Nate never became the Dagger that Dark expected of him. He'd tried tough love every once in a while, but it was clear that it only pushed him back further. He realized that he would have to be patient. He couldn't just force the darkness into his heart, he'd have to let it seep in; wait for that moment when he would crack. 

Several times, Dark had just thought of summoning him one day simply to kill him without too much fuss. He had done it to anyone else who still had the scent of the Digger's purity, and Nate was ripe with it. But it was more a sense of frustration. 

He had corrupted every heart in the dungeons, and any Digger was long dead, all except Nate. Wouldn't it be easier to kill him and be done with it? 

No, of course not. That would be too easy. Life would be meaningless without a goal, but besides that, he knew the potential for cruelty Nate's heart had the day he complained about Cristina's mother, he could smell the lurking darkness just under his skin, waiting to escape. And with Cristina's death, he expected it to burst free. He was surprised however, when it didn't. But what did happen was almost a better outcome. 

Rather than bursting out upon Cristina's death, the darkness inside him just grew deeper, more cruel. Dark had to wait now; that type of anguish and cruelty was too strong to just snuff out in one quick slash across the throat. 

But Nate, now 18, had become the least Dagger-like person in the clan. Finally getting fed up, Dark invited him on a "hunt." 

"A... what?" Nate raised an eyebrow. 

"It'll be fun. And you may learn a thing or two. We look for new prisoners, or old ones, and we choose ones to torture. Although, some of us, me included, prefer types of phycological torture. Voices in the dark, that sort of thing," Dark pulled on a jacket, the dungeons got fairly cold so deep down. "You'll have fun, I promise. In fact, one prisoner, the same age as you, I think, lost the person who speaks for him." 

"How did he die?" 

"He was caught too high up. Killed on sight." Nate backed away on that comment. "But on the bright side, now you have a prisoner to speak for." 

"Are you sure about this?" 

"Of course," he placed a hand on Nate's shoulder, "you're a Dagger after all." 

When stepping out into the dark corridors, the smell instantly overwhelmed Nate as the Daggers scattered about to track down their own prisoners, some with weapons already drawn. Dark nodded and guided Nate a little higher up, bringing him to one of the cells, where they stood outside the wooden door. Dark whispered to him, a few pointers. Then he asked what Nate had wanted to hear the least:

"Do you want to use my dagger, or do you have one of your own?" 

Nate paused, his breath cold and heavy in the damp dungeons. "I won't need any weapons," he said. "I'd rather speak." 

Dark's eyes narrowed, and he stepped back. "Of course. Words can do more damage than any blade," he gave him a pat on the back. "Go ahead." Dark slunk away into the shadows before Nate could ask anything else. 

He didn't bother knocking. As soon as he started to pick the lock as he was taught, chains started rattling as Nate heard someone scampering across the floor. Nate opened the door, and the light of the candle on the ground seemed blinding after wandering in the dark for so long. 

The cell was only a small, stone room, a pile of thatch in one corner, and the prisoner in the other. His foot was chained to the wall, curled up against the side. Nate did what he could to remember what he had been taught. He was a Dagger, and he would always be from now on. He had to at least try to be a Dagger. But he also took heart to what Dark said. "Words can do more damage than any blade." He would do that. 

Nate slowly approached as the prisoner laughed quietly, though it was bitterly clear how terrified he was. He couldn't see his face, but it was very clear that he couldn't be older than himself. "You're new. What happened to the other one?" 

"That doesn't matter right now," Nate said. He picked up the candle and moved it closer. Though he didn't mean to, Nate instinctively gasped. 

The prisoner was beaten around the face. His arms and chest covered in deep scars and scratches, his neck bruised with handprints and thin lines. His lip was cracked and scared. His clothes covered in dried blood. 

"Holy..." 

"Are you surprised? Want to one-up him?" 

Nate set down the candle, trying to brush off the initial genuine shock. "No, no... I just... I didn't expect this."

"If you're really a Dagger, then you should expect a million times worse. Yet you look genuinely shocked." The prisoner looked confused. "Who are you?" 

