April 5th
Tonight is the night I die.
I awoke in my good friend's home, clutching his pillow tightly to my chest. It was warm, like him. I didn't notice that he left until I woke up many hours later. The sun was in the east corner of the sky, so I knew that the day was still there, but fading fast.
In many ways, I am afraid. Not just of the prospect of dying by the next sunset, but because I will be dying like this. Dying angry at the world and at the woman I love. I won't be able to go with peace in my mind and soul. How I wish I could let go of that resentment and anger before going. It doesn't seem fair to die still feeling that way.
Still, I can't force myself to forgive. I'm trying so hard, but I can't. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or not. How I wish to be normal. This is all my own fault. Perhaps if I was normal, I would have been enough for her. If I was normal, I wouldn't be dying tonight feeling as if I haven't even lived yet.
I don't pray often, but please Grambi, don't let me die while I'm like this. Please, help me. Help me, so I may learn how to find peace of mind. Help me so I may have the chance to learn.

That was what the book revealed to them after they had received Peach's forgiveness. 

"...I suppose that's it then," Dimentio tiredly breathed, closing the book and putting it down. He let out an exhausted huff, then twirled the new metal anxiety ring that was situated on his index finger. A cheap and useless gift, but still something. "The rest of the pages must be blank."

This had to be the end of the novel. After all, how could someone continue writing a story after dying? There wasn't a reason to write in the Underwhere, since no one would be allowed to read anyway.

Disappointed was all Dimentio could feel. He really did hope deep down that there would be something, ANYTHING meaningful hidden in the pages, but there wasn't. Just random journal entries from a man who was apparently about to die. The author wasn't even kind enough to state why he was dying. Why were all his entries so vague? They each revealed nothing and made no sense without the required context. 

Why would the hags react so strongly to a small book filled with nothing but meaningless journal entries about a man who clearly has a pessimistic view of the concept of life? Was this all some sort of stupid metaphor for how disappointing life could be? If so, it did a really good joy of conveying that feeling of dissatisfaction. 

Dimentio couldn't even begin to imagine what Blumiere was feeling. In the jester's case, he was disappointed and defeated, but he didn't have any reason to really get his hopes up, since there was no one waiting for him in the Overthere. For Blumiere... he had everything on the line. The former count must have felt completely and utterly crushed. 

Mario and Luigi returned to Flipside alongside Blumiere and Dimentio when it was time for them to be sent back where they belonged, which was honestly a surprise. Neither of the villains thought that Luigi would accompany them since Mario was the only one to pick them up in the first place. They both had silently assumed that Luigi was avoiding the city between dimensions because of the trauma associated. He never really spoke of it or of the time he spent as Mr. L, so both Blumiere and Dimentio assumed he was trying to ignore that aspect of his life and move on.

Still, there were several instances in the past few days that proved that theory wrong, the most recent being when Luigi gifted Dimentio the anxiety ring. It was apparently something he made for himself as Mr. L. Seeing that he kept it all this time, it was clear that he wasn't completely pushing away that aspect of his identity.

The return pipe brought them all to the top of Flipside Tower, where Merlon was patiently waiting. A wave of confusion briefly washed over the ancient's golden eyes when he initially spotted Dimentio with them. The jester was quick to clear the confusion and explain that he would be returning to the Underwhere alongside Blumiere. 

What an uncharacteristic act of selflessness, Merlon thought to himself, and he didn't think much more of it. 

If Marc was there, he would have questioned if there was something more behind the seemingly selfless act, as he was a firm believer that there was no such thing as a truly selfless action. Marc wasn't there, though. Just Merlon.

Merlon did notice that instead of having the glowing lantern in hand, Blumiere was wielding his old staff. It didn't seem fitting anymore. He wasn't sure why, but whenever he thought of Blumiere, he wouldn't imagine him holding his staff, but the lantern instead. It was like he almost made the object his own, despite not actually claiming any ownership over it. It was like how he would imagine Mario with his red hat or Peach with her parasol.

Merlon glanced at Luigi and Mario uncomfortably, and it was clear that he wasn't taking any joy in having Blumiere and Dimentio sent back. His hands were tied. It wasn't his decision. Nothing ever was.

Blumiere and Dimentio had about another hour before they were supposed to be officially sent back, (it was going to be public, which was just great,) so Merlon requested a moment alone to speak to the two of them, dismissing Mario and Luigi. Both plumbers seemed hesitant to leave but did as they were told. It was clear that neither of them was going to say no to a request, even if they wanted to. 

Merlon watched as they left, waiting for the elevator doors to completely close before quickly turning to Dimentio and Blumiere.

