember how to move. He felt like a lost child, scared of the dark, and of the demons that hid therein, caught by one such creature. The worse of them all.
His breath came out in pants now, and it didn't feel strange for him to let out a startled sob as the creature spoke, barely above a whisper in his ear.
"If only you weren't such a poor son, dear boy."
Not Her! Not HER!
A keening wail was desperate to escape, but his terror made him choke on it. Still, he couldn't move.
He waited. He knew HE would come.
"Heh, heh, heh. Such a naughty boy. Such a disappointing son. To take after that wretched demon. You deserve the fate that awaits you."
The necromancer. Just his voice, so close, surrounding him. He tried to shake his head in denial, but the hands held firm. He felt that old, dry hand skating across his chest, causing him to shudder. He knew what would come next. He couldn't stop the cry that escaped when the claw-like hand dug into his chest, right where his guild mark used to be. There were no bandages, no gauze, nothing separating his bare skin and revealed muscle from that monster's touch. He drove his fingers deeper. Gray was gasping now. Tears leaked from behind the creature's fingers, and the necromancer laughed.
"You thought to escape me? I own you, dear boy. Do you not remember? You are the wages of your father's sin."
He struggled to move. He was paralyzed. His heart beat a cacophony in his chest, beat against the fingers of the hand still held within his open wound.
"Good. Show me your fear. Let me feel it ebb and flow within your veins."
He couldn't breathe. And because he couldn't breathe, he could no longer scream. He so desperately wanted to scream.
"The ancients believed that the heart was the seat of one's fear and faith," he said, coming closer, continuing in a vicious, sadistic whisper, "I now hold your heart, dear boy. You will know only fear, and I will never let you go!"
He squeezed his heart, causing Gray to finally scream.
ooooo
With a violent start, he came back to consciousness. His screams echoed in his mind, to match his actions in his waking state. He hadn't woken Lyon. He never has. A small, sad voice in the back of his mind sometimes wished he would, so he wouldn't be alone. But he was also glad. He didn't want to steal sleep from him as well. He does so much for him already.
All was silent. Just as it always was. Everything was still, just the sound of the mantle clock as it ticked away. It would chime the hour soon, probably. It was cool where he lay, telling him it was still night, as the morning rays of the sun would have warmed him otherwise, given the location of his couch by the large bay windows that looked out into the backyard.
He brought his breathing under control, laying still on his stomach, just as he'd fallen asleep. He didn't move. Why bother? He was unbearably used to this by now. If it wasn't the nightmares that woke him up, it was the insomnia that kept him from sleep. It was almost like a twisted competition between the two, to see which one better deprived him of rest.
He must not have slept long, as drowsiness was fast approaching again. How nice of the sleep aids to work tonight. No, not really. He was used to this, too. He knew he couldn't afford not to sleep. So regardless of the ever encroaching night terrors that were sure to visit him again, he resigned himself to yet another night of torment, and allowed himself to fall asleep once more.
It was always like this.
Every night.
It was always like this.
Always
It needed more.
...
Not enough
...
Never enough
...
How long must it search for perfection?
...
For the seat of sorrow?
...
For the embodiment of curses to give it form?
...
It moved. The Perfection. It no longer lay where it was.
...
To have come this far!
...
...
?
...
Something calls...misery...grief...dejection...
...
RAGE
...
So near
...
...
Perfect.
ooooo
The incessant beeping that issued from the monitor lacrima was the only sound in the room. The only sound he ever hears when he's alone.
That, and the never ending hum of the lights above. Being a super max prison, the lights were always on in a prisoner's cell, to ensure constant surveillance. The same went for the hospital ward.
All he could do in that small room, sealed and restrained, was think. Thinking was an infuriating way to pass the time here, as all he could think about was his utter failure, and all that led up to it. It filled him with self deprecation, indignation, doubt, and rage. It's a miracle he hadn't died of apoplexy yet. An anger-induced stroke seemed appropriate. But no. He was reduced to wasting away from magic deficiency syndrome. What a pathetic way to go for a once powerful mage such as himself.
The lights flickered.
Nothing worth noting. This structure was old.
More flickering. The humming became more troublesome.
An ominous feeling came over him. Something wasn't right.
Where were the guards? Couldn't they sense anything?
"Who's there?" he asked weakly.
There was a darkness. A pressure. Something cold.
It was all around him.
The lacrima beeped louder, faster.
It came for him.
Was it Death?
He never thought such a specter truly existed.
He couldn't understand. He was a master of the Realm of the Dead. He'd brought terror to kings and soldiers. He'd had powers over life and death, courted prestige, glory, infamy.
Why was he so scared? How could he be a victim of such terror? He. Couldn't. Understand!
The fear, the pressure, the darkness.
It was crushing, overpowering.
A deluge.
He was at its mercy, would receive none.
How unfair.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
ooooo
Such anger
pride
failure
defeat
despair
...
Destiny denied
...
...
Not perfect
...
...
It will do
...
...
...
