Sunny limped his way up the mountain.
His legs were burning from the strain. Those damned Heralds had pursued him for hours on end, and he had only managed to completely lose them a few minutes ago. Seeing no better option for hiding in the far too open valleys and rivers that seemed to populate the Tears, he had started climbing a mountain, the dense vegetation and trees covering it providing an invaluable amount of coverage.
He was currently regretting that decision. It felt like his legs were on fire—or, well, more like his entire being was on fire. He briefly wondered if a certain someone felt like this when using her Aspect, but he didn't dwell on the thought. He had neither the will nor the capacity for that.
Not when everything hurt as much as it did. He was sure that if he lay down even for a second, he wouldn't be able to get back up, which was why he kept ascending despite the overwhelming pain. Normally, he would be able to deal with it far better, but the Devil had done a number on his mind. The headache had not receded at all despite getting out of the creature's range, and he was currently pondering the merits of headbutting a tree just to see if it would alleviate it, no matter how little.
At least the cool rain was providing some measure of relief. It would get rid of some of the blood covering him too. He didn't know how much there was on him—he had stopped looking at himself months ago, the sight far too depressing—but if the crusty feeling he got from what little bare skin he was showing was a reliable indicator, he had to be positively drenched in it.
"I did want to bathe in their blood after all." A humourless snigger came out of him.
That Devil was dangerous. An attack that caused immense pain, as well as a mind hex that induced murderous rage while simultaneously making the target actively ignore that they were under it, was a match made in hell. If not for the Brood's poison—still coursing through him—he wouldn't have realized he had been hexed. At that point, everything would have relied on Saint being capable of saving him from the Heralds.
Speaking of the taciturn Knight, she was currently resting in his soul sea, slowly recovering from the damage received in the fight, which meant he wouldn't be able to call for her help for a few days. He already missed her; silent as she might be, there was something comforting in her steady presence. She was like a bulwark of safety in a world that only ever seemed to want to make him suffer.
He clenched his teeth so hard they almost cracked at the thought, then forced himself to relax—tensing like that only made everything hurt more. At least he was developing a resistance to the poison. He guessed there were some benefits to getting infected with it so damn often. It almost made the psychological trauma worth it.
Almost.
The arrival of the Creepy shadow distracted him from that line of thought, a simple shake of its head telling him that there was no shelter to be found in the direction he had sent it. There were quite a few paths ascending the mountain, and while he climbed the one that seemed to go toward the peak, he had sent his shadows to explore the others in hopes of finding a place where he could hide while recovering from his wounds. Soon after, the Happy and Haughty shadows arrived too, neither bringing better results.
"It's fine," he said to the Happy fellow, who looked disheartened at disappointing him. "It's not like a few wounds and some pain are enough to bring me down." He attempted to smile, but whatever expression came out must have been anything but that, considering how Happy looked even more depressed.
It got even worse when Creepy, in an attempt to cheer the saddened shadow, started doing a weird pantomime that he assumed was meant to replicate Happy's antics, who went from sad to outright scared. Even Haughty got in on it, making an impersonation of Gloomy that made it look constipated.
He felt laughter bubbling in his chest; he would have let it out if not for how much his chest ached. It turned out that having a hole in it was bad for one's health. Who could have thought?
"When I get out, I will—" His attempt to lighten the mood was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing, adding a burning throat to the list of things that were trying to kill him. It was getting harrowingly long.
He would have summoned the [Endless Spring] to soothe the ache, but his arms refused to budge from where they rested at his sides. They had suffered quite a bit during the fight, especially the right one, which had had a hook dragged through it, and any attempt at moving them was met with vicious refusal.
The pitter-patter of raindrops falling on his head—he had gotten so used to it that he barely noticed anymore—reminded him that there was a veritable waterfall of water constantly falling on him. So far, he hadn't drunk from the rain even once, not wanting to risk it when he had a convenient source of water just a thought away.
Well, that convenient source of water was not quite accessible in his current situation. And if there was something wrong with the rain, he would already have been affected after being under it for what he calculated to be two months.
