Chapter 57

A/N: This chapter will be a summarized timeskip. I can't keep writing uneventful chapters as it's really draining on me. So I'll be expediting it to let Dane get to the Dark City quicker (in writing).

Dane did not sleep that night, having been kept awake by guilt and shame. Trudging along the black mud, despite how powerful he was, he felt weak. He knew he was strong enough not to tire after a single sleepless night, but this was another weakness.

His head was numb, just like it had been two months ago when he learned of his sister's passing. Every step was a battle against himself, and his mind had begun to affect his body. His armor weighed him down, and his swordstaff was getting heavier…he didn't strain to hold them, but a stuffy, suffocating knot in his chest made him feel like he did. 

Eventually, he dismissed his plate, cloak, and weapon, opting to wear only one gambeson, padded leggings, and sabatons and carry his lighter battleax. And even that was an effort. He had never felt so helpless.

Two sleepless days passed, and Dane eventually passed out atop a coral pillar as endless storm clouds stole the sun. He woke up screaming from a nightmare that had already faded from his recollection and saw Flynn and Jeanne.

Flynn sat with his back against the icy barricade with no discernible features to call his own. Mangled, burned flesh and dried blood was all there was to see other than his eyes…eyes that stared at him, lost in a dream of agony and hellfire. He said nothing, only whimpering endlessly, reminiscent of his dying shrieks.

Jeanne stood next to him with a hideous, headless stump of a neck. In her hands was her head, her eyelids closed tightly as her body shook in fear.

Dane shivered as he watched them. When he finally mustered the courage to speak to them, he asked, "What do you want from me?" They deigned not to respond, unchanging. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" he screamed, "I ONLY DID WHAT YOU ASKED." Yet, once again, nothing changed.

Dane could not sleep after that. When his eyes were open, he saw them. When his eyes were closed, his mind conjured images of them. Later, when he calmed down, he confirmed they were not ghosts. Of course not. He had seen their souls rotting away. They were just hallucinations. 

With that realization, they vanished, though very much present when he closed his eyes. He'd never forget what he saw.

***

Dane had a pit in his stomach, and everything was irritant. Lacking human interaction and cursed with unceasing nightmares, he was almost always in a bad mood.

Only the Memories he had acquired over the last four weeks could somewhat cheer him up. He received three swords (a rapier, a falchion, and a claymore), a dagger, and a pair of throwing axes, which he liked quite a bit. He also crossed paths with a strange creature that hid high up coral columns and dropped onto its prey, swallowing them whole with its boneless, skinny body. Then, it would slowly constrict the victims, stealing their breath. 

The Spell saw fit to award Dane a lovely scabbard that could change shape and size to fit many weapons. He carried the falchion in it.

It was a lovely sword with a hilt of oak wrapped in virgin leather, and its round pommel was hardy and strong. Its blade was single-edged and eighty centimeters long, cusped beautifully at the end.

Slowly, Dane worked through the mess in his mind and started carrying heavy again. Though he only wore one layer of gambeson, he carried the swordstaff over his shoulder, had his falchion sheathed and strapped to his side, and had the pair of throwing axes kept behind his back.

The last Memory was a storage memory. It was a rucksack as dark as the black waters of the Forgotten Shore (a name the Spell described this region as in the Memory description of the dagger) mottled with azure and crimson. The bag did not have a spatial dimension inside like the Gargantuan Sack; Dane could not store much. However, as long as he stored the Memory in his Soul Sea, the objects inside would remain as they were at the moment of dismissal.

On a night when he went hungry and didn't dare to start a fire for fear of the inhabitants of the black water, he had the brilliant idea to start cooking all the best pieces of meat and saving them for later in the rucksack. He had to pat himself on his back for that.

Hm? What was that? Dane peered into the dark horizon, sitting atop a bizarre, beheaded statue of a knight, and saw light. Bright orange light that could only have been a fire.

Dane squinted at it.

For the last month, not once had he seen a fire. After all, what use did the cursed dwellers of the dark sea have for fire? Maybe, just maybe, it was humans. After all, if he could survive the desert, others could survive the Forgotten Shore. A chill passed him as he realized the fools had lit a fire at night.

For a moment, all he felt was pity…but then a queer thought struck him. The night was halfway done, and it wouldn't last five hours…Dane wanted to go to the fire and save them if he could. If not, bury the fool's corpse.