Amidst the flickering lights of the night, lights that hinted at both the cruelty and prosperity of civilisation, another face of that civilisation was being revealed once again.
The commander walked steadily towards the soldiers' tents.
Not long ago, he had personally cut down the monkey-man and severed its head. Yet despite that display of authority and strength, he had not even covered half the distance back to the encampment.
At first, everything seemed normal; at distant flare lights swayed in the wind, silhouettes of tents stretched across the dark landscape.
Occasionally, the faint clanging of tools from the slave work areas echoed through the night, but today was different; everyone went for the ritual area. As he continued walking, he gradually noticed something strange.
The atmosphere was becoming colder, an unnatural frost that hung heavily in the air, chilling them to the core, seeping directly into the bones. He frowned slightly.
But then came the sounds, faint at first, but then they started to appear in the form of whispers, scratches, something like distant breathing, something like laughter and something like crying. The sounds seemed to come from every direction at once.
The commander tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword.
Suddenly he heard a 'crunch' sound echo from the slave working area below, like the crushing of bones between powerful jaws.
The commander's steps paused for a brief moment, then he continued walking. As he was walking, he noticed something was wrong inside him; his heartbeat had become faster, his hands were getting numb, and his legs were getting too much weight. Only one thought came to his mind: 'I am getting scared.'
Even though that thought surfaced unexpectedly, then another followed to make his mind comfortable: 'Scared? Of whom?' His eyes narrowed as he pondered his thoughts, 'Who has the power to make me feel fear?' The idea itself irritated him. But instead of calming down, his heartbeat intensified further.
A sudden series of thumps erupted from his chest, mimicking the frantic rhythm of a heartbeat. Then he felt all surrounding sounds stop suddenly. That sudden silence was so abrupt that it felt unnatural.
The commander muttered under his breath, "Damn heartbeat," and his jaw tightened. "Calm down." The cold wind that had been flowing around him suddenly ceased as well, and with it everything became still and dull.
Then, from every direction, a chanting began. At first it was low, but it grew louder as the source was moving; the words were impossible to understand. The chants echoed throughout the entire area.
The commander stopped walking and swept his eyes across the darkness. But he found nothing, yet his instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. Again he tried to walk, but his instinct came true as he felt his legs were becoming heavier; he felt as though invisible chains had been attached to his body.
The commander lowered his gaze, and what he saw caused a slight change in his expression. The shadows around his feet were moving. Within those shadows, faint black words flickered in and out of existence. Invisible one moment and visible the next.
The more the chanting intensified, the clearer those words became; more and more of them emerged from the darkness itself.
The commander felt an invisible pressure wrapping around his body. The black words moved around his body like ropes binding him totally. He immediately attempted to pull his legs free, but the ground beneath him had become strangely soft.
As if a vast swamp hidden beneath solid earth suddenly woke up and dragged him deeper into its grasp. First, his expression hardened, and without hesitation, he drew his sword.
Shing!
The blade reflected the distant flare lights. The commander stabbed his sword directly into the shadow beneath his feet after coating it with his energy.
No sound came, but those advancing black words halted, and the invisible bindings loosened.
Then, in his shadow, his face emerged, but with a twisted, devilish smile and filled with mockery. As their eyes met each other, that shadow smiled, but the other felt a sudden chill crawl across his spine, and that face disappeared with that smile. A bad premonition rose within his heart, and for the first time that night, genuine fear touched his mind.
The sensation vanished quickly, but the feeling remained. He also understood something was watching him, but it was more like a dead person's gaze. Every instinct of his ordered him to turn around, but he resisted.
He did not care what was going to happen or had already happened. On his hand, time was very short. He needed to reach the tents first and then think of the next course of action on shore…
Slowly, he pulled his sword free from the ground, and the blade slid back into its scabbard. He started walking faster. But the chants never stopped, and they became louder sometimes and faded sometimes also.
It seemed they were trying to whisper directly into his ears.
His first instinct was simple: 'run'. Run as fast as possible.' Yet another part of him rejected the thought immediately. Then a voice surfaced within his memory. Not very long ago, he said to those soldiers, "Weakness has no place in a soldier." If your heart becomes woven from fear, then from that moment onward fear will steal your strength. Remember it. Remember this rule for the rest of your life."
The commander's breathing gradually steadied, his racing heartbeat slowed and then, with a murmur, he nodded a few times as it was helping to organise his thoughts. He also used this method many times before; when confusion clouded his judgement, that same remembered voice had guided him forward, and tonight was no different.
Gathering his resolve, he quickened his pace. He was almost near the tents, but the chanting remained, that cold remained and the feeling of being watched remained.
But he ignored every one of them and focused only on reaching the camp. Soon, the outlines of the soldiers' tents became visible.
The commander felt a small sense of relief.
Then, his steps slowed as he felt an uneasy quiet and no sounds of conversation or laughter or arguments. No clashing armour or footsteps are being heard. He did not find it wrong, as ritual is today, but the moment he did not feel any footsteps or laughter behind him, he again started to feel the cold.
....
