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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr="class","sidetxt1"]i will shoulder your burdens
[attr="class",sidetxt2"]i will suffer your slings and arrows
[attr="class","sidetag"]OPEN!
[attr="class","bodytxtt"]A sandstorm howls and rages through the vast open deserts, choking the air with thick amber clouds of particulate debris, carving and churning the dunes as though it were an ocean made of water instead. Scorching heat from the afternoon sun mercilessly cooks the desolate landscape from on high, stopping just short of a temperature capable of turning the loose grains into shards of glass. Nothing, be it man or beast, could harbor such delusions of grandeur as to inhabit, or navigate, a place so treacherous and deadly in its current state.
The Jagd Yensa was the closest approximation to a place such as this one. Harsh and unforgiving, the desert threatened to swallow any that dared to traverse its immeasurable length and breadth. How was one to survive in such hostile conditions? How does one escape a region so utterly vast in its size and scope? Valid as they were, such questions paled in comparison to the most important one of all: What powers were responsible for summoning him here?
From beneath the veil of a tattered burlap shawl, Vayne Solidor squints his eyes and pushes forward through the golden dunes, unfazed by the buffeting winds that shrieked louder than a chorus of wailing banshees. He ruminates on the greater mystery at hand--the reason he was here--while searching for anything bearing a resemblance to shelter, be it a cave or some kind of structure long abandoned to history. The desert will not break his resolve to survive, so long as both of his lungs continue to draw breath.
This was not Ivalice; that much was certain as to be obvious. As for what made this plane of reality so different, Vayne had yet to discover for himself. The answers will come, in due time. For now, he must evade the storm and collect his thoughts. His life depended on it.
Vayne lifts a hand up to his brow, careful to avoid permitting the fine sand from entering his eyes, and spots a vague shadow on the horizon. Instinctively, he marches toward the blurry shape, panting with each labored step over and across the granular terrains. Closing in, Vayne quickly realized the muddy form appeared to be mirroring his movements. It was approaching him?
A sharp bolt of fatigue throws Vayne to his knees without warning, causes him to use a hand for additional support. He would not relent to nature's vicious bite, his spirit refused to yield before her wrath. Man had not received the gift of fire simply to be instilled with fear of its true potential. Vayne would command the very elements themselves to submit before his will, were it within his capacity to do so.
First, he must live. He must live. He must--
His body is robbed of all sense of strength, his endurance overwhelmed by a sense of thirst and hunger, and Vayne's consciousness fades into darkness. Yet the shadowy presence continues to loom ever closer, even as the sandstorm finally begins to fade away.
Sorry this is DUMB AND SHITTY I've been so scatterbrained sobs
Angeal had the good fortune of being handed a map upon his arrival to this strange world. He’d lost count of the days at this point, having not had anything to record his ventures down with for a while, but he was well aware that he’d hardly covered even a smidgen of the continent he was stranded on.
Well, he’d accepted the fact that this did seem to all be real, at least. Crawling out of denial was a step in the right direction.
His map was dotted with notes he’d made himself, slightly smudged, but otherwise perfectly readable. It wasn’t a topographical map, and so he’d added notes about the geography and flora on the paths he’d traveled so far, realizing only too late that he should have invested in a journal to take notes in. Reconnaissance wasn’t a typical job for a Soldier 1st Class, but that hardly meant Angeal wasn’t used to it. He was a true army grunt once upon a time and knew the importance of taking field notes and paying attention to every possible detail.
Lines crossed over the paper here and there, leading to Gaia-only-knew where. A week ago the Soldier traced a path with his finger, his eyes scanning unfamiliar town names and outposts. He hadn’t had any luck so far in locating anyone else he knew … Or anyone who even knew what ShinRa was, for that matter. It was time to find a new location to search. There were two long, distinct paths leading south -- one on the east and one on the west. Midgar was located in the west … Maybe someone else had wandered in that direction, hoping to find something familiar?
One way to find out.
