Alastor didn’t count the days anymore.

Even if he could have seen through the thick wall of black clouds to view the passing of day to night and back again there wasn’t any point. He had no schedule to keep but his own, and no day was ever the same.

He couldn't risk being predictable.

The Chaos on his world had grown so strong that sometimes he was certain he felt it in his veins. He could feel the sick pulse of his world's heart alongside the pulse of his own, and when it hurt, he hurt. The shadows moved, and watched, like they always had. He'd never trusted them. He should have done something about them lifetimes ago, before they'd grown into this.

No longer little shapes that moved in the rafters, now they had the power to wrap around his entire world. He was trapped here, and there were others. He knew there were others, even if he hadn't seen them in...

Well, he wasn't sure. If he'd wanted to know how long it had been, he probably should have been counting the days.

But he knew his people were strong. He knew how many had fallen--most of them. But it wasn't all of them. He was still here, after all. So there had to be more. In hiding, certainly, because the shadows had spread so far already. The people must have just gone farther. Farther than the shadows could see.

Farther than he could see.

He liked to think that they'd managed to leave the mainland and travel by boat across the sea, to one of the little islands he'd heard so much about while growing up. He'd been there, but they were lost in his memories. He might have gone to visit if the sea could have been trusted, but the storms were constant again.

It must have been the rainy season, but where days blended, so too did seasons, and years, and everything. It had flooded not so very long ago; he'd slept six times since the last bad rain, but for how long that had been was a mystery.

He did what he could, when he could.

He didn't keep track of time, but it was still passing. He was ignoring it, because tracking time meant tracking how much time he had left before he ran out of resources.

Alastor had very few parts of this world that were safe from the shadows, and what relics and magic that had shielded those places before had weakened substantially. The field he used to grow crops in had shrunk, and what used to be enough to feed a small village was now hardly enough to feed him.

And, nothing would grow.

If he hadn't dried out mushrooms and potatoes from the last harvest, he wouldn't have had anything now. Villefort's crops were a hardy sort, but even they couldn't grow in these conditions. He ate only what he needed to in order to keep going, but he was running out. His menu had gotten more creative, but what he ate only silenced his stomach. Bark and vines and roots kept him alive. Not happy, not healthy, but alive.

There was always enough water.

Lightning flashed in the sky but there was no thunder today--or tonight, or whenever. Sometimes, that was worse. Left to his own thoughts, he had a tendency to wander, and he really couldn't afford to start daydreaming again. He had to stay focused, had to figure out a plan. He paced the corridors of the Hall, making sure the candles lining the wall were still lit. They were the only thing that kept the shadows away, and he'd only just replaced them--

Recently. However long ago that was.

The trees nearest to him had stopped making the sap he needed for the candles, so he'd had to travel further away to find what he could. Supplies were limited, more so now than they ever had been before. There wasn't enough to protect the whole world, so he only protected what mattered. What he could reach. The candles could burn for weeks, but they seemed to burn faster now than they had when the world was healthy. They were ineffective in tracking time, or maybe it was just him. Maybe the sap wasn't as rich as it used to be and couldn't burn for as long, or maybe the shadows were just stronger now.

Probably both.

All he knew was that the shadows couldn't come near where the light shone, so as long as he had his precautions in place, he was safe. The Hall was safe.

But, just in case, he'd done his rounds. He patrolled the area slowly, cautiously. He looked for any weaknesses in the defense. The building was old and had seen better times, but so had everything on this world. Most of the Hall was locked up, but the shadows had been in there first. He'd chased them out once, and now they were fixated on reclaiming it. But then, they'd have to be if they wanted to win. The Hall was the last fortress, and more than any other it had the unique purpose of not just protecting him but of protecting the Core of his world.

He didn't know if they knew it or not, or if they could just sense its power, Alastor didn't lose. The Hall was his to protect. The Core was his to protect.

Alastor carried a torch with him everywhere he went and had a bag of large candles to replace any that might have burned out. He didn't care for heights, if only because it brought him closer to the storm, but he wasn't afraid of it.

He wasn't afraid of anything.

He climbed the stairs to the top of the wall that encircled the Hall and surveyed the grounds within. Even in its age, the Hall was an impressive monument. Somehow, it still found a way to stand out against the dark skies, and the glossy black stone seemed to gather every ounce of pale lighting his world had to offer. Next to the Hall, on a gently sloping hill, was a golden oak tree that sometimes seemed to have a dim glow about it. Alastor didn't look at it, he knew it was safe. He'd have felt if it wasn't. To his left, a stretch of withered trees. His world was bathed either in darkness, or a pale, yellow-gray light, but both were unnatural and a product of the Chaos. He could see the way the shadows stretched beneath the trees, like they were trying to claw their way out of the forest and towards the Hall.

Maybe they were.

Every few feet he passed, a candle was burning. Only two were out, so he replaced them and lit the new ones. They should have been protected from wind and weather, so if one went out he had to bring it back and figure out why.

Maybe there was a purpose. Maybe he just needed to feel like there was something he could do beyond waiting.

He'd done just about everything he could think of. He needed reinforcements. He needed backup. He needed his husband. The storm didn't permit travel, or communication. This was only a temporary thing, he knew that. He just needed to be patient, to wait this out. If he couldn't find a way to break the clouds, there were others who would.

He'd lost so much weight that his wedding band no longer fit on his finger, and though he could feel the weight of it hanging from the chain around his neck, he brought his hand to his chest to feel it beneath his uniform. He didn't remember the last time he powered down. He didn't remember a lot of things.

He didn't remember the haze of purple light peeking through the black haze in the sky. His eyes narrowed, because new things were often bad, but--

He felt it.

A warmth he couldn't understand. A power he couldn't understand.

He hadn't been able to leave Alastor in so long but he'd dreamed of it. Not abandoning his world, he hadn't stood guard over it for so long just to let it fall, but this felt safe. This felt like a plan.

It felt like power, just barely out of reach. It felt like someone offering help, calling to him.

Alastor had no sense of time, so it might have been a second or a lifetime between when he saw the light and felt the power, and it could have been the same between that and when he made up his mind.

He had been alone for so long, if someone had found a way to break through this barrier and speak to him, how could he reject it? What if they could help? He didn't need much, he just needed a good night's rest and his power back. If he was just a little stronger, like he used to be...

If it was Percy--

Who else could have figured out how to do the impossible? Who else could be sending for him, could reach him here?

The candles were lit. They were protected from the weather, from the shadows.

They would burn for weeks.

He'd be back before then. He could fix this.

Alastor let the energy wash over him, wash through him. He accepted the call.

For the first time in a thousand years, he saw the universe beyond his world.