The headaches were in full force today, and he wasn't in the mood for company. He hadn't slept well the night before, which compounded the tension behind his eyes. He'd need to ask about upping the sedatives at night. As he sat in the recliner, he heard Lyon approach with his meds. Eagerly popping them all into his mouth at once before accepting some water, he gulped it down before shakily placing the glass aside, narrowly missing the side table.
He hadn't fought Lyon earlier when he'd unwrapped the bandages from his eyes, giving no reason why. At this point, he didn't care. Maybe he'd thought they were too tight, causing his headaches. Good theory, nice try, didn't pan out. So when he returned and gave a soft warning of, "this is a little cold," he was a little perplexed at the sudden cold and wetness draped over his eyes. Oh. So that was why. It felt...nice. Soothing. Not better, but getting there.
Lyon was pleased when Gray seemed to relax a bit. He was worried about the constant headaches, but just like all his other symptoms, they were a common occurrence with PTSD. Along with the insomnia. It looked like this was gonna be one of those downer days.
Things had been settling into a pattern of sorts. Wake up, breakfast, some O and M practice, then walk to the guild. They'd stick around for a few hours, and walk back home. Simple, consistent, safe. Gray became more confident in navigating to the guild every day. They'd have to try other locations soon. Today, though, would be spent at home.
Lyon made an effort to be quiet today. That would help with the headaches as well. He was in the bedroom an hour later, putting some clothes away, when he heard Gray closing the recliner. "Gray, I'm in the bedroom. I'll be right out," he called out. Finishing with the load, he walked out to find Gray leaning slightly forward on his hands, arms held straight, against the back of the couch. Lyon knew he was doing as his doctor advised, positioning his grafts more above his heart to ease the pressure of having rested on them. This was the reason he had to sleep on his stomach every night now.
After a minute more of this, he straightened and turned around, grabbing his cane while doing so. Good. He'd become more receptive of it in the last couple of weeks. That, or he knew he'd be nagged if Lyon saw him without it again. But the fact that he was considering Lyon's feelings was nice, too.
"Let's go outside."
That came out of nowhere.
"Sure. Where do you want to go?"
"Just on the porch. I want to be outside for a bit."
"Okay... Do you want to rewrap your eyes first?"
He hadn't thought of that. He forgot they were visible. After some consideration, he slowly shook his head no. The earlier he got used to allowing others to see them, the better.
"Well, at least wear the sunglasses. You won't want to expose them to light too suddenly, so soon. We don't want Wendy to have even more to heal when those seals come off, do we?"
He didn't want to argue with Lyon's optimism, so he relented, and they soon found themselves sitting on the steps of the front porch. Gray was idly skimming the water in the pond with his fingers, causing his fish to chase after the intruding digits. They were too slow to catch him now. The pump was turned off. The weather was turning colder as they entered the third week of October. He'd stopped feeding them soon after his return, to allow them time to adapt to the cold and get ready to go dormant for winter. He was gonna miss them.
Lyon watched him, wondering at his contemplative mood. The weather was pleasant, and the chill in the air made him feel refreshed. He gazed around, not really looking at anything in particular. He heard the faint drips as Gray took his hand from the water, so he faced him in case he finally wanted to talk.
"Have all the leaves changed yet?"
Paying attention as he looked around again, Lyon had to admire what he saw. The trees in Gray's yard were simply magnificent. "Yes. There are shades of reds, oranges, and yellows, with a bit of green here and there to break up the warmer colors. There's very little on the ground yet. I suspect we'll very soon be out here raking, though."
Lyon had been purposely adding these subtle phrases in his conversations with him lately. 'We' will be raking, not 'I'. He hoped Gray would understand and believe in his abilities to do things for himself. He looked at his face, and wondered at the puzzled and wary look he was giving.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's nothing. Just... I'm having trouble...picturing them...the leaves...the colors... they just look so drab and muted in my head."
"Are you forgetting what colors look like?" Lyon asked, concerned.
"... I don't think so. Just... shades, I guess? Like, I can't recall the exact red of Erza's hair, or if the blue of Juvia's is lighter or darker than Happy's fur."
This wasn't a totally unexpected development. Lyon had done his research over the last few months, and had heard of some people losing visual memories over time. But that usually took years. Still, forgetting certain shades of colors wasn't the end of the world. He wondered if he still dreamt in color. Before he could ask, Gray changed the subject on him. He apparently had a lot on his mind today.
"It'll be November soon...almost three months since I lost my powers."
Ah. So that's what's been bothering him.
"Gray, you know it's only a matter of time before they break those seals. Your powers are still in you. You just have to be patient."
Yeah. Like he hadn't gotten that speech before.
"... I feel cold."
"Yeah. I can feel it, too. There's a cold front moving in tonight. Probably gonna rain this weekend."
Gray shook his head, starting to look a little melancholy.
"You're not understanding me. I feel cold. As in my body is feeling the effects of it. It's been so long since I've used my powers, I'm losing my resistance to it."
That felt like a kick in the gut. So that's why he wanted to come out here. He must have been feeling signs of a growing sensitivity to the cold, and came out here to verify his theory.
