"I told you already. We need to follow them. They'll show us the way out…" Tristan whispered furiously. "It's there. Waiting. Just believe me!"
"But—"
"We were prepared for this, remember?! We're not going to get such a good chance again! We have to go. We—"
An echoing scream. And they stilled. Completely.
How long did they stand there? How furiously did they listen?
What felt like always. Forever. And an eternity.
He felt the tension rising. The heat that was peaking. And the energy coalescing.
An ancient, primitive feeling. A pressure that was building.
It crept through his stomach and up his spine. And refused to release them.
Meanwhile, Tristan was clenching his fists. Tensing his thighs. And readying himself to fight. To win. And survive.
That light from his eyes. It was compelling. Incomparable to anything else. It was fiery. And piercing. Yet the blue was such a soft, delicate blue before.
Tristan, too, had changed. But not as much as him who remembered nothing, and had no name…
"My father. He's coming…"
No one said anything. What was left to say? His lies were sweet to hear. And as their unspoken leader, he was their father, their brother, and their god.
The silence continued for a long, long time. Though it really wasn't that long at all in reality.
Bruised and swollen, hungry and faint, their confidence was waning.
If they had had any at all.
A desperate attempt that was doomed from the start. But they couldn't give up. Because Tristan, he hadn't given up yet. They had to follow him. They were left with nothing but to follow him!
And if he, too, died…
Tristan ventured out. Sneakily. Because even though he knew there was no one, it certainly felt like there was someone breathing there. Just there! Beyond the edge…!
The tingling. And the savagery he was sure was waiting.
As a group, they were conspicuous. But what could Tristan do? He had to make sure they were following him. He had to be in the lead.
And Tristan certainly couldn't let that boy bring up the rear. He didn't want to think it. But truly.
If anything happened, anything at all, they would leave him. Because he wasn't one of them.
Because he was something else now. And that something else was ruthless. Vicious. And mean.
Those merciless, bleak eyes. And the hands that curled like claws. They were quite eerie. Frightening. And strange—
Though he was shadowing Tristan meekly now, who really knew what bizarre future would follow.
And the sight of those bodies shredded by that boy alone would haunt Tristan for a long, long time. That, he was sure of. Because of the sightless, bloodless eyes that chased him beyond the walls—
The light. It was soon flooding the halls. Tristan hesitated. Because in the light, he'd be the first to die.
He didn't want to die. He didn't! He—
Had something to live for. He was the heir of his father. Of course he was meant for more.
Father. Father. He was coming, Father. Surely he'd be there…
One foot followed another, and the train of bodies uneasily skittered across the floor. Every creak sent them scattering. And every hollow, broken noise.
But Tristan could feel it. There was air here. Fresh air. He could smell it. Felt the slightest kiss against his cheek.
The exit was there. And they'd be waiting.
Just before the turn, they could hear it; the voices echoing.
Tristan felt that hand clutching his shirt desperately. And a wave of euphoria hit him. He was right! It was there. Just beyond their reach!
Home. Home. He wanted to go home! His foot moved rapidly—
And that hand stopped him. He turned to rip it away. How dare he—!
But then, that face, it was shaking. And tears began dripping. Desperate. Ugly. That boy, he—
Tristan looked beyond that dirty, bloody face. And saw the other boys hovering just as frantically. They were desperately shaking their heads; their hands just as panicked as they reached for him—
Yes. That was mighty bold of him. To not even think about the consequences—!
He took a slow, deep breath. And let it out just as slowly.
Home. It was there. Just beyond his reach. And these kids? They were looking at him. Looking to him. And they all wanted the same answer from him.
What, exactly, were they expecting of him?
Painfully, his stomach clenched—
He didn't have some full-proof plan. Though they had thought to escape this way, truly, it was all talk, wasn't it? It was all just a dream. His father would come and save them anyway.
They, certainly he, didn't need to do anything.
Yet the truth was cruel. To be tossed aside like used napkins in a waste heap!
This escape—it was all unplanned! A mere phantasm he played out in his head to pass the time.
What more did they want from him? He wasn't—!
Tristan's eyes flickered over that boy's dark eyes. And firmed. Yes. If it was him. If they only followed him—!
Those experiments had changed him. He wasn't like them any longer. He wasn't bound by this human mortality. This weakness.
Tristan was sure of it. This boy, he was something else now.
And that something else was ruthless. Vicious. And mean…