Sunny slightly raised his head, mouth open, and promptly started drinking straight from the rain. With how much his throat was aching, the relief it brought made it taste divine; even some of his other wounds seemed to hurt less. He drank until he had his fill, and then some more—it tasted great, after all.
"Where was I? Ah, yes. If I get out of the Dream World, I will get myself the nicest house ever, with every commodity available. Forget about roughing it up in the wilds; I'm never going more than a few steps away from a nice and well-climatized place."
For once, all of his shadows seemed to like the idea—probably because Gloomy wasn't there; the bastard would disagree just to spite him—and silently cheered him.
Speaking of the devil, Gloomy finally came back too. His first shadow signed that he had found something of interest. Would it be unreasonable to expect that something to be a warm and dry mansion with some great sights? Probably, but he was enough of a fool to hope anyway.
When he silently asked how far it was, the shadow merely pointed to the peak of the mountain.
"Of course it's at the peak. And with my luck, there will be some antediluvian horror waiting there too." At his comment, Gloomy shook its hand in the sign that translated to High probability. The cheeky bastard. From whom had it learned such behaviour?
He blamed Effie.
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A very arduous and painful climb later, he reached the zenith of the mountain. It was blessedly flat, something his sore feet appreciated greatly after the bumpy climb. Following Gloomy's lead, he delved into a modest forest, the combined canopy of the trees providing some respite from the endless rain. He almost sighed in disappointment—he was already feeling thirsty again. Ignoring it for the moment, he kept going, eventually coming upon the mouth of a cave that seemed to descend.
He activated [Endbringer], which showcased an inert String of Life and no other strings in sight. It was quite hard to notice, but there was a small difference between living and non-living objects. It came down to movement: the strings of living beings were always in motion—though said motion was so slight as to be almost imperceptible—while the strings of non-living beings were completely still and inert.
He always made a point of checking whatever shelter he found before entering with both sights. He had already found a cave that had turned out to be a Fallen Devil mimicking one, and he wasn't going to enter anything with a roof without checking ever again. He had only survived because he was right by the exit when he realized, as well as the fact that the damn creature could not—or did not want to—leave its position.
Reassured by Gloomy's insistence, he entered, only to be attacked immediately—although calling it an attack was a generous way to put it. A small rodent jumped out from behind a rock and was currently trying to chew through his left calf.
Trying, because its small teeth couldn't even scratch the pants of the [Puppeteer's Shroud]. It was kind of sad, reminding him of the creature whose kill had awarded him the [Ordinary Rock]. His shadows were openly snickering, the bastards.
He raised one of his hands as much as was strictly necessary—it still hurt, a lot—and summoned the [Moonlight Shard], which punched through the rodent's head with almost insulting ease.
[You have slain a Dormant Beast, Rabid Devourer]
[Your Shadow grows stronger]
"You didn't warn me on purpose." Gloomy met his accusing stare with an innocent air; the bastard would probably start whistling if it could.
He glared at the shadow a little more and then sighed. He was too tired, and his headache was too intense to deal with this. Deciding to focus on more productive things, he advanced further into the cave, hoping that the end of it wasn't too far.
Twenty minutes later, he completed his descent to what he assumed to be the midpoint of the mountain. The narrow tunnel he had been following ended in a vast cavern. The sight he came upon was the last thing he expected.
It was a graveyard, rows upon rows of tombstones decorating the vast cavern. There were hundreds of them, if his quick mental math could be trusted, and at the far end, barely visible, there was a massive stone obelisk.
He started going through the graves, trying to glean some information from them. Sadly, there was none to be found, their surfaces completely bare and smooth.
He kept advancing anyway; he wasn't giving up until reaching the obelisk. It proved the correct choice—at the far end, behind the obelisk, he saw seven murals. Stopping at the obelisk first, he found rows of barely recognizable symbols, ones he had not learned about. Fortunately, the Spell was more than happy to translate.
Here lies the remains of the proud citizens of Aleras. May our dream of a world without suffering come true one day.
