Ronan stared at Yalis, the Rider's words echoing in his mind. Speechless for a moment, he finally stammered, "You seem to know Iskander's true nature! Does that make you a god like him?"
"I'm no god, young lad," Yalis replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I told you that already."
"Then what are you?" Ronan pressed.
"The universe is vast, filled with wonders beyond your comprehension," Yalis explained. "Even we Riders haven't grasped its full complexity. But one thing is certain – we are not gods."
Confusion clouded Ronan's features. "What?"
"I am a Rider," Yalis repeated, "or rather, I used to be. A LastBorn, to be precise."
"Rider?" Ronan scoffed. "A strange name for a god."
"Again, I am no god!" Yalis' voice rose in exasperation. "Perhaps you misunderstood that man."
"I understood perfectly!" Ronan countered. "He declared himself a god. He told us repeatedly."
"That's odd," Yalis murmured, stroking his beard. "He must be powerless, like me. Why wasn't he afraid of Erathos's people? Did he not fear accusations of heresy?"
"Killed?" Ronan's eyes widened. "What are you talking about? Iskander is immortal. He can't be killed."
Surprise flickered across Yalis' face. "Tell me more," he urged.
Ronan recounted everything, from their encounter in the tomb to his expulsion from Iskander's group. He spoke of Iskander's tales, of Cael and his enigmatic eyes, and of Iskander's belief in Cael as his savior.
Yalis listened intently, his expression unreadable. "Your tale is hard to believe, young lad," he finally said.
"Sometimes, I doubt my own sanity," Ronan admitted.
"I believe you, yet it seems inconceivable," Yalis mused. "Immortality is unheard of, even among us. The mere possibility would shatter our understanding of life. We Riders are long-lived, but we age and die, just like any other being."
"Are you saying Iskander lied?" Ronan's voice trembled with uncertainty.
"It's possible," Yalis conceded. "His knowledge of Exoklein, the Nexus, and StreamBreath suggests he may be a Rider, but with discrepancies in his descriptions. Perhaps he used a BlackStone, filled with StreamBreath, to deceive you with illusions. The question remains – why reveal the truth at all?"
Ronan grappled with the implications. He had considered Iskander's knowledge sacred, a secret shared only with a select few. The possibility that it was all a lie shattered his understanding of their journey and cast doubt on his purpose. He needed to hear more. "And the second possibility?"
"That he belongs to a kind of Rider we're unaware of," Yalis replied, "which I find highly improbable."
"Why? You said yourself, you don't know everything!"
"Riders know about Riders," Yalis stated firmly. "That is a fact."
"Then what are you, truly?" Ronan's confusion deepened.
"Let me simplify," Yalis offered. "The universe teems with sentient life, divided into two categories. Unawakened, like your kind, are unable to harness StreamBreath, use Runes, or access the Nexus. Riders, on the other hand, can do all that and more. We are powerful, the epitome of dominance."
"But that sounds like gods!" Ronan protested.
"Perhaps to you," Yalis acknowledged. "But we don't require worship. Those who seek it are the lowest among us. Our interaction with Unawakened is limited to extracting Obtains. Only Riders matter to Riders."
"So, is Iskander one of your kind?"
"Before I attained StreamState and became a Rider, I was briefly an Unawakened," Yalis revealed. "Living among you again has rekindled my respect for your kind. Being a Rider is not just about race; it's a state of being, one that can be achieved."
"You both speak of strange things," Ronan said nervously. "Is he or is he not one of you?"
"He seems like us, yet different. I cannot discern his true origin," Yalis admitted, a flicker of fear crossing his face.
"You're afraid of him?" Ronan noticed. "Why? You seem to be of the same kind."
"Why do people in your world kill each other, even though you are all one kind?" Yalis countered. "Unawakened kill and enslave those they deem different. We are no different. When faced with certain circumstances, we too must eliminate those who threaten our existence."
Ronan realized the truth in Yalis' words. Iskander and Yalis were similar, yet different. He understood that Iskander would kill Yalis without hesitation. The realization sent a shiver down his spine. What if Cael was unaware of what transpired? What if his friend was innocent? His entire quest for revenge would be for nothing.
Doubt gnawed at him. Was Yalis lying? Or was it his desperate hope that clung to the lie, fueling his determination? Why would Yalis lie? There was no benefit in it. His mind spun with conflicting thoughts.
