Page 74 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

Wes & Cole

“ F or the last time, I am not driving your ridiculous midlife crisis on wheels to the cemetery.” Wes Sinclair crossed his arms, golden hair falling across his forehead as he stared down his best friend since childhood.

Cole Holloway merely raised an eyebrow, dangling the keys to his recently acquired vintage motorcycle. “You’re just jealous because your sedan screams ‘I’ve given up on life and excitement.’”

“My sedan screams ‘I don’t want to die before tenure,’” Wes countered, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Cole’s spontaneous purchase of the motorcycle last month had been the most impulsive thing his methodical friend had done in years—and secretly, Wes was glad for it.

The five years since Beau’s death had left Cole increasingly withdrawn, his natural reserve deepening into something more isolated.

“Fine.” Cole pocketed the keys with exaggerated disappointment. “Your automotive funeral pyre it is.”

They walked across the faculty parking lot as the late afternoon sun cast shadows between the buildings.

Around them, students hurried to evening classes or headed off- campus, the university buzzing with the energy of young minds—minds like Beau’s had been, bright and challenging and full of possibilities.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Cole said, his voice softening as he opened the passenger door of Wes’ sedan. It wasn’t a question.

“Five years today,” Wes said, sliding behind the wheel. “Hard not to.”

Cole nodded, his tall frame folding elegantly into the passenger seat. “Did you see anyone wearing his shirt today?”

Wes smiled at the memory. After Beau’s death, a group of students had created memorial t-shirts with one of his more infamous quotes from a heated classroom debate: “Just because it’s always been done that way doesn’t mean it’s not stupid.

” The shirts had become something of a tradition among business and computer science students, appearing most frequently during finals week.

“Two in my morning lecture,” Wes confirmed. “One of them raised his hand and challenged my entire approach to competitive strategy. Reminded me so much of him I almost couldn’t continue the class.”

“That quiet intensity,” Cole agreed. “The way he’d sit there formulating his argument while everyone else was still processing the question.”

They fell into comfortable silence as Wes navigated through the campus streets toward the highway. At thirty-five, both men remained fit and active—Wes with his fencing, Cole with his rock climbing—their academic careers flourishing despite the private grief they still carried.

“You didn’t book Giovanni’s this year,” Cole noted as they passed the exit that would have taken them to the upscale Italian restaurant they’d visited on this date for the past four years.

Wes’ hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I thought we might try something different.”

Cole studied his friend’s profile, reading the tension in his jaw. “This is about what his roommate told you, isn’t it?”

“Tyler mentioned that Beau had talked about wanting to try that new ramen place before he—” Wes swallowed. “Before the accident. Said he’d never had proper ramen, just the instant packets he survived on during finals.”

Without a word, Cole reached across the console and placed his hand over Wes’ where it gripped the wheel. The touch was brief but grounding—a reminder of the understanding that had deepened between them over the years.

“Ramen sounds perfect,” Cole said simply.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at a small table in Kintsugi, one of the city’s authentic ramen restaurants.

The space was intimate, with low lighting and private booths separated by delicate wooden screens.

Steam rose from their bowls, carrying the rich scent of bone broth and fresh ingredients.

“He would have loved this place,” Wes said, watching Cole arrange his chopsticks. “Probably would have charmed the chef into teaching him the recipe.”

“Then written a paper comparing the structural integrity of various noodle compositions,” Cole added with a slight smile. “Remember his final project connecting food science to business sustainability?”

Wes laughed, the sound drawing glances from nearby diners. “The professor called it ‘disturbingly innovative.’ I still have no idea how Beau convinced the cafeteria to let him experiment with their food supply chain.”

“He had that effect on people,” Cole said, his expression softening. “You’d find yourself agreeing to his ideas before you even realized what you were signing up for.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Wes was the first to speak again.

“I saw him playing Enolyn in the library once,” he said suddenly. “Late night, probably two in the morning. I was dropping off some books before an early flight to a conference.”

Cole looked up, interested. “You never told me this.”

“He didn’t see me,” Wes continued. “He was completely absorbed, surrounded by energy drink cans and notes. I almost said something—it was against library policy to have food or drinks near the computers—but then I saw what he was working on.”

“Iferona,” Cole guessed.

Wes nodded. “He was designing some kind of economic system for his dark realm. Had spreadsheets open, reference books stacked beside him. I stood there watching for maybe five minutes, and he never noticed. The intensity on his face…” He trailed off, remembering.

“That’s when I knew he was LucienNoir. The Dark Lord everyone on campus was talking about. ”

“I found out during his first semester,” Cole admitted.

“He used his username for his computer lab login by mistake. When I saw ‘LucienNoir’ on the monitor instead of ‘BMacbeth,’ I put it together immediately. The infamous Dark Lord of Iferona was my awkward freshman with the ridiculous name and brilliant mind.”

“Did you ever let on that you knew?” Wes asked.

Cole shook his head. “I thought about challenging him to a raid once, just to see his face. But it felt like invading his privacy somehow.”

“We should have,” Wes said softly. “Challenged him to a raid, I mean. Maybe if we’d connected with him outside the classroom…”

“Maybe,” Cole agreed, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe it would have changed anything. “But we didn’t.”

The unspoken regret hung between them—all the interactions they might have had, the relationship that might have developed if they hadn’t maintained the professional distance between professor and student, waiting for graduation to bridge that gap.

