My name is Diz.
I am a hunter.
No.
No no no. Capital h. A Hunter.
A tracker. A trapper.
A killer.
Always, I kill.
I am human.
Or I was. Perhaps I am something more now.
Perhaps less.
I am a guardian.
A protector and wielder of the light. When I wake in the night those words are on my lips. They have begun to taste like poison.
It is time.
I have a confession to make.
Have you heard of Dredgen Yor? Of course you have. A guardian turned to the dark. Traitor. Betrayer. Murderer.
Was he evil? Yes, of course. By the standards we have come to accept, Dredgen Yor was evil. Inside every guardian there is a battle raging, every moment that passes. Not between good and evil, light and dark. Such childish terms. The war is between hope and hopelessness.
Not everyone wins.
Some are turned and something must be done.
No.
No not yet. I'm not ready yet. I was talking about Yor.
There were still things to admire in him, a few stars in a black sky. If you have the courage to see it. To admit it. Being evil didn't make him any less skilled, any less driven. He was a force the likes of which we rarely see. He was brave. You would be cursed, spat upon if you spoke such words in the tower. But it doesn't make it a lie. The cruel nature of his actions does not negate the courage required to carry them through. We see this everyday and try not to think of it. Are the Fallen soldiers any less brave than ourselves when they give their lives? More so, some would say. They don't get to come back.
We don't like to admit it because it makes our world a harder place. To live as we do we need those absolutes. Good and evil, light and dark. But these are fantasies. This world is grey. Even for the worst of us.
The lost guardians.
Our bodies may not age but our minds can still be pulled apart by time.
This is where I walk, in eternal twilight.
This is where it begins. That loss of hope.
I was only following orders.
But now I hear their voices.
Killer.
Murderer.
Something had to be done.
My name is Diz.
This is my confession.
* * * *
There is a painting above his desk of the sea at night. A single-masted ship sails alone, wooden hull catching the moonlight as it climbs a dark wave. There is no-one aboard.
YOU ARE READING
Inlustris
Science FictionThis is my confession. Sometimes Guardians turn to the dark. They must be stopped. They must be killed. This is my duty. This is my last confession.
