The Fifth Flame

[Scary Bill]

[Scrawled below in a degraded hand. The ink is darker and lines uneven. The lower half is damaged by crushing, but was unraveled after. Much is missing. What remains feels like it was never meant to be seen.]

I lit the candles. I must have. I saw them burning. But I don't remember touching the flint, or the oil. They were just lit. Four of them. Then five. Then four again. The count kept changing. The shadows bent the wrong way.

I started to pray. The words came out wrong. Too heavy. Misshapen. They wouldn’t settle in my mouth. They curled at the edges. I tasted sweetness first. Then rot. I’ve never tasted prayer before.

I called to Him. I always begin there. I always feel the response. The pressure, the gaze, the certainty. But there was nothing.

Nothing.

I waited. I repeated the lines. I spoke them louder. Slower. I tried pain. I tried offering. Still nothing. No weight behind the spine. No burn in the gut. Not even the cold of disappointment. Just... nothing.

And in that nothing, something else made itself known.

I didn’t see it. I didn’t hear it. But I knew it was there. Not like Him. Not commanding. Not crushing. But close. Closer than He ever feels. Watching. Not in judgment but in recognition.

I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. I knew the room would be wrong. The walls too far. The light too still. The air too full. Something waited behind me. I knew it knew me. I knew it was patient.

The candles leaned. Not flickered... leaned. Like they were listening too.

I tried to end the prayer. I couldn’t. My lips kept moving. My voice felt borrowed. The silence pressed down on me. Thick. Full of breath I wasn’t taking.

I asked again for His presence. Or did I?

It was the absence in front of me.

I stood. Or I was already standing. My legs ached. My hands were shaking. I don’t remember the moment I moved. I don’t remember leaving the circle. I don’t remember blowing out the candles.

And the candles were gone.

And the air smelled like something left too long in the dark.

[Scary Bill]

The page is unsteady in its writing. Rushed, overwritten in places. Several lines show signs of having been nearly scratched out, then rewritten with greater force. Margins are narrower than usual. A faint scorch mark from a candle mars the upper corner

The room was clean. The salt circle was solid. Four candles, trimmed fresh. I bowed properly. I didn't skip steps. I didn't falter. And I began to pray.

But something was wrong.

The flames didn't move. Not even a flicker. The air felt thick. The salt circle at my feet was clean. The one near the door was broke. Split, like something passed without touching and not making a sound. But yet there was no one inside... And so I began again.

When I spoke, the walls answered.

Whispers. Not echoes. Too quiet to hold, but not quiet enough to miss. I caught one.

"Remember."

They weren't my words. They weren't the prayer. Did I even really hear it?

And then something worse came. A memory.

My brother and I ran together. We planned it for weeks. Whispered it in the dark when no one listened. Timed the guards. Watched the wall with the cracks. I slipped through.

He didn't.

I should have pulled him. I should have waited. I should have turned around. But a slaver saw us. He screamed my name and I ran anyway.

I tell myself there was no time. That I would have died too. That he wanted me to keep going. But the truth is... I don’t know. I didn’t check. I didn’t even try. I just kept moving like we practiced. Like we promised.

All I heard was the empty sound where his footsteps should have been and the knowing that I was alone.

I never saw him fall. I never saw him die. But I killed him just the same.

I thought I left that behind. But just now, kneeling in that circle and praying I noticed something.

I lit four candles. But there were five flames. And one of them... was different.

It moved like breathing. The way he used to when we hid in the crawlspaces, holding still to stay unseen. I stared too long. In the flame, I thought I saw him in the flicker...hunched, watching the dark, eyes wide like the night we ran. It couldn’t have been real.

I cried. Maybe grief. Maybe something worse. I told myself it was just a trick of the light. But I wanted to see him again. I wanted to believe he was still there, waiting.

I knew what they would call that thought. I knew what I should have done. But I didn't put the flame out. It asked nothing. It just stayed. Quiet. Steady. And it remembered. And so did I.

[Scary Bill]

The parchment is scorched and smeared, ink jagged and overwritten. One corner is singed black; a faint blood smear stains the edge. Symbols are drawn and violently crossed out in the margins. The writing frays and becomes harder to read as it goes on

The room was ready. I had done everything right. I drew the salt circles by hand. One thick around the altar, another across the doorway. Four candles, trimmed and spaced. The pages were clean. The prayers exact. I bowed low. No shortcuts. No mistakes.