As he walked, he felt that powerful gaze on his back again and again. Yet he heard no sound of soldiers following behind him.
Without turning around, he shouted in irritation,
"Why are you all not walking? Did you want to die with him? I am happy to oblige that as well. Remember, before dawn we need to advance towards the docks. Run, you bastards. Look at the sky; the ritual has already started."
Still, no footsteps nor laughter answered him. Only a silence so deep that it seemed to swallow every sound around him.
The commander fell into deep thought, 'Should I turn back or not?' He suddenly remembered the old woman's divination before she had vanished. "You are going to face a calamity. When that time comes, never look back. And when walking towards a good deed, never turn back either."
Those words echoed repeatedly inside his mind, and a storm of thoughts rose within him. With a long sigh, he stopped in the middle of the path.
The moment he stopped, even more thoughts emerged; some urged him to turn around, and others warned him not to.
He wanted to break free from the turmoil by simply continuing forward, yet his body refused to move. It was as if invisible chains had wrapped themselves around his legs.
While he stood there lost in thought, he failed to notice something horrifying: his shadow had begun consuming him again. It slowly crawled over his feet, his legs, and his body, devouring him in complete silence.
Then suddenly, he blinked and a faint light touched his face. The glow of a distant flare from the tent area.
In that instant, all the conflicting thoughts vanished, and his mind went entirely blank; only then did he fully realise his situation.
He was sinking into his own thoughts or into darkness itself. Who knows?
Panic exploded inside him.
"Help!"
"Help!"
His roar echoed through the darkness.
At that moment, the mental will he had spent years building, the same convictions he repeated to soldiers and himself countless times, began collapsing like a house of cards.
The fearless commander, or veteran warrior, as others called him, started to crack apart. As he desperately searched for a way to save himself, he suddenly noticed a hand extending towards him.
Without hesitation, he grabbed it, and the moment he did, a powerful pull dragged him out. When he huffed a few times and stared at his helper, he froze completely. He was standing before himself.
Everything was the same about both of them, and the only difference was the flare held in the figure's hand.
Its orange glow illuminated the darkness around them. Only then did the commander realise something else: that he was no longer where he had been moments ago.
This place was different; there was no sky, no tents, no soldiers, and no ritual. Only endless darkness was stretching in every direction.
The flare held by his mirror image was the only source of light. The commander felt a chill run down his spine. For the first time in many years, genuine fear appeared in his eyes. His mirror self smiled calmly. Before the commander could ask anything, the mirror one spoke first.
"What happened?"
"Why is your mind in such turbulence?"
"Did you not always claim that you were the strongest?"
"Then why are you trapped inside your own thoughts?"
"Why are you allowing the darkness of your mind to consume your spirit?"
The mirror version stepped forward.
The flare's light danced across his face.
"Rise from the abyss, mighty warrior. Your journey does not end in this hollow silence. I helped you awaken once. But now you must awaken yourself. You must open your eyes and see the truth."
His voice sounded strangely familiar, comforting him and also convincing him at the same time. Almost impossible to doubt. The commander unconsciously took a step forward.
But suddenly, a voice echoed from behind him, "Don't rise."
The commander froze.
"It's a trap," The voice continued, "Be careful. This is the hermit who planted illusions in your mind. He manipulates thoughts and memories. Do not trust him."
From the darkness behind him, red-black hands began emerging and slowly wrapping themselves around a figure hidden in the darkness. The sight made his skin crawl, and the mirror version frowned.
"Are you really going to stay here? Are you truly going to listen to every word spoken from the darkness?"
His voice became sharper.
"Or are you finally going to face reality?"
"Make your choice."
He extended his hand once more.
"What you witnessed outside was an illusion."
"The truth is near you."
"Yet you hesitate to see it."
"The more you hesitate..."
"The deeper you sink."
"The longer you remain trapped..."
"The more miserable you become."
The flare burned brighter.
Its light pierced deeper into the darkness.
"Come."
"Step out of this endless nightmare."
"Come and face the truth."
The commander stared at the mirror image.
His heart pounded violently, and every instinct told him to move, to grab that hand and escape from here.
Slowly, he began stepping out of the pitch-black mire surrounding him.
But the moment he did, the figure hidden among the red-black shadows spoke again.
A voice heavy with ancient sorrow.
"Don't listen to him."
"Nothing here is an illusion."
"All that you see is reality."
The red-black figure raised its head. A pair of burning eyes opened within the darkness, and then it whispered,
"Tell me, commander… Do you remember those old days?"
The moment those words entered his ears, countless forgotten memories stirred within the depths of his mind, and for the first time since entering this strange place, uncertainty appeared on his face.
Suddenly, a woman's voice rang out from behind him.
"Dear... where are you going, leaving me behind? Come here."
A cold shiver ran down the commander's spine as he never thought he would hear that voice in this lifetime again, but he heard it now; his entire body froze at that familiar voice.
Slowly, almost fearfully, he turned around; the moment his eyes landed on the figure standing there, his breath stopped.
His pupils trembled.
"How...?"
"How is this possible?"
His lips quivered.
"Indira..."
"Is it really you?"
