"We are nothing but shadows, fading away, trying to hold on to this bittersweet life that we call our own."

-Ricky Mears

Soren breathed in deep.

Her serenity. Her loneliness. Her unraveling.

He drank in her emotions, feeding on them, trying desperately to make himself whole again.

He didn't know why they were connected. Maybe something had happened when he dove into her mind that day seven years ago. Whatever had happened, those moments that Soren connected with her mind made him human for just that fraction of a second. But the flicker was just enough to give him that relief—to bring him out of the darkness.

That was the thing about darkness. No matter what swept the shadows away, darkness was never obliterated. It was always there to swallow him once more, an abyss that wouldn't let him go. He was forever drowning in the shadows, his blind reaching for the light futile.

Soren was allowed those single moments to breathe and then they vanished. He never knew the cause of her feelings, but somewhere inside of him, he was thankful. Whether it be bliss, despair, or pain, he didn't care. He let it course through his veins like a drug.

On this particular morning in Orica, he stared out of his window as a tide of peace and a spark of freedom lit him up. His eyes grew wide, taking in the sight below his window, at the city that normally looked dull and gray. During this moment, everything was filled with color.

The buildings of Orica would never be as beautiful as the mirrored towers of Acadia, but seeing the city through her eyes made Soren rethink his memory of the walled city. These streets were filled with color, each building with its own personality. Grimm's complex was a splotch of rust among the sea of amber, chartreuse, and gold. Vehicles drove through the streets below while Wielders and humans walked down the sidewalks, not caring that they were different. A red cardinal flew by the window, catching his attention, disappearing from his vision as it flew towards the sun. The sun was so bright that Soren squinted his eyes and he smiled. Warmth spread through him. Damn, it felt good to smile.

Then it was gone.

The brilliance disappeared. His peace, his freedom was gone. The corners of his lips fell, his smile fading as if it had never existed. This was what he knew. This was familiar. It was ridiculous to think that the brightness of the sun could brighten his own dark soul. He didn't choose to be this way; Grimm took everything away that day.

Soren stood from his chair at the window and grasped the edges of the curtains, pulling them shut. Grimm was expecting him. Apparently, he had found a new toy.

He trudged down the black marble of the staircase, dragging his hand behind him on the smooth railing. He found meeting new Wielders pointless and a waste of his time, especially when Grimm didn't keep them around long anyways. Usually it was just long enough for him to steal their powers for his own. Why he hadn't stolen Soren's yet was still a mystery. He didn't really care anyways. His powers wouldn't be the only thing that Grimm's stolen away from him.

Grimm's deep voice rumbled through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, filling the entryway of their house. Paintings hung from the walls, each of them unique yet holding the same theme, power. A man painted in charcoal hues stood with his foot pinning down a bloodied body. Another painted completely black with two glowing eyes watching.

The ebony wooden door was too wide and took up too much of the wall. A voice in the deepest part of him cried for more windows, for more light. That voice was quickly smothered.

"Do it slowly, this time," Grimm instructed someone, his voice echoing off of the walls as Soren stepped into the study.

Just like every other part of the house, the walls and furniture were dark, the lightest color in the room being the dead red rose on the table next to Grimm. Grimm's attention turned to Soren when he made his entrance. For his age, he looked extraordinarily young. Throughout the years streaks of gray had appeared in his hair, but they always disappeared every time Grimm devoured someone's power.

"Soren!" Grimm yelled, a smile spreading across his lips. "Just the person I wanted to see. There is someone I would like you to meet."

Soren knew there was someone else in the room the entire time, he just chose not to acknowledge them. In fact, there were three others besides Grimm and himself. One of them was lying dead on the floor.

Soren's eyes swept away from Grimm to the person standing on the other side of the end-table. With a hand placed on her hip, a woman stared back at him, her eyes so black the shadows inside of him quivered. Her blue-black hair was curly and wild around her honey-skinned face. A sinister smile tilted at one corner of her full lips as she scanned him from head to toe with her eyes, practically undressing him right there in Grimm's study.

Soren didn't smile back. Smiles were saved for the girl in his memories who shared her emotions with him, whether she knew they were connected or not.

"This is Lacoria," Grimm said, pride filling his voice. Greed poured off of him as he looked at the woman. "Let her show you what she can do."

Soren glanced from the dead rose on the table to the two men on the rug in front of him. One was lying dead on the floor, his veins thick and protruding beneath his gray skin. The other was curled into a ball on the floor, small whimpers escaping from him every few seconds. Soren wasn't an idiot. He figured out what Lacoria was before Grimm could spit out the words.

"She is death," Grimm said, his voice lilting in excitement. "Show him, Lacoria."

"My pleasure," she replied, her voice smooth and silky as she continued to watch Soren.