And I began.

At first, it felt solid. Maybe He would listen tonight. The weight of the words caught, the way they always did when He listened. I spoke, and I felt it start to build up.

But then I felt it. The wrongness.

The candles didn’t flicker. They froze. I looked around.

The salt line by the altar was intact. But the one across the door was cracked. It looked split. I stayed kneeling. Eyes forward. Mind racing. Not again.

And then I saw it.

A shape. Standing just past the altar, near the back wall. I didn’t hear it come in. No lock broken. No sound of entry. Just there.

My first thought was an intruder. Some rogue, some damned purist hunting me for what I do in private.

But I waited. It didn’t move, didn’t breathe. It didn’t care that I had seen it.

The longer I stared, the less sure I was. It didn’t feel like someone new. It felt familiar. Like something I had almost noticed a dozen times this week but turned away from. Something that had already been in the room. In the shadow that moved wrong many nights in a row.

And the wall behind it, where His symbols were carved into stone, twisted and warped.

The fist uncurled. The scales cracked. His sword bent. Illusion magic? I should be able to tell...

I stood too fast. I spoke again, but not a prayer. An incantation.

Blackfire.

A stream of cold flames burst forth. It recoiled. And then, it was gone. No collapse. No fade. Just not there anymore.

The flames flickered like nothing had happened. His symbols were whole again. The salt ring at my feet had not been touched.

But the one at the door was still broken.

There were no ashes. No signs of the Blackfire. My hands didn’t hurt. So what did I see? Did I even cast? Did I imagine it all?

The only thing out of place was that broken line in the salt.

And it was enough to keep me awake.

[Scary Bill]

I didn't fight it tonight.

The salt was fresh. The circle was whole. I lit four candles and waited for the fifth.

And it came, without sound, without flame, without asking.

I didn't speak the prayer. Not aloud. I knew what the words would turn into. Not mine. Not His. I kept my mouth shut.

The figure stood at the edge of the light again. Always behind the altar. Always where I can't see clearly. Watching.

And I didn't banish it.

The air turned thick and dry. The icons on the wall curled again, subtle, warped, just enough to make me look twice. The shadows pulled long and wrong across the stone.

When it stepped closer, I whispered His name.

Just once. Quiet. Like a question.

No answer came. Nothing shifted. Nothing stirred. The shadows didn't flinch. I didn't feel the weight I used to know. I said His name again. It came out smaller.

And then the touch.

No pressure. No warmth. Just a stillness against my shoulder that sank deeper than flesh. I braced for harm, but there was none. Just memory.

Not of a prayer. Of a night.

I was small again. Cold. Starving. Curled near the cave wall, too tired to cry and too proud to beg. I had nothing but a dying fire.

And then She was there.

No glow. No grandeur. Just a shadow that didn’t flinch when I looked at it. She didn’t speak at first... just stood there.

When She finally did speak, Her voice was low. Careful. “I remember you.”

And I did. Somehow. I didn’t ask who She was. I just nodded. Because down there, in the dark, no one else ever had.

I remember trying to shout over it. I think I even did, once. A scream for anything else. A plea for someone, anyone, to find me. But only the voice answered. And I listened. Because it listened first.

I should've burned that memory. I thought I did.

But tonight, when it touched me, I remembered. And worse, I missed it.

The fifth flame stayed. No candle. No wick. Just a shape in the stillness. And I didn't put it out.

I just sat there, trying not to lean into the warmth.

[Scary Bill]

Tonight, the prayer cracked again. Worse than before.

The room was cold, but not dead. The candles still lit. I checked everything: fresh salt lines, one near the altar, another near the door. Nothing broken this time.

Until I started praying.

I didn't even get through the opening lines before the shadows twitched. I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Said His name again.

That was when the stone under my knees shifted. Not much. Just enough that I felt it. Like someone walked behind me and the weight pushed the floor down. But I knew I was alone.

Except I wasn't.

When I opened my eyes, the figure was standing near the back of the room. No sound. No breath. No glow. Just her shape, a shade darker than the shadow behind her. Her face wasn't there. But I knew she was watching.

