Months. How many? Torch hasn’t been counting.

He’s been looking for you. He knows they took you. Took his best friend. His only love. Took you away and did who knows what.

All he knows is that at night, the echoes of your screams from the day you were taken echo through the valleys of Trench. Reminding him of how he didn’t wake up in time.

It’s been at least three seasons by now. It’s autumn. Crunching leaves, and usually the two of you would spend it together, cuddling and watching how many leaves a tree loses for an entire day.

But he can’t do that, not with you trapped in there. Possibly dead. So he’s going to fix it.

He packs his supplies, praying that he won’t be stuck inside the gray walls for too long.

——————————————————

A strong gust of wind blows through the tunnels as Torch runs through them, searching desperately for the vent into the towers. It’s not hard to find one, leading straight to where the prisons are.

He stumbles up into the cold room of agony and suffering, only to find… nothing. Nothing but blood and a few Dema citizens that have a short sentence for acting out.

Where are you!? He doesn’t know what to do except run and search and hit people in the head with the Torch.

It only takes a few minutes of running and hitting before he stumbled across an open door, hearing the familiar chanting of a Bishop ritual. Oh no.

He peeks in, panic shooting through him when he sees you. In one of those red robes, Nico’s painted black hands on your face, making everything below your nosebridge black.

You’re a Bishop.

The truth hits him like the arrows you used to shoot. Just as sharp as the one that he felt when he first saw you and fell in love. But now it’s bitter and harsh and makes him want to sob. Why? What? How?

You’re one of them now. The very people that hurt you. But he can see it in your eyes, you aren’t all… there. Maybe there’s hope.

He leans against the door ever so slightly, making it squeak loudly, interrupting the ritual entirely. He sees every single Bishop tense up. Fuck.