If he’d have known it was nothing but desert, Angeal wouldn’t have picked that path first. He sighed heavily as the sun beat down relentlessly against his cloak, the stifling wind occasionally pressing underneath his hood. The map wasn’t wrong, this was a known path with outposts marked, but most of the little towns and outposts had been abandoned, from the looks of them. He’d been wandering on the outskirts of the desert for days now, sweating obscenely during the long days and near freezing during the nights. There was no clear end in sight, and if he were any lesser of a man, he certainly would have died by now.
Mako infusions were nothing to scoff at, apparently.
Grainy sand and curved dunes as far as the eye could see. Angeal shielded his eyes from the sun with a hand as he gazed across the landscape, finding nothing but the same monotonous views. The wind whipped and whirled the dangerous speckles; a sort of taunt that, at any moment, it could stir the ground into a torrential storm that would threaten to bury everyone and everything in its path. Even wildlife was scarce aside from the occasional reptile that skittered past his boots and back into the sandy depths.
In the distance, the Soldier could see a storm moving away from him. He’d likely been lucky to dodge it, venturing some minutes or hours behind the winds. The wall of tans and yellows moved further away, nothing but a dull hum on the horizon. If it had been somewhat closer, maybe it would have blocked out the sun, if only for a moment. Angeal drew his map from his travel bag, finger following along the path he’d traveled. Looks like there’s an outpost coming up. Maybe I’ll get luckier this time. Thank Gaia he was an over-preparer. Once he’d spotted the desert on the horizon, Angeal had stocked up as much water as he could shove in his travel pack and in the canteen at his waist.
He carefully folded the map and packed it away once more, scanning the barely-there path ahead, only clear from the occasional vague landmark. However, something caught his eye -- something shining against the light of the sun. Angeal squinted against the wind, blue eyes searching for more of what could possibly be buried in the dune ahead. A weapon, maybe, or a piece of technology? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.
His boots sunk in the disturbed sand as he approached. The wind was still upset, the last of the influence of the distant storm. Angeal pulled the tunic closer as the glare of the nearby metal guided him, huffing underneath the fabric. The heat radiating off of the ground distorted the image before him, pulling lines into curves. However, as he drew closer to the shining object, an unwelcome chill came up his spine. His gaze followed the lines, partially covered by sand; long limbs, sandy covered clothing, dark hair.
It wasn’t an object. It was a person.
Angeal hurried his steps, though a feeling of dread sunk into the pit of his stomach. A man collapsed in the desert … It was likely he wasn’t looking at a living person any more, but a corpse. The Soldier crouched down next to the body, drawing it out of the sand. The gauntlets on the body were what had caught his eye, metal on leather. Angeal brushed sand off of the body, before pulling off his glove and pressing two fingers to the man’s neck.
The body was warm, but that was no surprise. There was no way that--
Faint, rhythmic thumps valiantly pressed through to Angeal’s fingers. The Soldier’s glowing eyes widened as he quickly rose, leaning up to pick up the body bridal style. The man’s weight was hardly noticeable -- Angeal swung around an equally heavy weapon with ease daily -- but moving through the sand would take a bit longer. He gently shook the man, making sure the sand-covered shawl was shadowing his face as he walked back toward the path.
They weren’t too far from the next outpost. Angeal could get them there quickly, but of all times … He wished he had another way to travel. Moving far enough from the dune back to the path he’d been walking, Angeal took a moment to set the man down, supporting his upper body by keeping a strong arm wrapped around the stranger. He pulled his canteen from his side and pulled the tab open, taking a moment to lightly flick water against the man’s face. Hopefully, it would provide a first step toward waking him up. He couldn’t risk tilting the water into the man’s mouth after all -- if he was too far gone, he’d simply choke.
“Come on now,” Angeal urged the man, giving him another gentle shake, “Show me you’re still holding on.”
Whether the man did or not was irrelevant. Angeal placed the canteen back at his side and picked the stranger up once more. Even if the man woke up, he likely didn’t have the energy to walk.