"The lantern- where's the lantern?" He frantially demanded, fumbling over his words slightly.. Merlon usually talked slowly and clearly, so hearing a frantic demeanor was a little unsettling. He never was one to trip over his words or speak at a hurried pace, even in the direst of situations. The world could be ending, and Merlon would still find a way to sound fairly calm. 

Dimentio sighed, then waved his hands, making both the lantern and the book appear in his hands. He and Blumiere initially didn't bring the two items because they figured they should probably stay in the living world, that way they wouldn't give hope to any poor souls who stumbled across them as they did.

Merlon nodded and quickly reached for the items when Blumiere suddenly held his free hand out in front of Dimentio, stopping the ancient from taking the lantern and the book.

Merlon frowned at the former count, his golden eyes squinting slightly in confusion.

"I don't want you to have it," Blumiere stated plainly.

Merlon's eyes seemed to soften. He let out a breath and hid his shaking hands back inside his cloak.

"Please?" The ancient asked, his voice much smaller than normal. "I know you may be upset with me because of the decision that was made. I feel your pain, and I wish I could help. Really, I do, but it's out of my hands."

Blumiere shook his head. Merlon was perhaps the most powerful person in Flipside. The people looked to him and trusted him. Surely he had SOME control over the situation. The heroes might have let him just stand by and tell them what to do, but Blumiere was no hero. He wasn't going to let people walk all over him.

"How can you say you feel my pain? If you ever lost someone you loved, perhaps you would have a little more sympathy," Blumiere breathed, narrowing his eyes slightly, not in an angry manner, but in a more serious one. His voice softened slightly, and he turned off his mind, allowing himself to speak freely instead of censoring everything he planned to say beforehand. "But you've never been in love, Merlon, so how would you know? You don't know what losing a loved one does to a person. You don't know what it's like to lose your reason to live, because the only thing you're allowed to love are prophecies."

He said it in a calm manner, but that didn't stop the words from stinging. Merlon felt each and every word cut into his heart like cold daggers. He didn't open his mouth to argue. He couldn't even bring himself to say anything to prove Blumiere wrong. It was that reason exactly why the ancients didn't allow people like Merlon to fall in love anymore. Love drives people to do crazy things. Love turns people's focus.

He couldn't even prove Blumiere wrong if he wanted to, because the former count was right. He had never been in love. There was a difference between loving someone and being in love. He said so himself. He remembered it vividly as if it was yesterday.

"Neither of you understand," Blumiere muttered, looking down at the book in Dimentio's hands. He took a deep breath, then carefully grasped it and held it up. "Marc here didn't understand either. No one can completely understand what it's like to lose that." 

"Stop that," Merlon breathed. "You don't know him-"

"He doesn't understand love," Blumiere continued. "And he sure as heck doesn't understand forgiveness."

"Blumiere, stop," Merlon repeated, slightly louder this time. 

"None of these books mean anything! None of these books have power!" Blumiere exclaimed. "We just think they do, but they don't. Marc has no power, Marc isn't relevant. He was nothing more than a forgotten person who wrote something with no meaning. Marc doesn't matter-"

"STOP SPEAKING OF HIM LIKE THAT!" Merlon exclaimed, clenching his shaking fists and raising his voice louder than Blumiere and Dimentio believed even possible for the old man.

Dimentio winced slightly, not out of fear, but simply out of surprise. He was both shocked over the fact that Merlon raised his voice and surprised by the fact that it was Blumiere's pushing that made him do it. He expected himself, if anyone, to be the one to push the ancient over the edge, but not Blumiere. Not the former count, who had been working tirelessly to be as cooperative as possible. 

Dimentio had never seen such a reaction out of the ancient. Not even when he showed up at his house and killed all the legendary heroes before his very eyes. Not even when the entire world was crumbling before him.

Merlon paused, then brought his golden eyes to his clenched fists.

He slowly released, then bowed his head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. I'm just not going to stand by and let you say that about him. Please... don't say he didn't matter..." Merlon whispered, his voice soft and weak once again. "He does matter. He matters so much- more than you can even know. Don't say he doesn't matter..."

Blumiere paused, still holding the book up. He let out a sigh, then lowered his hand.

"Why?" He asked. "Why does he matter? Enlighten us, please."

Merlon stilled. There was a silent, gentleness that seemed to fill the room. A feeling of fragileness. Both Blumiere and Dimentio didn't dare utter another word, and the former count wondered if he had pushed too far. 

Technically, how far he pushed didn't matter anymore, because he was going to be sent back to the Underwhere regardless, but he still didn't want to hurt Merlon. He didn't want to be Count Bleck. He just was frustrated with all the vagueness. Frustrated by the fact that the only answers he was able to get out of this entire ordeal were two names.

