Chapter 50 & 51

Dane was cleaning the Ashborn Stalker's coat, his fingers deftly wielding the comb. He didn't need to do so; he could dismiss the bear to the rejuvenating haven of his Soul Sea after all. But it had become something of a routine. It allowed him to relax his mind, away from the tensity of endlessly journeying toward a phantom sanctuary somewhere west.

If hope was an ocean, this damned desert could dry it in a month; that was how long it had taken to eradicate Dane's hope. Trudging over dune after dune of sand under a ruthless sun, all the while keeping an eye out for nightmare creatures would do that to a person, he learned to this sorrow.

"Why so glum?" Flynn asked.

"Why so happy?" Dane returned.

Flynn threw his hands up. "Trying to talk to you is like walking on eggshells!"

It was true. Dane had been…grumpy for a week. However, Dane would not blame himself; it was all Jeanne's fault. A week ago, the oaf had fallen asleep on her watch, letting the fire fizzle out. When he woke up, half frozen, he caught a 'soul cold.' By the grace of his resistance memories, Flynn woke up alive, but his apprentice did not harbor the same ire that he did because of that cursed flaw of his.

Shivering, Dane pulled the last bits of sand out of Stalker's coat, gave him a boop on his snout, and let him dissolve into a stream of sparks.

"Time to leave?" Jeanne asked.

Dane grunted.

Together, the three packed up their things and waited for the sun to rise. It didn't take too long. When the rumbling above them ceased, they left the underground cave.

"Follow me," Flynn said, starting for the tallest set of dunes they could see. Begrudgingly, he followed. Dane had to admit that while the desert didn't seem to end, it had gotten the slightest bit cooler…maybe they were making progress.

The endless azure and white of sky and sand blurred into one as they moved. Dane brought the teardrop vial to his mouth and gulped ice-cold water. It did not help with the heat, so he upended it over his head and let it drench him. That was a mistake; the water quickly boiled on the surface of his plate armor, and it began to steam him alive.

Holding back a curse, he transformed into a spirit and then reverted. The water vanished into thin air…and something else replaced it. There seemed to be a thousand colors rippling over his armor. He swiveled around but could not see where the light came from.

"Dane! I feel something!" Flynn shouted.

Jeanne was beside him, looking perplexed. He spun on his heel and made his way to them.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. But it's something terrible," Flynn said. Dane's eyes fell on his mirror-like hauberk. Its rings were a rainbow of sorts, reflecting a thousand twisting colors.

"What's up with your armors?" Jeanne asked.

Flynn looked down at his ringmail. "I don't know."

Dane reached for Jeanne's cloak and pulled it aside, revealing her plate armor that rippled with an uncountable number of hues. He pushed the cloak back, and the colors vanished in the shadow that fell on the armor. He found the same happening to his plate and cloak.

 "It's reflecting," Jeanne concluded. "But from what?"

Dane had half a mind to transform and take to the skies to get a bird's viewpoint over the surroundings. But he didn't feel safe leaving them. There was strength in numbers.

Did the light come from a natural source…or was it supernatural? Was it the work of some monstrosity? He set aside the veil and looked for souls around them. Other than the slumbering titans that hid under the sands so far away he almost couldn't see them, he saw only the souls of the occasional Fallen and Corrupted in the distance that he had grown accustomed to was nothing of note.

Maybe it was some freak phenomenon unique to this region of the Dream Realm. "I don't see anything," he told Flynn. "What are you feeling? And from where?"

"It's overwhelming, Dane. I—I don't know…it feels like an existential dread. It's coming from everywhere. I don't understand," Flynn answered. He was shivering as his eyes darted across the sandy plains, his teeth chattering.

Jeanne broke the silence, "...let's go. There's no point in fretting about something we can't see or know. If it's so bad, then we'll have a painless death."

Dane did not know how to reply. His mind raced as he nodded glumly and started walking again. If it came from everywhere, was it a sign of regional destruction? Or a regional storm? Was something going to change in the desert? They needed to get out of here fast.

***

The sun was close to setting when they found a settlement of ruins, drowning in the shadows cast by dunes. Many of them had crevices inside that led to a set of caverns interconnected by tunnels. The cavern they chose was large and spacious. Jeanne set up the fire while Flynn paced around. Dane sat by the burgeoning blaze and watched his madness; he had taken to biting his fingernails, and they were cracked and chipped, with some giving way to blood.

"Stop that," Jeanne insisted for the third time.

Flynn ignored her.

Despite the cold, he had beads of sweat streaming down his face, dampening his stubble. He groaned, guttural and frustrated, and came to sit by the flames. Dane wondered if this was how he had been for the past week. Suddenly, 'walking on eggshells' seemed an apt term to him.

"Let's have meat," he suggested, perhaps it would help brighten Flynn's mood.

"Duck?" Jeanne asked.

Dane shrugged.

They made roasted duck, of which Flynn took a large portion. But he couldn't tell whether he was stress eating or liked it. Dane licked his fork clean and set to getting the tents up.

Jeanne came to help him. "I don't feel good leaving him alone on watch."

"I don't either," Dane concurred, eyeing Flynn as the sleeper paced back and forth. Click. Click. He gnawed at his nails, and a dot of red seeped out from underneath. "One of us should stay up with him."

She nodded.

They exchanged a look.

"Not it," she said, faster than lightning. Dane gave her a long look and sighed.

***

Late that night, Dane sat on the floor, cross-legged, with Flynn next to him. Sitting in awkward silence, tapping his feet on the sand, he stared into the fire. "What are you feeling?" he asked.

Flynn was staring at the fire as well.

"It's gotten worse."

"Can I ask you something?"

"...sure."

Dane nodded indiscernibly. "Why are you so anxious?" He felt the sleeper's eyes on him now.

"Am I not allowed to be?"

"You are. It's just…you always seem to feel the wrong thing at the wrong time. I assumed it was your Flaw."

Flynn made a tsking sound. "It's not so bad," he said crisply before setting his pinky finger between his incisors. He seemed to be doing it unconsciously. Dane could not watch any longer. He stood.

"I'm feeling restless. Come, let us spar." He wasn't feeling restless. But he knew Flynn was.

The man stood wearily. "I could use some sparring myself," he said. This time, he did not summon his spear and shield. He took a stance, extending his right hand that held a simple broadsword.

Dane brought forth his broadsword. They locked eyes and dashed forward. Flynn swung first, bringing his steel down on Dane's shoulder. Dane stepped back and raised his sword, catching it with the flat of his blade.

Sparks flew. Dane pushed Flynn's sword aside, but he had taught his apprentice well, and Flynn slid his blade up against Dane's sword and struck. But Dane was no fool to lose to his student. 

His elbow flared to the side as he lifted his sword to block Flynn's blade. Dane took the initiative now; he changed his thumb grip to push against Flynn's sword so that his sword was angled above his opponent's, and with the blades crossed, he thrust. Steel rasped, and Dane's broadsword touched Flynn's ringmail.

Flynn grunted in frustration and broke it off.

They engaged again and again and again.

The sound of steel on steel reverberated through the cavern as they sparred, and by the end of it, they were both huffing and puffing. Flynn looked better now, somewhat relieved.

Flynn's shift was over now. "You're tired. Go. Rest," Dane said. Flynn nodded and turned to his tent.

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

Their heads shot toward one of the many tunnels that opened into their cavern, from which the eerie sound of footfall betrayed someone…or something.