Page 5 of Taming Darkness

Blinking, I find we are in the mess hall. Only it looks different. In his memory, it is some kind of ballroom, with heavy maroon drapes covering the windows. A crystal chandelier glistening under the light, casting the ground in rainbow orbs of light on the polished floor as the sun shone in.

“Now, Darius,” comes a deep, booming voice

Looking in the direction where the voice comes from, I see a tall, imposing man with dark onyx eyes and a short beard. His dark hair is thick and kept short. He towers over Darius, a giant in Darius' childlike mind. The intimidating man walks over to a huge golden throne embedded in jewels and bones. The throne is a masterpiece, yet strikingly horrifying at the same time, and as he takes his seat, Darius' heart rate picks up, thumping violently in his chest that I can hear throbbing in his head.

Darius glances around the vast room nervously, then makes a run for it. He runs for the door, but a nearby guard cuts his escape short by blocking the exit. He stops in his tracks, eyes darting around, looking for another exit, when the man's voice cuts through his panic.

“Darius!” His father booms angrily.

Darius shakes his head and his fear is potent as I experience his memories as if they're my own.His hands trembling and lip quivers; he wants to leave. He wishes to escape this room. Escape his father, knowing what is to come, and from his feelings churning violently. I know it's nothing good.

“No, please, Father,” he begs, his feet dragging as the guard grips his arm, dragging him before his father. He must be about six years old. The room looked huge through his eyes as he peered at the back of his father’s throne, which sat in the center of the room. His father looks over his shoulder, leaning over to peer around his chair.

“I said now! Either them or you?” his father snarls at him. Them?

Darius shuffles his feet, drops his head, and moves closer to his father. His father grabs his shirt, hauling him in front of the throne. Darius sniffles and his father hits him up the back of the head.

“Get on with it. Tell me what you see?” he snaps at his son, and Darius finally lifts his gaze. When he does, I find a man and a woman on their knees, both beaten and bloody. The woman’s long dark hair cascades to the floor, creating a veil and shielding her face. The man glared at Darius’ father as if he wanted to kill him. The man, for some strange reason, reminded me of someone. His features resemble a face I've seen before. The shadows on his face make him appear dark and ominous. Yet upon closer inspection, I realize they're bruises like he’s done nothing but endure torture, his cheeks are hollow, yet his piercing blue eyes peering at Xandrious under thick lashes are filled with fury.

The woman finally lifts her gaze and glances at Darius and whimpers, her piercing gray eyes shadowed by the dark lines that appear burned in her skin when I notice the aura around her is violet ringed with darkness. She, too, was a Harmony-Fae now tainted, dark like my mother had turned. Her shackled wrists make the chains clang as she reaches her fingers out to clutch the man's.

“Kill me, but let her live. We've done nothing wrong,” the man pleads.

“Tell me where your son is?” Xandrious booms. “Then I may consider your request,” he states.

“Please, please, we have no son, we've told you this!” The woman states. “You're liars!” Xandrious snarls before looking at his son.

“Find the boy, Darius,” his father booms, kicking Darius in the backside. Darius stumbles forward with a whimper and moves toward them, his fingers outstretched, and I gasp. He had magic, actual magic. I could feel it writhing through him, powerful and strong. He had already manifested, or if not, he would have been a force to be reckoned with when he does.

“You bastard, you fucking bastard. We told you we have no son! Haven’t you taken enough from us?” the man on his knees screams. Darius flinches.

“Ignore him, son. Either you find the boy, or you go back in the chair,” Darius’ father tells him. The man looks at Darius. His eyes soften slightly, almost in pity for him.

“You sick fuck! You'd torture your own son!” The man retorts.

“For the sake of the rest of the world then yes, sacrifices must be made, lives depend on it!”

Darius observes him, his aura black as charcoal, and he looks at his father, confused. “They changed, they are Dark-Fae now?” he questions. His father nods his head slowly and scratches his chin, a flash of disappointment crosses his features before he answers.

“Yes, we killed the Harmony side, which is why we need to find the boy,” his father answered. For a child, Darius, I could see, was far more intelligent than the average six-year-old. Far wiser than his young age, but I can see that due to never being allowed to actually be a child, his father treats him like a worker, an employee, not a son.

“Which is it, Darius? The chair, or will you search through their memories?”

I could tell Darius was petrified of whatever his father meant by the chair, making me wonder.

“Find the boy, and I will let you go see Molly, but only if you find him,” Darius’ father tells him, an image of a newborn baby flits through his mind briefly wrapped in a pink blanket. I know it must be his sister. His heart beats faster at her name before he turns to face the man and woman. Guilt smashes into him. Yet, he wants to see his sister.

“Remember why we are doing this, son, it is for her. For your sister, you can fix this, you can save her, save all of them, but we need to find the boy,” Darius' father reminds him. Yet, some part of him didn’t believe his father. But if he doesn't, he'll be punished.

Nevertheless, he steps forward and places a hand on the man and woman’s heads. He closes his eyes when suddenly images flicker before his eyes. The woman and man start sobbing when an image comes forth and takes shape, and I blink in shock.

“He's perfect, Sasha,” the man says as he peers into the bassinet at a baby boy. He was wrapped in a blue blanket, his aura magnificent, his eyes already open and peering back at his father like he sees with clarity and not like a typical newborn. The woman, whose name is Sasha, starts sobbing, and the man turns to look at his wife.

“We can run. Maybe…” the man grips her hand and kneels next to her where she sits on the bed. He cups her face in his hands, his own eyes blurring with tears he's trying to hold back.

“I know you love him, I love him too, that is why we will do this,” he tells her and she shakes her head.

“I carried him, he's part of us. We can find another way, we can keep him,” she pleads with her husband. He drops his head and sighs.

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