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[indent][sub][COLOR=slategray][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [color=lightgray][I]Hall of Memory / Volkov-7 (Memory)[/I][/color][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=slategray][b]Occupation 2.15:[/b][/COLOR] [I][color=lightgray]Sentinel's Lamnet[/color][/I][/right][/sup][/indent]
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Alan sat hunched on the ancient marble steps of the Hall of Memory, a ragged towel pressed against the split in his eyebrow. The cold had finally leeched from his bones, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that reached all the way into his soul. The chamber smelled faintly of cedar and old lamp oil, the flickering braziers casting greenish light across the vast mosaics on the walls.
He couldn’t stop seeing Sokov’s face.
Or rather—Vladimir’s.
Before.
[b][color=00583C]"Starheart,"[/color][/b] he rasped, voice hoarse. [b][color=00583C]"You were fully operational. You could have stopped him."[/color][/b]
The emerald glow deep in his chest didn’t answer with words. Instead, it began to gather, drawing its ambient power away from his limbs, from the air, from the warmth that always suffused his veins. The light condensed, coalescing, until it formed a single band of brilliant emerald locked around his right hand.
Alan swallowed hard, feeling colder than he ever had.
[i][color=00583C]So that’s it.[/color][/i]
He closed his eyes, and the memories came in a rush.
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[b][i]Years Ago - Orenburg Oblast, Russia[/i][/b]
The snow was softer that day, drifting in fat, silent flakes across the skeletal pine trees. Alan remembered thinking how peaceful it looked, even as their boots crunched across the frozen soil toward the crash site.
Vladimir Sokov walked beside him, wrapped in his FSB field parka, his gloved hands gripping a battered Kalashnikov. Back then, the man was clear-eyed, calculating but calm, the sort of operative who always looked you in the eye.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"You know, Lantern, my superiors think you’re here to steal our secrets."[/color][/b] Sokov had smirked, glancing sideways.
[b][color=00583C]"And are you going to try to stop me if I do?"[/color][/b] Alan had asked, amused.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"No. But I will write a very strongly worded report."[/color][/b]
They’d shared a laugh, a real one, before rounding the snowdrift and seeing the crater.
The Crimson Flame.
It pulsed faintly, like a living coal the size of a human heart, nestled in the frozen earth. Even then, its light felt… seductive.
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Vladimir remembered it differently.
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[b][i]Years Ago - Orenburg Oblast (as seen through the Crimson Flame)[/i][/b]
Vladimir watched the Lantern approach, haloed in his impossible emerald aura. Even then, the Flame whispered—so quietly he thought it was his own thought.
[color=#B22222]Look how he basks in it. Look how he wields power no man ever earned.[/color]
He hadn’t believed the voice. Not at first.
The Crimson Flame had been warm when he touched it—gentle, almost kind. It had shown him images of partnership, of equality. Alan with his Lantern ring, Vladimir with the Flame. Together, they would keep Russia safe. The world safe.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"You see it, don’t you?"[/color][/b] he’d said, looking over his shoulder.
Alan hadn’t answered right away. He’d been communing with his ring, waiting for the Guardians’ decree.
[b][color=00583C]"They say it’s too dangerous. That it’s a remnant of a fallen empire. It can’t be allowed to remain here."[/color][/b]
Vladimir’s heart had clenched.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"No. Listen to me—this is exactly what we need. What I need. We can build something better. Together."[/color][/b]
And Alan had hesitated. Just long enough.
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Alan’s hand clenched around the towel on his brow, knuckles whitening. He’d wanted to find another way. He’d wanted the Guardians to reconsider.
But the Flame had whispered to Sokov in that moment of uncertainty. Had promised him the Lantern would betray him. Had promised him that power, if only he’d take it.
And Sokov…
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He remembered the feel of it as it sank into him, like molten lead and liquid ecstasy all at once. The taste of copper in his mouth as his senses exploded outward, filling with that crimson hunger.
He remembered the screams of the men around them—FSB agents incinerated in a heartbeat.
And he remembered Alan’s hand closing around his throat, emerald light searing through the darkness to wrench the Flame’s power back just long enough to subdue him.
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Alan’s chest ached with the memory.
[b][color=00583C]"If I’d made a choice… If I hadn’t hesitated—"[/color][/b]
The Starheart pulsed once.
[i]Disappointment.[/i]
Alan’s jaw clenched, tears pricking his eyes.
[b][color=00583C]"So you’re withdrawing your trust. All of it?"[/color][/b]
In answer, the band around his hand glowed brighter, the rest of his power receding farther into its core.
[i][color=00583C]I’ve given everything to this cause. To being your Sentinel. And you still don’t trust me?[/color][/i]
The Starheart said nothing.
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Meanwhile, in Volkov-7, Vladimir Sokov sat cross-legged in the wreckage of the exercise yard.
His chains lay shattered around him.
The Crimson Flame hovered over his palms, a roiling coal of rage.
[b][color=#B22222]"He would have stolen everything. Even then, you knew. And still you trusted him."[/color][/b]
Vladimir’s voice was ragged.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"He was my friend."[/color][/b]
[color=#B22222]And he was your betrayer.[/color]
The Flame flickered and split into curling tendrils, each one worming closer to his chest.
[b][color=DD2C2C]"I will not run anymore. When he comes… I’ll burn every doubt from his heart."[/color][/b]
The Flame purred, content.
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Back in the Hall of Memory, Alan pulled on a simple black coat over his civilian clothes, wincing at the bruises beneath.
No ring, no emerald flame.
Just a man.
He looked once over his shoulder at the great green sigils glowing overhead.
[i][color=00583C]Who am I, if I’m not the Sentinel anymore?[/color][/i]
He closed the door behind him and stepped into the cold.[/color]