—Arden of Aleras, last hunter of the Viridian Order and, soon, bane of the gods.
Sunny silently summoned the bow and stared at it for a long moment, the vague carvings on it filling his heart once more with foreign sadness.
[Memory name: Bow of the Lone Hunter.
Memory description: After the fall of Aleras, the only survivors departed in search of a new place to call home. They traveled through great peril and nightmarish challenges, slowly but inevitably being consumed by corruption and endless waves of beasts until only one of them remained. The survivor, a lonely hunter who had always wished for the peace and quiet of solitude, despaired upon finally receiving it.
"Curse you, heavens! Curse you for taking our Lady of Sorrows away! Curse you for destroying our home! And curse you for making me the only one left to carry our dream!"
And so, the lone hunter made a vow: he would hunt down the very gods who had taken everything away from him. For that purpose, he crafted a bow whose only objective was to one day pierce the hearts of the gods and deliver justice for his destroyed home.
The lone hunter, as is to be expected, failed and was consumed by corruption too.]
Arden had been a Master—or, as they were called back then, an Ascended—and yet he had failed. He became corrupted and joined the ranks of the very monsters he had been fighting for so long.
Was that his fate too? To struggle fruitlessly? To be just a speck of dust against the enormity of the callous world he inhabited? To chase a dream—even one as pitifully small as his—endlessly, forever out of his reach? To lose what little remained of his sanity until madness or death claimed him?
Sunny shook his head violently to dispel the thoughts, the pain helping to steel his resolve. He had come too far to give up now.
Focusing back on the obelisk, he saw name after name listed, far too many to belong solely to the owners of the graves. Had Arden immortalized the names of those who fell along the way? Of those who died with the fall of Aleras, perhaps? Sadly, he would never know.
He summoned the [Prowling Thorn] and inscribed the hunter's name on the obelisk along with the others. That, at least, he could do. Then he offered the obelisk as much of a bow as his body could handle, hoping that the Alerans had found solace in whatever was next after death.
-------------------------------------------
Minutes later, having paid his respects, he advanced toward the murals, leaving the memorial and its tragic contents behind.
He started with the leftmost mural. It depicted a grand city, decorated with tall edifices painted in vivid colors, lush parks, and magnificent palaces that even gods could proudly claim as their own. Centermost, there was a congregation of people, kneeling in reverence before a woman beautiful beyond words, her expression full of kindness and compassion. Her arms were spread open, as if to embrace the world itself, welcoming everyone and everything equally. What little could be seen of the adorers expressions spoke of utmost joy from being in her proximity, as if her presence alone could alleviate all burdens.
The Lady of Sorrows, perhaps? He could see why they had adored her so much. As impossible as it seemed, he felt more at peace just by staring at her, like there was some sort of kinship between the beautiful woman and him.
The second mural depicted the grand city once more—or rather, what little remained of it. The tall edifices had toppled, the lush parks were burned to ashes, and the magnificent palaces were reduced to rubble. Again in the center was the same woman, her eyes full of sorrow as she stared at the corpses of what must have been her followers. A mountain of corpses could be seen behind her, all of them belonging to nightmare creatures. Her hands were still dripping red.
Did the Spell descend on Aleras? The defilement or corruption mentioned in some memories, perhaps? He sighed in annoyance; there was too little information to make an accurate hypothesis.
The third mural depicted Aleras rebuilt; the tall edifices had returned, the lush parks were once more vibrant and green, the magnificent palaces shining under the rays of the sun. And yet… the luster was gone. It was still beautiful, but one could tell it wasn't the same anymore. That it would never be. The Lady of Sorrows was the main focus again, her gaze still full of kindness and compassion, and yet he could swear there was something dark beneath, something desperate. Silvery tendrils came out of her, gently enveloping the people surrounding her in reverence, their adoration genuine despite whatever change had come upon her.
He felt a pang of sadness upon gazing at the Lady of Sorrows. Something had happened between the second and third mural. Something bad. How did he know? He wasn't sure—though he suspected it to be Fate's influence. He could practically hear its almost-whisper.