Just a bit further. They’d find shelter in no time.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
[attr="class","bodytxtt"]Was this to be his fate, to be consumed by the desert wastes of a world so alien as this? In this moment, contemplation was beyond Vayne; he felt only numbness swaddle his motionless body, unable to fend off the darkness of oblivion as it crept ever closer to obtain this most wonderful prize.
The soft bed of grains seemed to vanish from beneath his form, completely replaced with an overwhelming vertigo. Vayne's head spun, in both the literal and figurative senses, when a stranger bearing muscular definition and bizarre apparel had arrived on site to investigate the Imperial diplomat in his prone state -- and not a moment sooner.
With his unconscious charge cradled between both arms like an infant babe, Vayne's raven-haired savior crested the dunes and set him down gently in a seated position, conjuring a large canvas bottle from the belt at his waist so that he might sprinkle its contents over his sand-covered face. “Come on now. Show me you're still holding on.” Water is the element which brings life, and it proves most vital in the harsh clime of the desert, even as Vayne's threatened to fade away into the golden sands.
The effect is almost instantaneous. Revitalized by its healing properties, Vayne sputters and gasps in spite of the sweltering heat that parched his throat, thoughts clouded by the fog of delirium. How long had he been exposed to this accursed place? Who had rescued him from death's door? He hadn't the time or the energy to inquire, but patience is, and still remained, a most important virtue; all will be revealed soon enough.
Still weakened, Vayne could barely open his eyes, yet a smudged silhouette of a man still entered into his immediate periphery. He must have possessed considerable brawn to carry him so effortlessly. His rugged clothes were unlike any the Archadian had ever witnessed before, suggesting a lifestyle that required both constant travel and a maximization of personal movement. A soldier, perhaps?
Is it blind fortune that grants the Emperor mercy, or the fickle whims of fate? Truly, this was a conundrum of existential proportions. Whichever it was, Vayne could appreciate the simple fact that he remained among the living, thanks to this man's altruism. His head slumps once more, both eyes closing to conserve what little strength Vayne had remaining.
He was alive. Vulnerable, but still very much alive.
The sweltering heat of the sand hit a little different while carrying an entire body in his arms. Angeal desperately pulled each warm breath into his lungs, blinking away the sweat that beaded and dripped down from his hairline, irritating his eyes. The weight of the man was no issue, really, but the added layer of heat was enough to make even the kind-hearted Soldier reconsider traversing the dunes to the next stopping point. However, the man in his arms was desperately clinging to life, his ragged breaths urging Angeal to keep moving.
And so he did.
It seemed like an eternity had passed before the next camp on the map appeared. The outpost appeared deserted, most of the beige buildings having sustained various levels of damage on top of being partially buried under the sand. Gritting his teeth, Angeal scoured the area for a building that still held its shape and offered some respite from the sun. Blue eyes scanned the structures -- everything out here was the same infuriating color -- before his gaze landed on an intact doorway.
There was no door, of course, closed buildings offered no real ventilation in the desert. The doorway was partially blocked by a drift of sand, but nothing the Soldier couldn’t push his way through. The windows were high, allowing for the warm breeze to pass through on all sides. It was still warm, but definitely degrees cooler than it was outside. And, more importantly, they were finally safe from the terrorizing rays of the sun.
Angeal gently set his burden down on the sand-covered, stone floor. The man was barely conscious, but still fighting for his life. The Soldier let loose his own held breath as he knelt down beside the man, slicking back his own sweaty, raggled hair before removing his gloves. He set his supplies off to the side before reaching for his canvassed canteen, taking a gulp himself before dribbling just a few drops onto the man’s face with his fingers.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Angeal started, his voice hoarse as the water worked its way through his throat, “I’m going to pour some water into the canteen cap for you to drink. It has to be a little bit at a time, so it doesn’t shock your system, alright?”
He removed the cap from the canteen bottle, filling it with water. It was a decent sip’s worth, enough to start revitalizing the man one drink at a time, but not enough to choke him in case his body decided to revolt against him. Angeal gently set a hand on the back of the man’s neck, holding his head steady as he moved the edge of the canteen lid to the man’s dry lips.