"How did you come here?" he blurted out. "Are you stranded? Don't you want to leave like Iskander?"
"Due to my carelessness, I became stranded here almost a century ago," Yalis revealed. "The Nexus-Stream I strode through connected to this Null-Field, and with my BlackStone depleted, I was powerless to escape. I became an Unawakened again, just like you. I no longer have the right to call myself a Rider."
"A century ago?" Ronan exclaimed. "But you look no older than sixty!"
"I am much older," Yalis replied. "StreamBreath slows our aging. Without it, I age faster."
"That didn't happen to Iskander," Ronan pointed out.
"Everything you've said about him frightens me," Yalis confessed, his gaze drifting towards the endless expanse of sand. "But what troubles me most is the story about your friend and his eyes. An Unawakened absorbing that much StreamBreath without an Awakening or a Sigil is unheard of. And draining it from a Dragon? What does that man plan to do afterwards?"
"He wants to use Cael to leave our world," Ronan repeated.
"Yes, but after that," Yalis pressed. "If what you say is true, Sun-Serpent will notice his StreamBreath being drained. He will come for the one who stole it. What then?"
Ronan imagined the devastation if the Sun Lord descended upon their world. "We all die," he whispered, the weight of the realization settling upon him.
"Indeed," Yalis confirmed. "Erathos is doomed unless we kill your friend and stop that man from achieving his goal. Your quest for revenge may become the key to this world's survival."
Ronan was left to contemplate his conversation with the Rider, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and a newfound sense of responsibility. He realized that his actions could have far-reaching consequences, extending beyond his vendetta.
As the group continued their journey towards the Obsidian Spire, Ronan kept his knowledge of Yalis' true nature to himself, fearing it would sow panic among his companions. He watched Yalis closely, noting the Rider's uncharacteristic silence and contemplative demeanor.
When they finally reached the colossal Obsidian Spire, its smooth, reflective surface stretching as far as the eye could see, Ronan was awestruck.
"How can something like this exist?" Damia marveled, running her hands along its surface. "This was not built by human hands."
"How do we get in?" Ronan questioned, scanning the featureless expanse. "There are no doors or windows."
"It was not built," Yalis answered. "And it's not a dome. This is a VoidBubble, submerged beneath the sands. What you see is merely its tip. Its presence has haunted me ever since I exited it and entered Erathos."
"What nonsense are you spouting?" Malik scoffed. "Has the heat finally gotten to you?"
"I don't blame you for not understanding," Yalis said calmly.
"Just tell us how to get in!" Ronan demanded, his impatience growing.
Yalis approached the sphere and placed his hand upon its surface. "When I was inside, I discovered an exit point, created in a fascinating way. Luckily for us, it can also be used as an entry point by those who were once inside."
A small dot of light appeared beneath his hand, expanding into a swirling spiral until a round, luminous doorway materialized before them. The group stepped back, shielding their eyes from the intense white light.
"This is witchcraft!" Damia cried. "I knew it! You're a sorcerer!"
"Kill him before he kills us!" Adok shouted.
"No, stop!" Ronan intervened. "He's not what you think. Trust me."
"You expect us to trust him after what we just saw?" Malik retorted. "I don't trust sorcerers."
"Your trust is irrelevant," Yalis said calmly. "If you want to find your targets, you must enter this place. Otherwise, we are all doomed."
"They're still inside," Yalis revealed, silencing the group's protests. "If they had exited, we would all be dead by now. We can track them down once we're inside."
"How do you know all this?" Malik demanded.
"Because I came out of it," Yalis stated simply. "Only those who were once inside can open this door."
Ronan stepped forward, his resolve unwavering. He knew that entering the sphere was their only option, regardless of the risks. He reached out and touched the gateway, feeling a cool, liquid sensation against his skin. With a deep breath, he stepped into the light, vanishing into the swirling whiteness.
One by one, the others followed, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and determination. Yalis watched them go, his heart heavy with a secret he had yet to reveal. As he stepped through the gateway, the luminous door sealed shut behind him, leaving the vast desert silent and empty.
"Forgive me, Ronan, for I have lied," Yalis thought, his gaze fixed on the swirling white void. "I did not tell you about the decay within the sphere, the curse that eats away at the soul. I was lucky to escape with only the loss of my arm. We must stop that man at all costs, before the darkness consumes us all."