Sorry it's been so long. I guess I was burned out on this story. Still, here's a new chapter to keep you interested. :)


Prism plodded silently through the halls of the Moon Clipper, heading for the medical wing. He'd made sure to hide his aches and pains from Lunar's eyes, assuring him that he just needed rest and maybe a bit of Ritrian cream to relax his muscles to feel better. Yes, he'd fallen far and was a bit sore from the landing, but it was nothing that a few days of quiet and relaxation couldn't fix. Oh sure, several vigorous application of that cream, maybe a bit of some other herbs and medicine, and he'd be right as rain.

He was terrified to tell a lie to Lunar, who could sense falsehoods with shocking ease, just like the other Guardians, just like him. Every word was carefully thought through, looked at from several angles, before it was allowed out of his mouth. Jack hovered for a while, wanting to help, and Prism had allowed him to explain to Lunar and Nightlight what had happened with the plane. Jack thought it was true, so it was safe.

After a while, Prism politely mentioned that he would retrieve the medicine and take a shower before going to lie down. He sent Jack off with Nightlight, smiled warmly at his oldest friend, and headed off. Lunar watched him go.

"If you need any help," he said gently. "Call for me. Okay?"

Prism raised his hand, then walked down the hall. He pushed open the door to the medical ward. It smelled sharply of healing herbs from hundreds of planets, and just the scent made Prism relax a little. His chest was still burning from his open wounds, but he didn't dare treat them there. He looked around, his mind racing. What did he need? Sleung slime would be good. Mixed with crushed Artrean crystals, yes. It would speed up the healing. Trunkite powder would reduce the burning. And he'd have to grab four types of herbs for healing tea. Then there was the Ritrian cream. He'd have to take that…

He waved his hand, and a leather bag appeared in his hand. With haste and guilt, he stuffed the ingredients into the bag, taking what he thought he'd need. When he'd grabbed everything, he darted out of the room and down the halls toward his room. He felt so very guilty. But why? He wasn't stealing anything. He was allowed to use anything he wanted in the Moon Clipper. He shouldn't be looking around corners like a thief!

'But you're not telling the truth. You lied to Jack,' a little voice said in his head.

Prism cringed, his eyes dashing around furtively. He should just go to Lunar, tell him what really happened, let him help tend to his wounds. But then he'd have to admit to Jack that he'd lied. He couldn't face that. He pushed open his bedroom door, closing it quickly. He leaned against it, his heart hammering.

With shaking hands, he tugged out the ingredients and went to his workbench to mix what he needed. He kept glancing back to his door, frightened that Lunar would come in and catch him. He would be so angry that Prism hadn't trusted him. After all their adventures, after facing his old demons with Lunar and the Guardians, after regaining his oldest friend, was he really going to keep something this important from him? His hands paused as he was mixing the paste.

'What am I doing?' he wondered. He set everything aside and placed his head in his hands. 'I need to come clean. What's wrong with me?'

The answer slapped him in the face. He'd lied to Jack, his beloved friend and trusted fellow Guardian. The only Guardian, apparently, who couldn't sense lies. Shame barreled him over, and he sobbed softly, curling up in his chair. The first promise he'd ever made to Jack was that he would be honest. And in one moment, he had shattered that promise into a million tiny pieces. Reflected in the shards was his friendship with Jack, and he shook his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. He had broken Jack's trust, and with it, their friendship.

He couldn't live without Jack. Not anymore. Jack was his bridge to North, Toothiana, Sandy, and Bunnymund. If he lost Jack, he'd lose the trust of the rest of the earthbound Guardians. And Lunar and Nightlight would be disgusted by his lies, and he would lose them, too.

The hole in his mind where Shadowman used to be gaped wide.

Prism balked, trying to scramble back to the safety of the life he'd built in the last year, away from the dark, sticky muck that threatened to suck him down. But he couldn't. There was a canyon in front of him, full of the shattered trust of all of his friends. He screamed into the void, trying to find a way across without injury, but there was no bridge. Desperate, he knelt down and scooped up the shards, overcome with the need to piece them back together, but they only cut his hands. He cried out, trying to dislodge them from his bleeding fingers. They wouldn't come free.

There was an emptiness behind him, more familiar and terrifying than he'd care to admit. It was his old life, the life of Pitch Black, the nomadic wanderer who could never be still, who constantly roamed so that his old friend wouldn't find him. He had to run from the moonlight, run from the good, caring friend he needed, but he couldn't be with him. He didn't want to drown him in his sea of darkness, where the Shadowman waited with hungry lusts, ready to suck the light out of the world.

Prism screamed as the emptiness came closer. No! He couldn't go back! He couldn't face a life of being alone again! He needed Jack to trust him! He needed all of them to love him and want him, to need his own peculiar brand of light to complete the Guardians' circle. He was terrified to look back. Where was the moon? Where was Lunar? He looked down into the shards of trust and saw pieces of the moon with broken snowflakes. He'd lost them. He'd lost them all. All because he'd lied to Jack. He cringed, waiting for the blackness to swallow him up, but one thought shone bright, his only hope.

'They don't know you lied.'