“If you’re conscious, lean into it. I’m not going to be responsible for drowning you.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
[attr="class","bodytxtt"]How fortunate he must have been, to discover the Emperor of Archadia in so miserable a condition, barely clinging to life by a spider's thread. Truly the rugged soldier had lived up to his noble reputation as a man of the people, a hero in every sense of the word. Vayne could feel his conscious mind slowly piece itself back together as they wandered the arid badlands in search of cooler temperatures, forming thoughts of gratitude he was obligated to share once they were safe from the hateful light of the sun.
The warrior's search yielded fruit when he arrived before a series of ruined structures halfway submerged below the desert sands, bricks and stones in faded coppers and browns blending in with the same, monotonous golden color that stretched onward and into eternity from every angle. Tattered cloths fluttered erratically in the hot breeze, drained of the vibrancy they once possessed, yet still bearing patterns that suggested tribal investment. This might have once served as a seat of power between rival factions, or perhaps a settlement for merchants to ply their trade.
Unconcerned with such trivial details, as he should be, the soldier with ebony hair forcibly pushes through a small drift separating him and Vayne from the interior of a small enclosure. Once cleared, he gently sets the cloaked Archadian down atop a hard limestone floor covered in a thin layer of dusty sand. If the burlap shawl had failed to keep him cool, then the remnant remains of the shelter's roof did well enough to compensate for the difference.
The incalescence of the dunes shifted noticeably when Vayne felt droplets splatter against his face, causing both sets of eyelids to flicker until he felt himself return to a state of wakefulness. “I don’t know if you can hear me, I’m going to pour some water into the canteen cap for you to drink. It has to be a little bit at a time, so it doesn’t shock your system, alright?” This time, the man's instructions reached Vayne's ears with perfect tonal clarity, allowing the Imperial to discern an even greater volume of details from the way he spoke. His voice was deep and brusque, yet smoothly conveyed a sense of dutiful concern for the diplomat's well being. “If you’re conscious, lean into it. I’m not going to be responsible for drowning you.”
“That...will not be necessary...” Feeling strength flow through his muscles at long last, Vayne chose to lift a hand up to meet the survivalist's, gently grasping the cap held firmly between his fingertips so that he could take the drink himself, independently of his benefactor's attempts to have him follow orders. He tilts it back and swallows the water without difficulty, only to realize in the moment that thirst had not fully set in, as the other man may have had genuine reason to believe.
Something about this predicament did not sit well with him, apart from the obvious fact that he no longer occupied his native Ivalice. He had not roamed the wastelands for more than an hour, at most -- of that, Vayne was completely certain.
Still, having been robbed of consciousness moments earlier, Vayne could not dispute the importance of allowing himself to recuperate from the ordeal, if only for the moment. He gives the canteen's lid back to the fellow and issues an expression of stoic acknowledgement for his effort to rescue him from the elements. “I extend to you my deepest gratitude, ser.”
Angeal watched with a silent awe as the man he’d found unconscious in the desert began to move of his own accord. A gloved hand reached to meet his own, carefully grasping the lid of the canteen from his grip. The Soldier let it go, keeping a wary eye on the man as he brought the source of water to his lips, carefully drinking every drop. Moments ago, the man had been nothing but an unconscious lump -- a real one, as Angeal was well aware of what a person faking unconsciousness looked like. How many times had Zack tried to pull that stunt on him during a particularly difficult training regimen?
The man extended his hand, returning the now empty cap. Angeal took it, his eyebrows furrowing as he screwed it back onto the canteen. Though his own body ached for water, he knew well that he would continue to survive with the bare minimum. There was no need to work through his supply quickly, especially if he would be traveling with another person. The stranger he’d picked up in the desert seemed to be quickly regaining his strength, but that did not make him a modified Soldier, capable of surviving the harsh elements.
The stranded stranger spoke, his face stoic and his voice unstrained, “I extend to you my deepest gratitude, ser.”