Lyon had no idea what this meant. He had no experience at all when it came to a total loss of his powers. Would Gray have to acclimate again? Would he have to start all over, training as a novice? His memory's been shaky. Would he start to forget his spells as well? No wonder he was so listless today. He was surprised when he started gesturing again.
"No point crying over it. Can't control what happens. Just have to wait and see."
And there it was again. He seemed positive and accepting, not letting it bother him. But it was bothering him. That wasn't acceptance.
It was resignation.
Just another thing he had no control over.
Now Lyon was in a mood. Talk about a downer of a day.
Slapping his hands on his thighs, Gray stood up, heading back inside. Lyon followed, about to say how sorry he was with what was happening, when the ding from the dryer went off. Gray got a sardonic look on his face.
"Want help with the laundry?"
"What?"
"You think I hadn't noticed? How everyone suddenly needs help with odd chores, from the blind mute, missing nearly half the sensation in his hands? Natsu came all the way down here the other day, to ask for help baiting a fish hook. His subtlety is appalling."
Lyon didn't know how he should approach this topic. Was Gray upset? Did he feel patronized? He'd removed his sunglasses, sticking one of the temples down the neck of his shirt to let it hang there. He was now staring almost directly at his face, the slightly off-focused glance somewhat intimidating, with the discolored pupils and scars rimming the edges of the sockets. He jumped when he smiled.
"Relax. I'm not mad. I appreciate it. It helps, I think... So...laundry? If you want, I can match the socks," he smirked.
Lyon laughed. Was he actually trying to make him feel better? If anything, that should be his job. But...he just pretty much admitted that what they'd been doing had made him feel a little better. Please, Lord, let this be genuine, and not a mood swing. And even if it was, let us enjoy it while it lasts.
"Forget that. You can fold the towels," he joked back.
The morning was a bust, but the afternoon was looking brighter.
Later that evening, the team, having missed Gray and Lyon today, had come with takeout for dinner. Wendy had quickly found a spot right next to Gray. They've all noticed that Wendy had yet to make him flinch if she ever accidentally touched him.
Topics of conversation came and went. They'd just discussed the probability of going to see a show that Erza was dying to see, but she'd backtracked when she remembered present company, and suggested a musical instead. Gray, still not comfortable around large crowds, and Lyon, who was sure that Gray couldn't yet handle that kind of stimulation, respectfully declined, but added that the rest should go ahead and enjoy a show. That, however, brought up another topic that had piqued Lyon's interest for a while now.
"Gray, since we've been talking about music, I've been wondering. I found a violin in your closet. You never told me you played."
"No way! You never told me, either! Did you guys know?" asked Lucy.
"This is the first I've heard of it. Gray, you're holding out on us," said Erza.
The chatter was picking up, his friends interested in this little secret tidbit of his life. Maybe they had gotten used to his lack of eye contact, that they hadn't noticed his gaze turn inward. And maybe the pleasant evening had lowered their guard, causing them not to notice his reluctance to continue this topic. And maybe the novelty of the idea that he had musical talent made them forget that he had a tendency to keep things from his past in the past.
Wendy was the first to quiet down when she noticed he wasn't responding to their enthusiasm. The others followed suit, one by one. This was what they dreaded all the time, now. His pulling away from them. His self isolation, even when he was surrounded by his closest friends. Lyon regretted that he'd brought up the topic. The awkward silence was broken very suddenly by a knock on the door, causing everyone to jump.
"It's Master. I'll get it," said Natsu, having smelled his scent up the stone path.
Opening the door, he was ready to greet their guild master with a grin, until he saw his face.
"I need to speak with Gray, please. I've received news that concern him."
Gray came to the door, followed by Lyon. He invited Master in, but was declined.
"I won't stay long, I just came to tell you that I'd received word from Black Vox. Atticus Wolfstern Montagne, whom we knew as Arius, was found dead this morning in his hospital room. They don't know cause of death, but they suspect he'd succumbed to magic deficiency syndrome. As soon as I heard, I thought you would want to know."
If they thought they'd see relief, or gratitude, or even horror in his reaction, they were disappointed when all they saw was apathy. He just processed what he heard, nodded, and thanked his master for the news. Makarov, taken aback, looked at the rest of his children, who were just as confused.
"Gray, if you need anything—"
"I'm fine. Thank you for telling me."
After Lyon told Makarov what he'd said, Gray turned and went back to the table. Not used to such a blunt dismissal, Makarov could only quietly ask Lyon to try to get him to talk, and left. Gray reached the table, felt around for the cane he'd left there, and took it up, extending it out. He made to turn, but paused, leaned the cane down, and gestured.
"I just picked it up on a whim one day. Thought I'd learn something new. Lost interest. It just sits in my closet, collecting dust. Sorry there's not much of a story there. Thanks for coming by."
He took up his cane and returned to the living room, feeling his way towards the back door, when Natsu asked, "Hey, it's okay now, right? That bastard's gone now."
Gray was stepping out the door when he paused long enough to mouth his next words for Natsu, "He's not gone, Natsu. He's still here... Always here," before going out into the backyard, shutting the door behind him.
Next Week: Gray finds a creative outlet. This is one of my favorites. I think you'll really enjoy this one.