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His name is Darrow, I think. Because the Reaper is not mine. He’s not the man I love. Darrow is. Endure, I once told him. Yet it is I who must endure. Reaper. Reaper. It never stops. They mean well, and the Reaper’s name feeds them power. But they shout for the god while I carry a hollowness inside me the size of the man.
They come to make us slaves again. So today we are not dreamers. We are not Colors. We are swords. We are wrath. We are reapers.”
Forgetting is essential to learning, just as exhaling is essential to breathing. Breathe out, then in. Find the self, then lose it once again. Thus, the path goes ever onward.
Clang. Clang. Clang. “Confess.”
“I must. I am Cassius Bellona, son of Tiberius, son of Julia, brother of Darrow, Morning Knight of the Solar Republic, and my honor remains.”
On that chair I see a boy whose feet don’t touch the ground. In his hands he holds a candle and with a single breath, he blows it out, and with it go all the shafts of light.