Ser? That was a new one. The man’s entire manner of speech seemed rather … regal, maybe, was the word for it. Far beyond a simple thanks, almost as if the words had left Genesis’ mouth. Poetic.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you out there to die,” Angeal nodded, giving the man a slight smile to show that he was still friendly and trusting, despite his burden’s sudden revival. The Soldier released a held breath, taking in the feeling of the light breeze as it cooled the sweat on his skin. He took a couple of steps away from the stranger, before putting his back to the same wall, removing the large sword from his back, and sliding down to sit. He placed the canteen between them, watching the stranger with a curious, yet still concerned, glowing-eyed gaze.
“I’m Angeal,” he offered the man his name, before gesturing toward him with a gloved hand, “Any idea how or why you ended up half-buried in a sand dune?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
[attr="class","bodytxtt"]“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you out there to die,” the rugged warrior asserts, leaving Vayne to cast a pensive gaze down at the ruined shelter's sand-splotched floor. It certainly must have been peculiar, perhaps even suspicious, to encounter one so ill-accustomed to the harsh climes of nature escape the jaws of oblivion only to watch them cut a recovery with such haste. The irony was not lost to the stranded statesman.
Leaving Vayne to contemplate his circumstances, his rescuer puts a gap between themselves, taking the liberty to doff his weapon and set it against an adjacent wall. To call it a “weapon” at all seemed rather gracious here; barely did it resemble a colossal slab of tempered steel affixed to a slender pole wrapped in scarlet. One side had been sharpened, terminating into an angular point. Inelegant etchings hugged against an overly geometric guard, engraved by someone possessed of a sentimental mind. It is meant to be a sword? Can he even wield an object so crude and cumbersome?
The survivalist softly lowers himself into a seated posture, locking eyes with his regal counterpart. “I’m Angeal,” he introduces. Though Vayne was not formally licensed in the practice of magicks, even he could see for himself the ethereal quality resonating from within Angeal's fixed stare. This alone kindled the embers of curiosity, but this was not sufficient enough to follow through with questions of his own. For now, there were more important queries to be ruminated upon. “Any idea how or why you ended up half-buried in a sand dune?”
Vayne issues a soft sigh. “Regrettably, I haven't the faintest clue,” he delivers his answer with a practiced cadence, a byproduct of his noble upbringing, but its tone is mired by a veil of authentic confusion. To be incapable of producing a rational explanation clawed at the diplomat's heart, much to his silent frustration. “I recall the command bridge of my sky fortress... Bahamut...” Vayne runs his fingers through his hair, as if trying to physically pull the scattered memories out for closer analysis, just as Angeal had lifted him from the desert's arid embrace. “I was overlooking Rabanastre. I took a moment to ponder...”
When he had closed his eyes to reflect on all that had happened, a profound realization struck Vayne.
The displacement was virtually instantaneous! In the time it took for him to simply blink, Vayne's transition from Ivalice into this world had already come to pass. But he could not explain to Angeal how it happened, or even why; such facts continue to elude his sense of reason. As a result, the Archadian's visage quickly lost all semblance of surprise, however apparent, and returned to its usual acerbic state.
A thought suddenly occurs to him. “Please, forgive me. I have not formally introduced myself,” said Vayne, as he tries to return Angeal's smile with one of his own. “I am Vayne Carudas Solidor, patriarch of House Solidor, and Emperor of Archadia.” Such details were trivial at this point, but it gave him some measure of personal comfort to reaffirm who he was in these unfamiliar lands, if only for his own sake. “But, I suppose the usual decorum is rather moot here,” Vayne emphasized.
The man sighed; less heavily than he should have, considering he’d been found unconscious in the extreme elements. Instead, it sounded more like the entire last hour had been an inconvenience rather than a life or death situation, his voice calm and regal. What Angeal did recognize, however, was the way the man’s face shifted into one of visible confusion and concentration, as if trying to retrace his steps backwards through an elegant dance rather than what had happened to him over the last several hours.