My hands locked in the prayer pose. I couldn't move them. Couldn't even finish the next line. I tried to speak, but it came out wrong. Not words. Just breath.

I didn't cast. I didn't fight. I just stared, and she stared back.

And then she stepped forward. One step. That's all. But the shadows moved to cover her.

I tried to call His name again. Nothing came. Just breath again.

And then I said it. "Leave me alone."

She didn't respond, just simply raised her hand... not in threat, not in malice. An open palm, reaching out. Not to harm. To help.

As if to help me stand.

My knees stayed on the stone. I didn't take the hand. But I didn't pull away either.

I shut my eyes. Tried to breathe. When I opened them again... she was gone.

[Scary Bill]

I didn’t even get the first word out.

There were four candles at first. I lit them one by one. I hadn’t even knelt yet when the fifth flame appeared. It came into being, hanging just above the salt ring. No wick, no wax, just a flicker that shouldn’t be there.

I stared at it. Minutes, maybe. Time thickened. I reached out once. The air was wrong near it, somehow cold and warm at once. My hand stopped short.

Was it even real? Then She was there.

No steps. No entrance. Just a shift. The shadows leaned, and She stood behind me. She didn’t kneel beside me. Of course She didn’t.

She hovered just behind, like a teacher over a student. Not cruel. Not kind. Patient. Watching.

Her veil brushed over my hand. And the room changed.

The stone melted and light smeared. The walls stretched and pulled, growing longer, lower. My shrine dissolved. My salt ring vanished beneath a layer of old dirt. I smelled it first... damp, that familiar rot. Home.

My home. The one beneath the city. The cave I hid in after I escaped. I knew that tunnel. I knew the crooked rock near the entrance and the glimmer of my old gems tucked in a corner like treasures. I saw the old pile of fabric I used as a bedroll. Cracked bone shards I used to etch things into stone. My hiding place. My fire.

She walked toward it, wordless. Not striding. Floating.

I followed. And there I was.

Me. Younger. Smaller. Curled beside the flames. Skin pale, eyes wide, too thin to be alive but too stubborn to die. Twitchy. Starving. Cold.

He looked up at Her.

She knelt, but not like before, not to me. But to him.

“You’ve been here a long time,” She said softly.

His voice broke. “So?”

“It hurts less in the dark,” She continued. “That’s why it’s quiet here. That’s why no one finds you. There’s no pain when you’re forgotten.”

He stared at her. “Why did you find me, then?”

“To teach you how to stay hidden the right way,” She said. “To give you something they can’t take.”

He pulled the blanket tighter. “I’m not gonna hurt people.”

“You don’t have to,” She said. “You only need to remember that silence can be power. Unseen things aren’t weak. They’re free.”

He didn’t answer. She smiled.

“There’s peace here,” She said. “Not because the world is kind. But because it looks away.”

He was quiet a long time. And finally asked “Will it stop hurting?”

“In time. Everything fades. Even you.”

I had no memory of this, but I knew it was real. She looked toward me... not the younger one, but me.

And then... I blinked.

[Scary Bill]

I still kneel.

Even now. Even after all of it, I kneel.

Salt, circle, flame. The pattern drilled into my bones. The posture of submission. Of belief.

I still bow low, spine straight, voice steady. I speak Your name like it means something.

And all I get in return is nothing but still air.

No shiver in the stone. No heat in the breath. No weight on my back that says You heard me.
Just hollow. And the flicker. And the figure.

You let it in, didn't You?

You let it stand behind me while I prayed to You. Let it reach across the circle. Let it whisper louder than You ever have. If that's not permission, then what is it?

Did You enjoy watching me break?

Where were You when they lied about me?

Where were You when my own kin turned their backs and whispered punishment behind closed doors?

Where were You when I needed even a shred of proof that I wasn't alone in the dark?

You watched me lose friends.
You watched me be driven from homes.
You watched me hunted like an animal through stone and sun and silence.
You saw my blood on the cave walls.
You saw what they did to me.

And I did not stray.

I still bore Your name.

I still held the line.

I've done everything You asked. I've done as Your teachings demand. I've kept secrets. I've turned my own blade inward before I let it fall on the innocent. And what have I earned?

