Coming From the Shadows Series
A Breaking Point
1968 A.D.
The grimy Hull docks reeked of brine and disappoint; a year of supposed progress, but here, amongst the rusting cranes and rotting timbers, it felt like time itself had stagnated; George spat at the ground; he had been too slow, too old – the Cultists, their faces hidden beneath ragged hoods had slipped through their fingers like eels in the murky water.
“Damn it all!” he roared, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the docks
Ralph, his son stood a few paces behind, his face shadowed by the brim of his cap, at 25 he was a mirror image of his father from his younger days; strong and capable, but the fire that burned in George; that unwavering conviction that fuelled his fight against the encroaching darkness of the Imperial, seemed conspicuously absent from Ralph
“They were too many Dad” Ralph said, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion
Then it happened, the frustration, the years of unrelenting struggle, the nagging fear that he was failing his mother’s legacy – all of it coalesced into a single, blinding rage “Too many!” George turned to his son “You saw them; there was just three bloody zealots!, and you just fucking stood there!” George bellowed, pointing a trembling finger at his son “Your grandmother would be turning in her grave if she saw you now!”
Ralph visibly flinched, his grandmother; Lydia was like a sacred figure in their family – it was her who trained George, instilled the understanding of the Imperium’s insidious influence; George knew invoking her name was a low blow, but the words were already out, scalding and unforgiving.
“Don’t you dare speak of her!” Ralph retorted, his voice rising for the first time “You think she would be proud of all this fighting; of living in fear of them; she wanted better; she wanted you to have the life she didn’t get to have, not this endless war you keep fighting!”
“This isn’t a choice Ralph; it is our duty!” George snapped, his fists clenched “We swore an oath!”
“Your oath!; not mine!” Ralph retorted
The air crackled with unspoken resentment; George had poured everything into training Ralph, moulding him into a weapon, turning him into another version of his mother; Lydia, so that the fight against the Imperium continued; he had envisioned a partnership – but Ralph had always been reluctant, distant; he tolerated the training, the clandestine meetings and endless vigilance, but never truly embraced it – and now, the dam was about to break
“You ungrateful!…” George started, his voice thick with disappointment, he lunged forwards, grabbing Ralph by the collar “After everything I’ve sacrifi-…”
He never got to finish the sentence.
Ralph reacted with a speed and ferocity George hadn’t anticipated; years of pent-up frustration, of living under his father’s stern gaze, fuelled his movements – he sidestepped George’s grasp, grabbed his wrist and with a sharp twist, brought him crashing to the ground.
The hard concrete bit into George’s cheek; he lay there, stunned, the wind knocked out of him; he looked up at Ralph who now stood over him, breathing heavily, his youthful face contorted with a mixture of anger and regret “I’m done Dad” Ralph said, his voice trembled “I’m done with this, I am done with the Imperium and I am done with you telling me how to live my life”
George struggled to sit up; his body aching; the betrayal stung more than the physical pain; he envisioned a legacy, a future where the fight against the Imperium continued through his son; now, it was crumbling before his eyes.
“You can’t walk away” George croaked, his voice hoarse “People are depending on us; on you”
Ralph shook his head, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored the bleakness of the docks “Let them depend on someone else; I am not living my life in fear; hiding in the shadows – I want a future, a ‘Real’ Future”
He then turned; he began walking away, his silhouette receding into the gloom.
George watched him go; his heart a leaden weight against his chest; he had failed, not just in stopping the Cultists, but passing the torch onto his son, he had pushed too hard, demanded too much and in doing so, had driven Ralph away.
The silence of the docks pressed in on him; heavy and suffocating, he was alone, his son abandoned the fight; his mothers legacy, everything Lydia had accomplished was fading, the Imperium had won this day.
He remained on the ground, the taste of blood and defeat bitter on his tongue; the distant clang of a ships bell echoed across the water, a mournful sound that mirrored the despair in his heart; he was a soldier without a war, a leader without a follower; a father without his son.
The fight against the Imperium felt more futile than ever; a lonely and desperate battle against an overwhelming darkness, he didn’t know what to do now; all he knew was that his world; once filled with purpose and conviction had been shattered right there in Hull.
Written By: Westley H.
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