The fourth mural depicted a lone tower surrounded by a circle of nothingness, and in the distance there were fields of verdant grass, where humans could be seen kneeling on the ground, faces full of despair, shedding tears as they gazed upon what remained of their city.
This mural filled him with dread. What could have caused the fall of Aleras? It was like the city itself had been erased from existence, leaving nothing but a hole of nothingness and a solitary tower behind. He sighed in irritation. One day, when he was far stronger, he would search the city and find out whatever had happened.
The fifth mural depicted a long journey to the west under an incessant curtain of rain, filled with danger and tragedy as the few survivors of Aleras slowly found their demise. Leading them was a man covered in a white tunic, a silvery tiara perched proudly on his head as he walked onward without fear.
This was the first mural in which the rain was portrayed. Did it start after the fall of Aleras? Why? Could it be dispelled? He exhaled again; he had too many questions and too few answers.
The sixth mural depicted what looked like a temple, with a massive statue at each side. In front of the temple stood the survivors, faces full of despair, while the man with the tiara looked grimly at the closed doors, his fists clenched in fury. Painted on the mural, the heart of the man could be seen, showcasing what looked like darkness encroaching upon it.
There was something roughly written under the mural, but he decided to take a look at the seventh before approaching to read it.
The seventh and final mural was unfinished, depicting what he assumed to be the same mountain he was currently in. Of the survivors, not even a hundred remained, desperately carrying the remains of their loved ones. Among them, a young man with a bow could be seen, staring wrathfully upward. Whatever he was glaring at, he couldn't see, since that was where the mural ended.
So this was it: a whole civilization, countless lives and histories gone just like that, forgotten to everyone but him, nothing but a graveyard and a tower remaining as a monument to their past. He couldn't help but wonder if history would repeat itself, if humanity and the waking world would be swallowed whole by the tides of darkness just as the Forgotten Shores and Aleras had been.
Dark amusement filled his heart. It felt almost poetic. He was going to die alone and forgotten, so it was only right for everyone else to do so too.
Shaking away the ghastly thoughts, he approached the sixth mural, where the rough writing could be seen.
He promised! The accursed man promised that the temple of the Twin Gods would be our salvation! That it would transport us out of our dying world into another untouched by defilement!
And what did we find? Nothing! The doors didn't budge no matter how hard we tried! And when we asked? The thrice-damned Seer just said that we were too soon. Too soon for what? Who cares if we were too soon!? We were dying THEN!
And then, as if he hadn't committed enough affronts, the bastard succumbed to corruption and became a monster like the ones that besieged our beloved city. We gave him our full trust; countless sacrificed themselves on the way to the temple, and this is how he repaid us? By becoming the very bane that we were running from?
As I lay here dying, I write this with the sole hope that someone will find my words, so that the name 'Valderak of Aleras' and his vile brood will forever be remembered with shame and dishonor. May he never find peace within the embrace of our Lady; may the Shadow God never welcome him into his realm; and may respite forever be denied to him.
Sunny froze, mind grinding to a halt.
The way the writer had described the temple of the Twin Gods sounded like… sounded like a Gateway. Was it possible? Could it be Fate smiling on him for once?
Had he found a clue at last? Did he finally have a direction after more than half a year wandering aimlessly?
He felt hope blossoming in his heart, a creeping dread following right after.
What if it wasn't real?
What if the Gateway had disappeared or been destroyed?
What if he couldn't find it?
What if he was too soon too?
What if…
What if…
What if…
He kept spiraling further, his mind going through countless scenarios in the blink of an eye. None of them with a happy conclusion.
In the end, it was his headache that saved him; his poor brain wasn't in a state that allowed for too much thinking. Sunny took a steadying breath, the pain in his chest helping to ground him.
He had a clue—no matter how feeble—and he would follow it. Whether he would find salvation at the end or not did not matter.
At least he had a goal. Anything, even a hope as feeble as this one, was better than wasting away while awaiting his inevitable demise. A grim smile came upon his face, full of desperate determination.
He had a way out. Now, it was only a matter of finding it.