He’d done the very same tango, hadn’t he? Trying to remember what came before, and what was supposed to come next.
Yet, when the man spoke, the Soldier found he couldn’t recognize most of what the man was saying. The only word that made any sense in his recollections was Bahamut -- but the only Bahamut Angeal was aware of was a dragon that could be summoned with materia, in dire circumstances. Certainly not a sky fortress. Was something like that even possible? Shinra had built a giant city up on plates, so maybe it wasn’t such a farfetched idea.
What was most intriguing about the man’s one-sided revelation was the way he seemed to space out for a moment. Lost in thought, as if the path between his former memories and his new ones was broken along the way. Angeal frowned, readjusting himself as he propped an elbow on top of his knee. How long had he been here, now, but felt the same way when trying to look back on his life before this strange world? The last thing he could remember was a meeting … prepping for an excursion to Wutai, maybe.
He probably wasn’t the best person to welcome someone else into this new, strange world. But, he wasn’t presented with much of a choice. If he had information that could help someone else, well, it was his duty to pass it along.
Soldiers were meant to help people.
“Please, forgive me. I have not formally introduced myself,” the long haired man returned Angeal’s cautious smile, “I am Vayne Carudas Solidor, patriarch of House Solidor, and Emperor of Archadia.... But, I suppose the usual decorum is rather moot here.”
Well, that’s a mouthful.
“Can’t say I’ve ever met an Emperor before,” Angeal replied, his deep voice humored at least as he eyed the man -- Vayne -- with an eyebrow raised, “Normally I’d offer to memorize your title in order to make sure you’re comfortable … But, I’d say this is far from normal circumstances for either of us.”
A bead of sweat dripped its way down from the Soldier’s hairline as he spoke, a reminder of the unfriendly environment they were both trapped in. The wind whipped against their sandstone structure, threatening to stir up the sand under their bodies. Thankfully the gust passed, and for another moment they were safe from dirt raining down upon them from the high windows. Angeal’s friendly smile slowly dropped from his features as his eyes glanced up at the structure, taking in the lack of scenery as the warmth continued to seep far too deep into his bones -- the words tumbling in his head, as he tried to decide the best way to tell a stranger that he was likely no longer home.
Angeal reached into his pocket, gloved fingers grasping the worn map he’d been referring to for weeks now. The words splashed across it were still as foreign as they had been the first time he’d looked at it, but the Soldier’s familiar scrawl over the paths he’d traveled were real as they could be.
“I … may have some idea, as to where you are,” Hewley grimaced, feeling that particular phrase wasn’t quite right for what he was trying to imply, “Does the name Serentestra sound, in any way, familiar to you?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
[attr="class","bodytxtt"]“Normally I’d offer to memorize your title in order to make sure you’re comfortable... But, I’d say this is far from normal circumstances for either of us.” In response to Angeal's brusque observations, Vayne does nothing but hum softly, aware that such formalities were wholly redundant in a situation where the phantoms of peril lurked over their shoulders. In another place, he would have required this soldier to prostrate himself in willful submission before his rightful superior; but the wilderness made them equals, for the time being. Even Vayne could not dispute this important fact, but it was not important for him to do so. Escaping this desert took priority.
The politician takes a moment to remove the hood of his burlap shawl, allowing the tepid winds to brush through his raven hair as it dangled freely over the right side of his face while fingertips combed out stray particles of sand and dust. He would require a long and calming bath after this. “I... may have some idea, as to where you are.” Caught in the middle of a downward stroke, Vayne gives Angeal his undivided attention. “Does the name Serentestra sound, in any way, familiar to you?” The swordsman's visage betrayed his sense of doubt.
“Serentestra...?” repeats the Archadian gentry, each syllable rolling from his tongue with its usual stately cadence. His inquiry helps Vayne to confirm his own suspicions, but Angeal's efforts to blunt its final impact does not go unnoticed. Even knowing the answer himself, he still wished to express consideration for Vayne's overall confusion. “I see,” He breaks eye contact with Angeal and lowers his hand to the floor, then gives him a look of calm understanding, explicitly letting him know that he had arrived at the bitter truth on his own. “This is not Ivalice, of that I am now certain.”