Not reward. Not punishment. Just nothing.

No visions. No omen. No dream in the dark to say "This is why."
Not even wrath. Not even rejection. Just the slow ache of absence.

If I have failed You, then mark me. Break me. Let the stone crush me and call it judgment.
But do not leave me here, half-alive and half-abandoned, with no name to curse but my own.

Do You know what silence feels like when you're desperate? When you've built your identity around a voice that never comes?

It feels like abandonment.

But I'm tired of loving a god who won't even defend me in His own house.

And maybe that's all this is. Just me, begging someone to see me. To say I'm worth the breath.

But if You won't… if You really won't…

Then maybe it's time I stop praying.

[Scary Bill]

I stood in the center of the temple.

I didn't kneel. I didn't know if I was allowed to. Or worthy to.

My thoughts spiraled into noise. Not words. Just noise. Images of bindings. Reminders of collars. The smell of burnt salt. The echo of voices that said they believed in justice. Every compromise I made. Every time I held my tongue or folded my hands and told myself that restraint was strength.

I wanted to scream.

But instead I just stood there.

And something left my mouth. I didn't even mean to speak. It slipped out of me before I knew what it was.

"...Is this the cost? For trying to do good?"

My voice didn't echo.

It just... stopped. Like the walls refused to carry it. Almost like I didn't even speak the words.

Another breath. I was afraid it would cut me on the way out.

"Did I... deserve this?"

That one hurt. I don't know why. Maybe because I don't want the answer.

Then I said nothing. For a long time.

And that was when the silence changed. Not broken. Just… shifted.

The kind of quiet that has weight to it. Like someone had walked into the room, but behind me. Not a sound made. But space bent.

I didn't turn. I didn't need to. I remembered that feeling. It used to terrify me. Now it feels like the only thing that hasn't lied.

I stood very still. My fingers dug into the soft wax of a half-burned candle on the altar.

And then I whispered.

"Please."

Just one word.

I don't even know who I meant it for.

But I know I meant it.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt something whisper back.

[Scary Bill]

I almost didn't make it this time.

No name. No face. Just steel in the dark, movement in the corner of my eye, and pain blooming where it shouldn't have reached. I hurt them back. I'm sure of it.

But I'm the one who ran.

I don't remember running. Just the blood on the ground. I needed to get somewhere... safe enough. I remember the shine of Her statue as it came into view. Barely making it inside. I remember falling.

Not kneeling.

Falling.

I hit the floor beside the altar with no ceremony. Tools scattered. I dragged my satchel open, spilling everything I needed.

Scalpel. Clamp. Wax-thread. Curved needle.

My hands shook as I laid them out. My breath staggered. I whispered False Life. Necromantic energy rushed through me. Not healing. Delay. Enough to give me seconds... maybe minutes. Enough to keep my heart from giving out entirely.

I had to work fast.

I clamped the wound above my hip. Drew a shaky suture. Too shallow. I ripped it out. Redid it.

One more across the shoulder. Sloppy, but id live.

Then the third. Deep. Much too deep. He cut me well.

I tried to reach it. My fingers wouldn't close right. The clamp kept slipping. Every breath hitched against the pressure in my ribs. The muscles wouldn't hold. I couldn't tell how much blood I'd lost. I could feel it coming.

My hands started to go numb. I could feel the needle in them, but not the thread.

The skin around the wound was to wet to grasp it. I tried to cast False Life again... but I blanked, my vision narrowed to a tunnel. Black at the edges. My lungs refused a full breath.

I looked down and saw the blood.

All of it.

I remember trying to whisper something again. I don't know what it was. Something instinctive. Something I used to hate myself for.

And then my vision shifted.

And I passed out.

---

I don't know how long I was out.

But I woke to quiet. Torches burning low.

My tools were cleaned. Folded. Rested on cloth I didn't lay down.

My wound was sealed. Almost looked as if it wasn't there

And across the altar, something stood. Still. No face I could see. No sound.

It watched. Then looked to the tools. Then to me.

No movement. No speech.

Then, without turning, it stepped backward into the deeper shadow.

And vanished.

I didn't thank it.

There was nothing to thank.

Only the silence was left.