Malcolm - Dreams

Malcolm rarely dreamed. He chalked it up to a childhood that was filled with invasions of privacy. Somehow, despite having no magical prowess, he had learned to block dreams from his sleeping mind. Only occasionally, through the years, had any gotten through. Since he had been back from the dead, he hadn’t been visited by a single one.

Until that night.

The light glowed as it had when he was younger. A beacon out on the rooftop, pulsing in time to his questions. Lamplight. His Lamplight. A constant that had kept him sane through the most confusing years of his life. He once dreamed of them becoming something more. Someone that he could hold and be held by. Malcolm knew he deserved love, that he was not unworthy of the prospect, but he found it hard to find someone he trusted enough with his heart. So of course he looked at the light and somehow fell in love. It was far safer than giving his heart to anyone that could so easily break it.

What he couldn’t understand, was what the significance of this was now. Sitting on a rooftop like he once had. Looking towards the little blinking orb like a mimicry of a firefly. What was the point?

“I do not know, given that you are not what I would choose as a protector.” 

Malcolm looked at the light with a small frown, knowing that even here, such a thing shouldn’t speak. He felt mildly better when something began to materialize next to him.

The woman was faded around the edges and try as Malcolm might, he couldn’t quite get a clear grasp on her visage. He knew her to be tall and well-built. A warrior of old, perhaps. She had piercing black eyes and a sharp jaw and was bound up in cords of light that made up her clothing.

“Lamplight?” he asked.

The woman shook her head, looking almost offended at the name. “That,” she said, gesturing towards the blinking light. “Is Lamplight. I was never that.”

Malcolm turned more fully. “But you’re you?” he asked. “Or at least a version of you?”

“One long gone,” she said. “A memory. One you are most likely only getting due to where you are sleeping now.” 

Back in the liminal space, curled up with Lamplight and Milo, hoping that the dawn would bring some sort of clarity so they could find their way out.

There was a part of Malcolm that knew he should be wary of this incarnation. From the little they had all gathered, past concepts of the Night Market were not always kind. Lamplight was the heart of the world, evoking empathy that had been sorely absent from other incarnations. The version that sat next to him now, looked to be one of battle.

“I am assuming this is not a dream,” Malcolm said, hoping that conversation would put him a bit more at ease.

“No. It’s a warning.”

“Of course it is.”

The Night Market looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing. There was a bleakness to their eyes. One that Malcolm was realizing didn’t belong in his Lamplight’s. This version had seen far more hardship and had done things that were never spoken of again.

“The Ancients are an issue,” The Night Market said. “One that you are not taking seriously enough.” 

The Ancients were a recurring character in the history of the Night Market, but so far, none of them had had direct contact with any of them. There was no telling if the creatures even existed any longer. “We are taking the Ancients as seriously as they present. Right now they are a whisper in this narrative. If they become something more, we will adjust.”

“I am telling you that they are something more,” she snapped. “They are looming and manipulating all of you and when the time comes that you see it, you will need to strike.”

“You’ll forgive me if I cannot automatically trust that. I do not know this version of you. I do not know what you are privy too. And, I do not know if your goals align with ours.”

Frustration was thick in the air, choking was little comfort the little light next to Malcolm could bring. He watched as it began to flutter, panicking as the other version of itself continued to stare at Malcolm. Malcolm reached out, touching the small paper lantern in an attempt to soothe it.

“Empathy is not the answer,” the Night Market growled, advancing towards the small glow. Malcolm situated himself in front of Lamplight, refusing to move.

“Maybe,” Malcolm replied. “But empathy is rarely the problem either.”

It was a battle of wills as they stared at each other. This version came in with a bluster that was hard to not lash out at. A confidence that said Malcolm should listen simply because she had spoken. The fact that Malcolm wasn’t conceding, bore no kindness from the woman.

The Night Market rose, towering over Malcolm by a good four feet. She reached the lines of lanterns, all of which were flickered out in fear. They bowed to this versions visage. Hiding away because it was easier than standing up to fight when you were so little. She loomed over Malcolm and Lamplight, expecting them to do the same. When Malcolm didn’t balk, she merely sneered.

“If you wish to have our world back, you must rid this world of the Ancients. Burn them to dust and then scatter them elsewhere. Otherwise, history will continue to repeat itself.”

Malcolm knew when to keep his mouth shut. Knew when to step away from a fight. In a dream, he was defenseless. The Ancients may or may not have been a problem, but war was not the solution either.

“I’ll convey that to your better half,” he said.

The Night Market’s lips curled into disgust. “You do that.”

With a static flicker, she was gone, leaving only empty space behind. Malcolm let out a long breath, turning to gather Lamplight in his hands. The flickering light warmed against his skin, as if to ask if he was okay. Malcolm only held the light up to his cheek and closed his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The light pulsed in response.