Prism grasped that hope, stood up, and jumped across the chasm. If he could keep it secret, he would make it to the other side…

Prism opened his eyes with a gasp. He was quivering from head to foot, hot tears running down his thin cheeks. The vision had seemed so real, and he quickly looked at his hands, expecting blood. But they were whole and unblemished. He sat back and stared at the table, his thoughts whirling around so quickly that he was dizzy. One thought, that one hope, burned brighter than anything.

They don't know you lied.

'Well then,' Prism thought, 'I won't tell them. If I don't tell them, then everything will be okay.'

Calm surrounded Prism, and he resumed making the medicines he'd need. When all the preparations were done, he went over and locked the door. He went into the bathroom and started the shower. Then he locked the bathroom door, too, just in case somebody came into his room. He couldn't be too careful. They must never know that he'd lied. He could never tell them. If they found out, the darkness would come back. And he couldn't live like that anymore. It was as simple as that.

He carefully washed his burning wounds with soap. Once he'd rinsed away the lather, he carefully ran his fingers over the gouges in his flesh. It hurt so badly, but the pain was almost distant, like it wasn't his own pain. That was good. If the pain was far away, he wouldn't make any noises. He shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and carefully dried himself, patting the cloth gently around his wounds. Then he unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out into the room. He could sense no fear. There was nobody there. He was still safe.

He wrapped the towel around his hips then walked calmly to his work table. The first thing he grabbed was the cream. He scooped some out with two fingers and filled the gouges with the sweet-smelling paste. At once, his skin tingled fiercely as the paste was absorbed into the wounds. The process of healing began, and once he'd filled in all of them, he picked up the Trunkite powder mixed with Ritrian cream and rubbed it over his entire chest and sides, anywhere he'd scratched. The burning was reduced at once.

Flexing his eased muscles, he set that aside. All he needed to do was make the herbal tea. First he had to get dressed. But since he said he was lying down, he couldn't put on his normal clothing again. That would be too suspicious. His robe also wouldn't do. It bared part of his chest. He considered his options. North had given him a nice set of pajamas the Christmas before, and he'd never worn them. Now was the time to try them on, he decided.

Digging through his drawer, he pulled out the silk pajamas. They were soft and beautiful, made from the most exquisite silk found anywhere. The top was long sleeved with a rainbow prism set on both sleeves below the shoulder. The rest of the material was black, which was good; it matched his insides. He removed the towel and slipped on the bottoms. They fit perfectly, and they were so soft. He ran his fingers along the sides, enjoying the richness of his gift. But a bitter thought stopped him.

'He'd never give you something like this now if he knew what you did.'

Prism flinched, but his resolve solidified. He would not tell them, so North would not find out. Grabbing the top, he slid the silk over his arms then buttoned up the top as far as it would go. The top button fastened just at his neck, which was perfect. Again, he rubbed the gorgeous material with his fingers, enthralled that North would give him a gift. Pitch Black didn't feel he deserved such a gift…

With a start, Prism realized the slip. No, he scolded himself. He wasn't Pitch Black anymore. He was Prism Lunanoff. And the darkness couldn't get him if he kept his secret.

Now dressed, he went to the workbench and carefully put all of the medicine away in different drawers. He wiped the table clean of anything that might have spilled, then he placed the regular Ritrian cream on the table, along with the bowls of herbs. Those were safe. He went out the door and padded to the kitchen for a teapot and some hot water for the tea. Nightlight and Jack were in there, eating a plateful of moon cheese and crackers. Jack looked up and swallowed.

"Hey, you're wearing your present!"

Prism smiled. "I thought it was about time to try them."

"They look good. Do you like them?"

Prism walked to the cabinet and pulled out a teapot. "Very much. He didn't spare expenses on this present."

"He never does for the gifts he gives to us," Jack said.

Nightlight studied him as he turned and put some water on to boil.

"You are moving much more easily, Prism. The cream helped?"

"And the shower," Prism replied. "But I'm still making some healing tea. I'm still a little sore."

"Need some company?" Jack asked, crunching on another cracker spread with the soft, silver cheese.

"I think dreamsand is what I need most, Jack. Sorry, but I'm exhausted."

Jack shrugged. "Okay. I'm going to head back to Earth in an hour or so. Gotta visit Jamie. His son had his first chemo appointment yesterday. I want to see him. Give him some fun."

At Jamie's name, the vision of a scared little boy flashed in front of Prism's eyes, and he jerked his arm. The teacup he'd placed on the counter crashed to the floor. He gasped and stepped back.

"Did you cut yourself?" Jack asked, hopping up.

"No," Prism said, unnaturally calm. "No magic involved. It just surprised me."

He swept up the glass, threw away the shards—of trust—and grabbed another teacup. With a relaxed smile, Prism left the room with the teapot and headed down the hall. When he got to his room, he set the pot and the cup on his bedside table then flopped back. He was exhausted. Watching every word that came out of his mouth was difficult. He couldn't lie to most of his friends, and he hated to lie to Jack.

After a few minutes, he fixed his tea, gulped it down, then scrambled for the dreamsand. He needed sleep. That would surely give him the energy he needed to creatively lie-but-not-lie to his companions, right? Still, as he sprinkled the shimmering golden sand into his face, guilt gnawed at him. What had he gotten himself into?