"Why does Timpani matter?" Merlon quietly asked. 

"Because she's kind and pure," Blumiere quickly answered. "And selfless. She would always strive to do the right thing and help anyone she could, even if it put her life in danger."

"That's not why she matters," Merlon replied. "Yes, those are good qualities, but none of it is the reason why she matters. She matters because you love her."

"I don't see what that has to do with this," Blumiere said. "We're talking about Marc, not Timpani. What did he do to make him matter so much? Can you just tell us who he is? Please, this is our last chance to find out before being sent back. I don't want to spend the rest of eternity wondering."

Merlon frowned, then looked over at his window. It was a different house than the one Marc visited. A different door than the one Marc would knock on. A different world. A different window. 

"He was my friend," Merlon answered. "He is my friend."

"Which one was it?" Dimentio questioned, tilting his head slightly. "Was, or is?"

Merlon stilled, then shook his head, avoiding their eyes, though it wasn't clear if he was avoiding their gaze because he didn't have the strength to keep his gaze up anymore, or if it was simply because he was not one for eye contact. Blumiere assumed the first because Merlon didn't seem like the type of person to be afraid of looking someone in the eyes as he spoke. Merlon would only start to look away whenever the lantern or the book was mentioned.

"You want to know who he was, right?" Merlon asked, letting out a slightly dry chuckle. He looked up, and for a moment, the air seemed slightly warmer. "Well, he was smart. A little too smart, in my opinion. It was hard to keep up with him. He was insightful too. Tall and a little quirky. Sometimes he'd speak before thinking. I don't think it was something he could completely control. He called me short once. It made me laugh-- he made me laugh. He'd get embarrassed a lot too. He viewed all his quirks and abnormalities as bad things, but they really weren't. He deserved the world and more."

"Past tense," Dimentio noted. "He doesn't deserve the world anymore?"

"No, no!" Merlon corrected, quickly shaking his head and holding his shaking hands. "I just- ... sometimes life gets complicated. When we met, there was a war going on. We were on opposite sides, which eventually forced us to go our separate ways. So, I... I just haven't seen him in a long time."

"That makes sense I suppose," Dimenito muttered with a nod. "Drifting apart is pretty common. Sad, but common."

Blumiere wasn't so quick to let the issue slide, however. Once the word war had left Merlon's mouth, he felt the gears within his mind start to turn. 

Two sides of a war...

"Merlon..." Blumiere muttered, a confused expression washing over his face as he processed the new information he had just received. 

A side of the war opposite of Merlon's...

Merlon was from the Tribe of Ancients, right? That was essentially common knowledge at this point. 

Which meant...

"Merlon, was Marc a part of the Tribe of Darkness?" Blumiere asked, looking up at the ancient.

Merlon didn't answer, but his silence seemed to be confirmation enough. 

Some of the pieces began to make sense. Not everything, but the fact that Marc had written about someone with golden eyes. The fact that he was restricted from going to see him. 

Marc was a tribesman.

Marc was like Blumiere.

Someone caught up in rules in restrictions, trapped within a village. Someone stuck in the dark

What did that mean, though?! Was the book composed of Dark Magic too? Was it related to the Dark Prognosticus somehow? It couldn't be, it didn't have any similar qualities whatsoever. There was no way that a tribesman could have written something like it. Most people in The Tribe of Darkness have a very specific mindset, which most definitely didn't match the mindset Blumiere had seen in that book. Most tribesmen were focused on balance and security, not forgiveness and hardships. Even when something bad would happen, instead of allowing themselves to feel, most tribesmen would think of how they could prevent another incident from occurring. It was a very perfectionist-centered society. 

On top of that, there was the lantern. Had the lantern belonged to Marc? It had to, otherwise, why would Merlon want to get his hands on it? If Marc was a tribesman, then how did he make it glow? Why could Blumiere make it glow? There were so many questions that came with this one answer.

Blumiere silently wondered if he ever met Marc without knowing it. He tried to scan his childhood memories for the name, but he couldn't remember anyone like the person Merlon was describing. He couldn't remember anyone who was taller than average or anyone who carried a lantern. He couldn't even recall ever meeting any writers. When he was younger, he just assumed that all books had already been written and that there wasn't room for new stories. He didn't even know that being a writer was an option.

If only there was some sort of record he could check. Unfortunately, there was no way of finding out, because he had destroyed everything that remained of that tribe aside from himself-

Wait...

If he destroyed everything, then did he kill Marc? Or was Marc already gone long before that? How did the book manage to escape? What happened to him?