Nate sat down properly, cross-legged across from him. "I... I was alive... back before the Diggers were killed. They've tried to make me a Dagger. It hasn't worked yet." 

The prisoner raised an eyebrow. "Yet?" 

"Well, a part of me prays it will never happen. The other part of me hopes it will." 

"I hope it doesn't." The prisoner said.

Nate chuckled, a little sadly, and then paused. "What's your name?" 

"Thomas. Thomas Sanders." 

Nate recognized the name from when he and Cristina allowed Dark into the Digger's hideaway. Memories of that day came flooding back, memories of Cristina - of the surface, the light it offered. He was so tempted to see it again, to touch it, to have a little piece for himself. 

He looked into the candle flame. It burned so brightly compared to the darkness of the dungeon. The light stirred something inside him, something from two years ago when he saw Cristina dead on the sand. The memories also pulled up the very thing that Dark had been waiting for; darkness. 

Nate shook off the sensation to remember what he was told. Why he was here. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here?" Nate did remember what he had done, but he wanted to hear him say it for himself. To confess, lay his heart open so that Nate could truly destroy it. 

Thomas shook his head. "I sold my farm to a pretty bad person. They put me in here for... killing him." 

"But why you kill him?" 

"I didn't mean to!" Thomas leaned upwards. "I just swung around with the candlestick, and... it wasn't supposed to kill him!" 

Nate backed away, trying to show him that there was a boundary that he wouldn't cross, although that was far from the truth. Nate relaxed as soon as Thomas did. 

"He just... he hit my sister. I know now that he didn't mean to, but he told us that he did. He wanted to make me, her too, more scared of him. I believed him."

"But you got angry instead," Thomas looked away, and something glinted in the light. Nate reached out towards it, but didn't touch him. "What is that?" 

Thomas looked down and showed him. He held it out in the light. A length of black thread, braided to be thicker. It held a yellow star-shaped pendant. "It's my sister's. She got it when my dad died. But she made me promise to take it with me when I was arrested. It's the only thing I have left of my family." 

"I'm sorry," Nate leaned back. "Does it make you think of her? Of... your crime?" 

For the first time, Thomas seemed to really look him in the eye. He didn't lift his head, but he looked up at his face above him. Nate leaned in a bit closer, looking directly at the necklace now. He pictured Cristina on the beach that day, holding the starfish, tucking it away into her bag. 

Nate wanted that light again. He couldn't have the surface, or the waves, or Cristina. There was one thing from that day that he could have, and Thomas had the second-best thing. The starfish. 

"Do you ever regret it? Not just killing him, but leaving her alone?" Nate asked. "I have so many things I wish I could take back. Apologize for." 

Thomas looked away, and Nate could see that he was trying to dry out his eyes, cover the tears. Nate grabbed him by both sides of his face and made him look him in the eye again. "Thomas, tell me. Do you ever regret it?" 

Thomas gave up fighting the tears. He nodded. "I do. I always do." 

Nate's firm grip on his cheeks loosened to a more gentle, caring touch. He dropped one of his hands, patting Thomas's shoulder. "I understand. There's things I regret, too. People I wish I could see." He pulled back so that Thomas could see the full extent of his now scowling face. 

"And that is why I will take this reminder of your sins from you." Without a word, Nate ripped the necklace away, holding it in his own hand. Thomas jumped up, but Nate was too quick, a the door in a second and slamming the door, which automatically locked behind him. Thomas gripped the bars tightly, pounding on the door. He was screaming, angry, unable to contain himself. Nate ducked into the shadows and caught up to Dark. 

"I can hear the screaming. You did well," he said. "That's anger. I've never heard him get angry before. He's prone to acting as if he's amused." He placed a hand on Nate's back. "See what I mean by potential? You are meant to be a Dagger. And perhaps that trinket will satisfy your craving of something from the surface." 

Nate clutched it tightly. Dark was wrong. He wanted more. It only made him want more of that world above. So he knew now what he had to do. He had to go back up.