Series: Prisoner of the Black Tower||Title: False Escape
Characters: Johan, Haou||Pair: N/A
Words: 1,485/1,485||Chapters: 1/1
Genre: Drama, Fantasy||Rated: K
Challenges: Diversity Writing Challenge, C14, K rated; Easter Egg Basket Advent 2016, day #9, 5 ot more colors
Notes/Timeline: AU. Further details to come in other stories.
Summary: Johan lives in a tower, though not by choice. He wants to escape. Escape is not that easy.

Foggy over there.

Johan tried not to laugh at this. He wasn't sure if it was even funny or not. But he thought it every time when he woke up and every time it remained true.

Fog encircled the tower where he lived. In specific, fog encircled the valley that surrounded the tower. The tower rose high into the sky, with the valley stretching around it in every direction, an endless stretch of flawless emerald green grass, dotted with brilliant spots of red and blue and gold and violet.

Johan wasn't sure of how he knew those colors. He couldn't see them up close and there weren't many other colors inside the tower itself, except for black. But he knew what to call them all and he stared at them every day.

He missed other things too. This place, regardless of having grass and flowers, did not have a sun. Sapphire blue sky arched overhead, sometimes with puffy white clouds floating by. If he strained his eyes, he could see something that might be mountains beyond the fog.

Johan thought they were mountains, at least. He'd never been close enough to see them.

But that would change. That would change today.

He ran his fingers over the rope that he'd found. He wasn't sure why the Tower provided him with a rope, but there it was.

Of course, the Tower provided him with everything that he'd ever needed or wanted, with the exception of a door or any information on how to escape or what the outside world could be like. He had food and drink of every kind he could imagine and some that he'd never imagined, but it appeared regardless.

Time to go. Johan carefully tied one end of the rope around the end of his bed and began to feed the rest of the rope out of the window. He peeked down; the rope reached all the way to the black stone courtyard. All right. This'll do it.

He climbed out of the window, gripping onto the rope, and started moving downward, taking everything as carefully as he could. He'd dropped small wine glasses out of there before and heard them shatter below. He didn't want to shatter.

So moment by moment he made his way down, gripping the rope, hoping that eventually he would feel his feet touch the pavement.

Only no matter how far he went, he didn't feel as if he'd actually gone anywhere. When he looked up, the window wasn't there and when he looked down, the pavement looked as far away as it had from the window itself.

What's going on? He kept going down. The farther he went, the more his limbs ached, and his breath started to catch in his throat.

Johan stopped, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the Tower's cool exterior, then breathed in, hoping that this time when he looked, he'd see the pavement being much closer.

Carefully he tilted his head away and opened his eyes, turning downward.

The pavement was as far away as it had been. Nothing changed. Nothing at all.

No matter how far he moved, that was how it was. He worked his way down for what seemed like hours, wearing himself to the bone, and there wasn't any sign that he'd grown any closer to the end of this. The rope kept going. He kept going.

Johan stopped. He stared down again, then upward. Everything remained identical in both directions. He pressed his lips together.

What else can I do? He didn't want to go back to his room. But if he couldn't climb down, then what?

Only one option and he couldn't imagine how it would work. But he wanted to try. He needed to try.

He closed his eyes again, adjusted his sweaty grip on the rope for a few seconds, then released it, throwing himself backward. This would hurt. This would hurt so much.

Johan fell. He had no idea of how long he fell. He stared up at the sky and wondered if this would be the last time that he ever saw it.

The sky vanished. Overhead he now could see the ceiling of his bedroom, and underneath himself he could feel the warmth and comfort of his plush bed. He hadn't even fallen into it. It was just there.

Slowly he rolled over, staring around himself. Everything was just like it had been before. Everything in order. The door that led to the Hall of Doors remained there, closed as he'd left it.

The rope tied to the bed still hung there. Hung out the window, just like he'd done it.

Slowly Johan started to wind it back up again. His movements were slow and jerky, a faint hint of exhaustion whiffling all through him. Exhaustion shortly met by fear when he heard footsteps approaching.

Johan wasn't sure about most colors, but he knew black for two reasons. The Tower was black. The Tower had always been black, with other colors only visible in the décor.

But he wore black armor, with a cape of blood-red. And hearing him approach sent terror coursing all through Johan.

He'd just barely sorted out the last of the rope when the Hall of Doors entryway opened and he stood there.

He wasn't much taller than Johan, but he radiated fear and power. His armor wrapped close around him, black as the Tower, and with far more spikes than anyone needed for anything.

Johan seldom missed his voice. He couldn't remember if he'd ever had one, in truth. He certainly couldn't talk when he was around. But his first instinct was to quaver out a single word that he never could.

Haou.

Haou stepped over to him and Johan's knees gave out, sending him crashing to the floor. He hated this. He hated the absolute terror that filled him when he saw Haou, rendering him almost incapable of doing anything. He wanted to fight back. He wanted to do anything he could.

Instead he knelt, shivering, and Haou's armored hand touched his shoulder.

"Look at me." Haou's voice, cold and empty, echoed ever so faintly behind his visor. Johan lifted his head, his heart triphammering. "You tried to escape."

With the rope there, Johan couldn't exactly deny it. He shrugged the faintest bit. He could offer nothing to explain himself. Haou knew full well that he couldn't speak. Haou very seldom asked anything that Johan couldn't answer in body language.

Sometimes Johan wondered if there were other ways to communicate. He'd tried to draw pictures, but he wasn't very good at it, no matter how hard he tried. All he seemed able to make were images of things he'd never seen. He did keep them, though, tucked up under his pillow.

"You can't leave here by yourself," Haou told him, a stern look visible regardless of the visor. "You can only leave here with me."

Johan stared, not entirely certain if he understood that at all. Why? Why would Haou do this? Was Haou the one who did this at all? He didn't know. He couldn't know. Haou hadn't ever told him who put him here. He just showed up every few days and talked to him.

Haou tilted Johan's head up a little. "I should punish you for this. But I will spare you, for now. Never try this again. Do you understand?"

Johan wanted to rip himself away. He hated the sensation of cold metal against him. But Haou remained so much stronger than he was and he couldn't get away. He had little choice but to move his head forward into a slight nod.

"It's for your own safety," Haou told him. "I protect you."

He'd said that before. Johan couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. But again he tilted his head. There weren't many other options.

He thought that maybe Haou smiled. It felt as if Haou tried to smile. Maybe it was supposed to make him feel better?

It didn't, not really.

"Get some rest. You've worn yourself out today."

Johan wasn't going to argue with that. For all that he'd gone nowhere, he was exhausted. Haou turned and headed out the door without another word.

Johan had followed him once when he left. All he'd seen of Haou leaving was going to a blank spot on the wall and vanishing through it. When he'd touched the wall, there'd been nothing but shadows there.

Now he didn't bother following. He just stayed on the bed, eyes closed, and let himself slowly slip into slumber. He would escape from here, one day. He didn't know how or when or where he would go, but he would leave and never look back.

And he would find whoever put him here and ask them why and why they'd taken his voice, and why only Haou could reach this place.

The End

Notes: I am whistling innocently and grinning evilly. Just so you know.