"You are here..."
His voice became hoarse.
"Where did you go?"
"Why did you leave me behind?"
The woman smiled softly with that same known smile and those same beautiful eyes. The same warmth between lovers he had once valued more than his life.
"I never went anywhere," Indira replied gently.
"I was always with you."
"If you call me even once, I can come to you anytime."
She stretched out her hand towards him.
A familiar warmth seemed to spread through the darkness.
"Do you still remember me?"
The commander rushed forward and embraced her tightly. His trembling hands wrapped around her as if he feared she would disappear again.
"I remember."
"I remember everything."
His voice cracked.
"Every single moment."
"The laughter beneath the golden twilight."
"The warmth of your hand in mine."
"The days when the world felt peaceful."
"The moments when I believed happiness was real."
"How could I forget?"
"How could I ever forget those days?"
His body shook as buried emotions surfaced one after another. For years he had buried them beneath his duty, beneath his discipline, beneath his endless battles. But now they were flooding back like a broken dam.
Then suddenly, the mirror figure turned and shouted.
"Indira is dead!"
His voice echoed through the endless darkness.
"Dead before our very eyes!"
The commander stiffened, the mirror continued.
"What you are seeing is merely an illusion standing upon the path of truth."
"Have you forgotten?"
"You chose to believe her."
"You defended her."
"You trusted her."
"But when the truth stood before your eyes, what happened?"
The mirror's voice became sharper.
"She betrayed your trust for mere money."
"Remember how she threw you out of your own house."
"Remember how she chose wealth over you."
"Remember how she abandoned you when you had nothing left."
The commander's body trembled.
The old wounds were reopening.
The mirror image of him took another step forward.
"Yet even after all that, you chose her again."
"Do you wish to experience the same despair once more?"
"Have you forgotten the bastard who devoured her before your eyes?"
"Have you forgotten the reason you came to this cursed place?"
"Have you forgotten how many years you sacrificed for her sake?"
His voice shook with frustration.
"Why?"
"Why do you continue carrying her sins?"
"Why do you continue carrying a love that was never returned?"
"Why?"
"Tell me why."
The darkness itself seemed to echo his words.
Why?
Why?
Why?
The mirror extended his hand.
"Do not think about her."
"Do not let her cloud your mind again."
"Come."
"Embrace the truth."
"The path of truth was never pleasant."
"It was always bitter."
"It was always painful."
"But it was real."
His eyes burned brightly.
"The longer you remain there, the deeper you sink into illusion."
"Come back."
"Come back."
"Throw away the life that humiliated and broke you."
"If you continue looking backwards, all you will find is bitterness."
"Come forward."
"Walk hand in hand with truth."
The mirror wished to continue.
But then he stopped.
Because he saw something. Indira's smile and the commander's eyes. Those eyes had already turned red. The commander had buried his face against Indira's shoulder. Silent tears flowed endlessly down his cheeks.
His shoulders trembled, like a child who had finally found the place he belonged.
The mirror closed his eyes, and a long sigh escaped him. He already understood what would happen next. The commander slowly raised his head. His face was wet with tears.
Yet for the first time in years, a peaceful smile appeared on it. He looked towards the mirror and shouted.
"I know it is false."
"I know it is a lie."
"But I want to live here."
His voice echoed through the darkness.
"Better than living in truth..."
"Why shouldn't I live where I can find my own truth?"
"Even if it is a lie."
"Even if it is false."
"At least here..."
His grip around Indira tightened.
"...I am not alone."
Silence followed between them; the mirror neither retreated nor advanced. He simply stood there. Suddenly Indira's face turned into that red-black figure behind the commander.
Its voice sounded like countless whispers layered together.
"Destroy him."
"Do not allow him to divert your path."
"Do not allow truth to reach him."
The commander's expression hardened.
Slowly, he raised one hand; lightning gathered around his palm. Violent arcs of energy illuminated the darkness.
Then, he thrust his hand forward, and a bolt of lightning erupted from his palm. The mirror vanished within the explosion.
Whether it was truly destroyed or whether its light had merely been devoured by human emotions, self-deception, and the cruelty of comforting lies. No one could tell. The red-black figure smiled.
Its countless eyes opened one by one. Each eye reflected a different sorrow, a different regret and a different memory.
"Good."
"Now let us move forward."
"The path ahead belongs to us alone."
The commander nodded.
Without hesitation, he took steps one after another, but he was not moving forward. He was descending into the endless abyss.
The red-black figure wrapped itself around his body completely like chains.
Within the commander's eyes, however, none of that existed; he saw only Indira and her smile, her warmth and only the life he had lost.
Yet reality was different…
Meanwhile, far away within the darkness, a faint light still stood unmoving.
The mirror or perhaps the truth itself. Its voice continued to echo softly. Even as it disappeared from sight.
"Truth is eternal."
"Even at the end..."
"As long as you accept it..."
"It remains yours."
The voice grew fainter.
Yet it never vanished.
"Truth is truth."
"Always."
And somewhere deep within the darkness, those final words lingered long after everything else had disappeared.
TBC…