“I keep wondering,” Wes said as they finished their food, “what would have happened if we’d told him how we felt. If we hadn’t waited for some arbitrary graduation date.”

Cole’s expression grew thoughtful, his long fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. “I don’t know,” he said simply, abandoning analysis for honest emotion. “But I think about it too.”

Their friendship had evolved over the years into something that defied simple categorization—deeper than friendship, not quite romance, but with an intimacy that had only grown stronger through shared grief.

“We should get going,” Cole said finally, checking his watch. “Sunset in forty minutes.”

They paid the bill and returned to the car, driving the remaining distance to the cemetery in contemplative silence. As they passed through the ornate iron gates, the setting sun bathed the grounds in golden light, lending a peaceful glow to the rows of headstones.

Wes parked near the eastern section where Beau’s grave stood beneath a young maple tree—planted by his parents on the first anniversary of his death. As they walked the familiar path, Cole reached into his messenger bag and withdrew a small package wrapped in simple brown paper.

“What’s that?” Wes asked, nodding toward the package.

“Something I’ve been working on,” Cole replied, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I wasn’t sure whether to bring it.”

Before Wes could press further, they reached Beau’s headstone—a simple marble marker that somehow seemed insufficient to commemorate the vibrant life it represented.

Beau Adonis Percival Quixote Macbeth

Beloved Son

“In one moment of courage, a lifetime of light”

Fresh flowers—lilies and blue hydrangeas—lay at the base of the headstone, still vibrant enough that they must have been placed there within the past day or two.

“His parents were here,” Cole said, kneeling to adjust one of the lilies that had fallen askew.

Wes nodded, hands in his pockets as he studied the inscription. “They never change the arrangement. Same flowers, same positions, every time.”

“I guess we all have our rituals,” Cole said quietly. “Ways of holding on.”

“So what’s in the package?” Wes asked, nodding toward the brown paper bundle Cole still held.

With uncharacteristic hesitation, Cole unwrapped the paper to reveal two small figurines—a paladin and a ranger, hand-painted with meticulous detail. The paladin stood tall and proud, golden armor gleaming, while the ranger crouched in a ready stance, bow drawn.

“You made these?” Wes asked, taking the paladin figure with careful hands.

“Three-D printed the base forms, then hand-painted them,” Cole confirmed. “I thought… he would have appreciated the Enolyn reference.”

“They’re beautiful,” Wes said, genuinely impressed. “When did you find time to do this? You’ve been swamped with that research grant all month.”

Cole shrugged slightly. “Couldn’t sleep much this week. Painting helped.”

Wes nodded in understanding. They both had their ways of dealing with the anniversary—Wes threw himself into fencing practice until he was too exhausted to think, while Cole apparently channeled his emotions into meticulous artwork.

“He would have loved these,” Wes said softly. “Probably would have asked you to paint his entire collection of gaming miniatures.”

“And I would have said no,” Cole replied with a slight smile. “But ended up doing it anyway.”

“The Dark Lord had that effect on people,” Wes agreed.

Cole carefully placed the figurines beside the flowers, arranging them as if they were standing guard over Beau’s resting place. “The Dark Lord and his would-be challengers,” he said softly. “Together at last, though not how any of us imagined.”

“I logged into Enolyn last night,” Wes admitted. “First time in years.”

“And?” Cole prompted.

“Iferona’s in ruins. Raiders have stripped almost everything of value. The AI maintains basic functions, but the castle is crumbling, the economy has collapsed.” Wes’ voice held a note of genuine sadness. “Everything he built, slowly being erased.”

“Like he never existed,” Cole said softly.

“No,” Wes replied with sudden intensity. “Not like that. Never like that. He existed. He mattered. He changed us.”

Cole nodded, the emotion in his eyes matching Wes’ own. “You’re right,” he agreed. “He changed everything.”

As Cole arranged the figurines with precise care, a strange sensation rippled through the air around them. At first, Wes thought it was just the evening breeze picking up, but then he noticed how the shadows seemed to elongate and shift in ways that defied the angle of the setting sun.

“Cole,” he said quietly, “are you seeing this?”

Cole had already risen to his feet, his body tense as he surveyed their surroundings. “Something’s happening with the light and air pressure.”

Wes watched in growing alarm as the space between them and Beau’s headstone began to shimmer, like heat rising from summer asphalt.

“We should step back,” Cole suggested, though neither man moved.

The shimmering intensified, coalescing into a circle of light that hovered above the grave.

Within the circle, symbols appeared—complex, flowing patterns that seemed to shift and change even as they watched.

The air hummed with energy that raised the hair on their arms and filled the air with the scent of ozone.

“This is impossible,” Wes whispered.

“And yet it’s happening,” Cole replied.

The circle expanded, the light within it brightening until it should have been painful to look at—yet somehow, it wasn’t. Instead, it felt inviting, almost familiar, as if they were seeing something they’d always known but never recognized.

“It’s pulling us in,” Cole said as he felt the inexorable tug toward the light.

Wes reached out, grasping Cole’s hand in his own. “Together, then. As always.”

Cole’s fingers tightened around his. “As always.”

Neither man resisted as the light enveloped them, lifting them from the solid ground of the cemetery into something vast and unknowable.

Their last sight of Earth was Beau’s headstone, the fresh flowers, and the gaming figurines they’d placed there—a paladin and a ranger, standing guard over the memory of the Dark Lord they had both admired from afar.

Then darkness. Followed by light.