Lacoria didn't raise her arms or hands like most Wielders he had witnessed. Instead, she kept one propped on her hip, the other flat at her side. She glanced away from Soren to the man crumpled on the rug.

The man's back arched, sending him out of his self-made cocoon. How foolish it was to think that curling into a ball would protect him. Grimm was right about humans being weak, frail things, infecting the world with their existence.

A hoarse scream echoed through the room, bouncing off of the walls. Soren didn't flinch. He was used to the screams by now. The only person moving in the room was the man dying on the floor in front of him. The man sat up straight on his knees, clawing at his neck, blood trickling down into the collar of his shirt.

The skin on his hands was the first to change color. A deadening gray spread from his fingertips and up his arms, the meat of his hands shriveling into the bone. Slowly, as Grimm had instructed her when Soren first entered the study, Lacoria sucked the life right out of the man.

As the gray spread through his neck and crept over his face, the man gasped for air that wouldn't come, his eyes bulging. He fell forward, his face smashing into the floor, his body stiff and lifeless.

Grimm clapped.

"Yes!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "That was brilliant! It was even better watching the second time. Did you see him, Soren? I thought he was going to claw through an artery!"

Soren nodded, staying mute, his eyes traveling back to Lacoria. She wasn't even sweating. Her eyes were bright as they connected with his, a silent invitation. No, thank you. He tore his gaze away, taking a step backwards.

"If that will be all," Soren said, taking a small bow before turning to exit the room.

"Actually, Soren," Grimm said, stopping Soren in his tracks. "I do need something from you." Soren turned around, locking his hands behind his back. "I usually left this to Aeron, but with him being out on his mission, I thought maybe you could take care of it."

Aeron had been in Acadia for six months and although he wasn't the best option, he was the only one who could get over the wall with his wind. Aeron was hotheaded and craved control almost as much as Grimm, which was going to get him killed someday, probably by Grimm's hands. Raydon was the better choice because even though he was a jerk, he got shit done. Raydon would have had the Wielders ready by now. He would have had them trained with their plans to free the Wielders from the Pits already in place. By now they would have been told by Raydon that they were ready to tear the city apart from the inside out.

"How is Aeron's mission doing, by the way?" Soren asked, doubting there was any progress at all. "It's been too long."

"I planned on channeling him tonight if you wish to be present," Grimm said, walking between the two dead men, towards Soren.

"That's depending on this duty of Aeron's you need me to do."

Grimm placed his hands on Soren's shoulders tilting his head to the side as he looked into his eyes. This could be considered affection if there was any light left in Grimm's eyes. No, this was just a mockery of what was when they'd first met.

"There's been a small group of Wielders stirring up trouble for our cause," Grimm said, squeezing Soren's shoulders. "Immobilize them. See if any of them would interest me. Give the rest an end to their miserable existence." He let go, spinning on his heels, walking back to Lacoria. His finger went up into the air. "One more thing. I need this done before Raydon gets back tomorrow." He turned back to face Soren, now standing at Lacoria's side, who was still watching him with interest. "You know how he gets about unfinished jobs." The memory of Raydon electrocuting him for failing his first job flashed through his mind.

"I'll get right on it then," Soren said, stepping back out of the room, finally. He rounded the corner, leaving them behind.

"Lacoria, you are a beauty. Did you think about my..." Grimm's voice trailed off as Soren trekked up the staircase.

Soren went back to his room, his fingers lingering on the doorknob after he closed the door. Something was different. He took a breath, then it hit him.

Beads of sweat formed along his brow, his knees locking tight. He wanted to run. He had to get away, but his feet were cemented in the ground. His hand shook, rattling the doorknob that he was now gripping so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

What had happened to the girl? That was the only logical thought he could form. He had never experienced this debilitating sensation that left his body so uncontrollable. He tried to breath, but he couldn't—something was lodged tight in his throat.

Was she in trouble? Was she going to die? He wished it would stop. His heart couldn't take it. Surely it would burst from his chest with the rate it was pounding. Was he dying?

Soren pulled deep inside of him and yanked the door open, tearing his feet from the floor. He launched himself down the stairs, his landing echoing through the entryway. He didn't wait to see if Grimm and Lacoria would burst from the study, curious to what was going on.

In a moment, Soren was out the front door, sprinting down the sidewalk. People jerked out of his way, some yelling at him to watch out but he didn't care. Screw them. They weren't being assaulted with panic.

He did exactly what his body was screaming for him to do. Run. He ran through the burn in his thighs, the ache in his feet, the stitch in his side. It was the best thing he had ever felt and he would keep going until his body made him stop.

Playlist: Stay With Me by Clint Mansell & Kronos Quartet

Visual: Soren

Is Soren's battle against Grimm's darkness futile or should he continue to fight it? What do you think is up with the connection between Soren and the girl from the massacre? Any other thoughts?

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