Like a vicious hydra, one question answered merely brought several more to replace it. Combined with the blustering desert winds and the smoldering heat of the afternoon sun that burrowed deep into their flesh, the pair of stranded travelers were unlikely to sort out this shared predicament while staying idle in their makeshift bunker; eventually, they would have to move on, storm or no storm.
Ha ha ha ha ha...
Vayne gasps softly, then shifts his attention to an opening in the structure that shielded them from the elements. But nothing enters his field of view, save the endless dunes and all the monotonous browns and yellows that accompanied it. Is someone else here? The former Emperor was certain he heard the sound of laughter drifting on the arid breeze, yet there was no face nor form to attach it to. Was it real, or merely a hallucination of the mind?
Ha ha ha ha ha...
Carefully, Vayne attempts to lift himself off the ground and leans the rest of his body against the wall, noticing that his physical strength was gradually returning to his muscles; however, this alone was cause for concern, for mere moments ago it felt as if all the energy in his body had been sapped away, forcibly robbed by some anomalous force. “Do you hear it?” asked Vayne, who studied the immediate surroundings for signs of disturbance. “A predator haunts our every move...”
Ha ha ha ha ha...
The laughter fades away as quickly as it happens, seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once. The golden sands churn and swirl all around the pair of men, heralding the arrival of something far more sinister than a mere granular tempest.
The way the man rolled the name Serentestra around in his mouth, considering it and feeling it out, it was clear it was a new name for him. Angeal knew that confusion, the knotting of the brows in trying to recall, is this something I once knew and have simply forgotten, or is it truly new?. He remembered feeling dazed and confused, surrounded by strange sights and sounds he’d never seen before, all the while wondering how in the world he could have been in one place, and then suddenly another.
Vayne seemed to be taking the news calmly, at the very least. His gaze detached from Angeal’s as the long haired Emperor made quick his revelations, and when their eyes met once more, there was an understanding, however strange and bitter it was.
“This is not Ivalice, of that I am now certain.”
The Soldier nodded, a reluctance in confirming such a terrible truth, but knowing well it would be best to rip off the proverbial band aid, as it were. He adjusted his tunic, keeping it clasped over his heavy uniform despite his ultimate desire to toss the thing and simply breathe for a moment. His gloved fingers let go of the map in his pocket, leaving it in place for now as he gave Vayne a sympathetic, small smile, “I can get us out of this desert, at the very least. But, other than that I--.”
A sound stopped Hewley in his verbal tracks. A soft laughter, delicately carried on the hot breeze. Vayne had heard it as well, his gaze searching out the source of the voice. Angeal frowned, turning his head as he heard the laughter drift along the sand once more.
Yet, there wasn’t anything in or around them. Outside of their meager shelter was nothing but hot sun and glowing sand, swirling about calmly on the winds that carried it. Nothing in the dunes shifted, not a cloud in the sky moved. The haunting sound continued, though, seeming to seep up from the very ground itself. Angeal stood quickly, grabbing the Buster Sword from its resting place on the wall and attaching it to the magnetic placeholder on his back -- though his hand never left the hilt.
“Do you hear it?” Vayne had lifted himself off of the ground, propped up against the nearby wall for support; impressive and much-needed, given the circumstances, “A predator haunts our every move...”
“I do,” Angeal answered as if on an order, his boots moving along the sand quickly to take a stance in front of the weakened Emperor while his eyes sought out the source of the noise. Though he couldn’t pinpoint the location, he knew something was coming. Perhaps it was the heightened senses Soldiers were blessed with, or it was nothing more than an animal instinct. The laughter echoed away on the sand and the stone walls, but in its wake came a stirring of the sand around the both of them.
Angeal kept his feet steady despite the uncertainty, ready to react on a hairpin trigger, “Show yourself.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
