To Meet Again In Dreams

In his dreams, Sol saw smears of the world he’d once known. Clarity was gone, leaving only the faintest remembrances of what had been but was now lost. White surrounded him, but it was not clean or safe or kind. It was simply "Not". That was what awaited him. That was what awaited all of them. Darkness may have been devouring the world for now, but after the darkness faded, only blank white would remain.

He wandered through fields that bled away beneath his feet. Streams of cyan and sapphire gave sounds of flowing water, but when he neared them, they were nothing more than painted lines of blue that did not move.

Children laughed far away, and he heard their innocence and was not concerned. In dreams, they were safe.

Dreaming was never easy for him after the mutilation. Eyes forever pried open were forced to keep some alertness, meaning his mind could not truly release itself into the reprieve of rest. It also meant he had become aware of when he was dreaming.

The wounds and shards were gone, and for a brief moment, he was his old self, made of proud, wondrous light and welcoming stone. His ornate headpiece and articulated adornments were polished and complete. Dirtiness had not yet found his clothes, and his barreled chest was exposed to the world, showing the mass of muscle and safe softness he had been known for.

That night, as he walked through the fading remnants of the natural world that would soon be silent, he felt alone. A heaviness had overtaken him after the other three had discussed dying. It was no surprise, but now that they were near the end of their journey, the trueness of it was becoming more enormous. It settled on his shoulders like a weighted sheet, pushing him down into himself as he wrestled with the realization that they would be gone soon. Not just them. All of them. No matter what happened, he seemingly could not stop the world’s unmaking, but somehow, he felt as though he would be left afterwards.

Maybe Metus would also. Maybe they would be the only two things left, forced to endure eternity with nothing but each other. It would be their punishment.

His sister had tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. Her words had almost succeeded.

Almost.

A narrow path led him to a gorge that was cut smooth and deep. The river had withered, revealing a shimmering diamondic bed that crunched beneath his feet as he walked. He walked for a great length, unable to taste or smell anything in the air. He walked so long that he became aware he was still walking. Something rattled in his hand, and he looked down to see two chipped, unpolished jewels. Another feeling drifted along his other hand, weaving between his fingers like smoke, rising up his arm with a comforting graze, then ending. Twinkling light sparked up in straight beams around him, and he wondered if this dream would feel like a moment, a day, or a week.

He wept. Tears fell like rain, and soon he had cried so much that the riverbed began to recede beneath a flow of silver water. On he trudged, filling the river with his misery and shame, until it had risen to his neck and threatened to drown him. The tears stopped, and he carried on, head turned to the white, unmade sky, mouth open, struggling to breathe.

Eventually, the rock walls opened, and Sol beheld a vast, placid ocean. Waveless water spread out to the distant horizon, reflecting nothing, save for the single, solitary figure standing atop its surface.

Sol now found himself standing on the water as well, unable to remember climbing up from the depths. Regardless, as he steadied atop the unbroken sea, he looked at the figure ahead and knew that it was something different than a dream. The figure felt as real as he did. The figure was familiar.

Wide, bony shoulders along a bent back that never extended fully upright. Skittish, cautious glances from eyes within the back of his skull that forever looked in every direction. Long, clawed fingers that continuously picked at themselves. Red and deep purple robes. A ring of crystal spires around his skull that shifted and bobbed as they pulled in every sound and sight.

The figure was frightening, yet necessary. Fear was not just something to run from. Fear had helped mortals survive. It taught them to keep their awareness of threats. It made them concerned about losing loved ones. Acknowledging its presence could mobilize support from others. In so many ways, it was not dangerous or undesirable. But the mortals had not understood that. They had forsaken the figure that was now before Sol, and they had all paid a terrible price.

“Metus?” Sol asked.

The being turned to face him and was indeed the great terror.

His wide eyes darted side to side, and he seemed as surprised as Sol that they were both truly there.

“So you are indeed alive, Lightbringer,” Metus replied in a tone that was almost relieved.

“It would seem that way,” Sol said.

Metus fully rose to face Sol. At his true height, he was nearly twice the size of Sol now, but he somehow felt weaker than Sol had remembered.

“You must be close to me. Are you hunting me?” Sol asked.

“Surely you’re not surprised.”

Sol shook his head.

“I’m grateful it took you this long to find me.”

Metus smirked.

“It wasn’t easy. You hid yourself well. But I saw the light of your… less pleasant side, and made chase for it. I found the tower where that fool had hidden away, and could sense your power lingering.”

Sol did his best to hide his concern at the fact that Metus was so very close to them now. The god of fear had always been able to spread and move swiftly. His great misty form rolled across the skies with the speed of thunder, and now that he had the trail of Sol and Grief, it would only be a matter of time. In truth, Sol had quietly assumed that it would always come to this. There was no reality where he did not have to face Metus again before delivering the little ones to their salvation.

Metus seemed to sense Sol thinking of the others.

“You are not alone?” Metus asked.

Sol shook his head.

“No. But you still are.”

The words caused Metus to sneer for a moment, then, to Sol’s surprise, he nodded and sighed.

“Yes. After all of it.”

“Why didn’t you stop it, Metus? Why did you let the… the contamination, the destruction… the death of everything. Was this truly what you wanted?” Sol asked.

When the war had first begun, it was purely out of spite. Metus had laid waste to great kingdoms and civilizations simply to punish them for never embracing him. Thousands upon thousands of souls were snuffed out and sent to the Star Stream simply because he was alone and afraid. He had won, and turned the world to fear, but then he had let it spiral into oblivion. As Sol waited for his answer, he felt the beast bristle in his chest.

But Metus would not answer, and that was even more infuriating.

“Petulant. Immature, reckless boy,” Sol snarled in annoyance.

Metus scoffed and stepped towards him.

“Oh, how you love to judge, radiant Hero of Light. You, who were worshipped most of all, and followed by all the world over! How easy it is for you to look down on those of us who existed for millennia without a single visitor or kind word! You were made of all that was good and sought after. I was carved from filth! From the parts of the mortals they never wanted to face!”

For a moment, Metus’s voice had turned from malicious to vulnerable. Just like Yumi, the god of grief who had been ran from by all, Metus was brought into this world as a manifestation of the mortals’ fearfilled hearts, then left alone for all of his time. As he challenged Sol, his voice was soft and defensive, as though pleading his case as much as cursing his makers.

“They made me and imbued me with only this ugliness, then wanted NOTHING to do with me. So I cursed them all.”

Sol frowned, and his hand slowly lifted.

“You were not just made of the ugliness they wanted to avoid, Metus. That is the tragic part of all of this. They conjured us, then worshipped us, but none of us had any true understanding of what we were. We are not just what we were born from. I may have been joyous, but I felt grief, and fear, and longing, and thousands of other complex sensations. Because no emotion or moment exists in isolation. I’m sorry it took so very long for us to understand that.”

Metus flinched at his apology, and his eyes flashed red.

“Sorry?” he asked, confused.

“Yes,” Sol sighed.

“I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry for the part I played leading up to this. I’m not sorry for trying to stop you, but I am sorry that we had never truly met before that. But just as I could have come to see you, you could have come to see me.”

“Would you even have welcomed me? You, who were so proud.”

It was a challenge that Sol regretfully could not completely challenge.

“We’ll never know, will we?” he sighed.

“No. We won’t,” Metus agreed in a tired, deep voice.

Stillness hung in the air and neither of them spoke. After a moment, Metus’s sneer returned and he pulled back into his guarded, hateful pose as the edges of his fanged teeth appeared below his lips.

“You are going to the soul portal aren’t you?” Metus asked.