Astel woke up as the outside light softly caressed his eyes.
His body was tired and hurt all over.
Days had passed, but he hadn't shown any signs of recovering, and the second return point was only getting closer. He had no time to waste.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he complained inwardly at the pain and entered a state of meditation. Removing all external noise, he focused his attention inward, scanning every inch of his body, looking for something.
When he first woke up, he had used Lyra's circulation technique to help his battered body and noticed that some of his smaller wounds started healing a little bit faster. That led him to think back on how he had enhanced his senses to find the sand worm during the storm.
He knew that there were nine fragments that governed specific parts of one's existence, and he also knew that two of those fragments, when conquered, could help him recover. But there was a problem: he didn't have access to his mind palace—and without it, he had no idea how to conquer new fragments.
This problem, in theory, could be solved by channeling energy directly into the fragments. But again, there were issues. Each fragment had an anchor point within the body, whether physical or metaphysical, and he simply did not know where they were—apart from the one he had already found. The sense fragment. Its anchor point was located near his glabella.
But that wasn't the only problem.
Just as he mulled over the challenges ahead, the voice in his head rose to speak.
"Don't tell me you're doing it again. You know that you'll be killing yourself—and by proxy, me—if you succeed, right?"
Astel stayed quiet, focused on his self-imposed task.
The voice, however, continued.
"I mean it, brat. Don't look for those anchor points. It might help you right now, but what does it matter if you die soon after?"
Its tone grew louder, sharper, angrier—which caused Astel to lose focus.
'Would you stop? I don't care what you have to say. I need to do this… Those people need me.'
He paused, taking a deep breath and attempting to return to his meditation.
'Not like you'd know anything about that.'
The voice only laughed.
Astel continued his search for either the body or life fragments. His exploration began at the top of his head and moved methodically downward. He suspected the anchor points might be near the heart—logically—but he couldn't rule out other options.
Days blended together, even more so than usual. Astel had completely lost track of time. He guided his energy, which flowed like blood, following the veins from his neck down.
He could feel each individual part of his inner self—every blood vessel, every nerve strand. Often, the sheer amount of sensory information overwhelmed him, slowing his progress and forcing him to sleep more often.
Whenever he woke, he resumed his training—interrupted only by the occasional visit from Sev, who brought him food and water.
One day, Astel was shaken awake by a warm hand on his shoulder.
Frustrated, he opened his eyes and turned his head—only to see Sev, who wore a difficult expression.
Seeing that face, Astel calmed his anger and asked, "Hey, Sev... did... did something happen?"
Sev closed his eyes, his hand still resting on Astel's shoulder, and whispered softly,
"We were attacked. A few of them didn't make it. You have to recover soon... They need you."
Astel grit his teeth and formed a fist with one hand, his gaze pointed down.
"I'm... sorry," he said after a long pause.
Sev opened his eyes and looked directly at him. Astel turned to meet his gaze.
"No… It's not your fault," Sev said. "I just wish you'd recover already."
Astel let out a deep breath as his head sunk.
"I'm trying my best."
Noticing this, Sev stood up and turned around. A wide, almost sinister grin formed on his face—unseen by Astel.
"I brought you some food," he said, walking to the small table. He picked up a plate and returned to Astel.
The smell immediately made Astel salivate. The plate was stacked with smoked meats, each exuding a heavenly aroma.
Astel turned to Sev, who only nodded before handing him a cup filled to the brim with cool water.
The cold liquid washed away the heat of the desert. The flavorful meat filled his empty stomach. Satisfied, Astel had only one thing on his mind: the search.
Without even acknowledging Sev's presence, he entered meditation once again.
Sev, meanwhile, watched him with a slight smile on his face.
He waited for a few moments before leaning toward the young boy, placing two fingers on his forehead, and closing his eyes.
He stayed like that for a few long moments before falling back into the chair, out of breath.
Then, he took out a small notebook and quill. He stabbed his finger and used the blood to write something inside it.
Sev let out a deep breath as he closed the notebook and stood up. He pushed the chair back under the table and quietly exited the room.
Once outside, he climbed to the roof of the carriage, scanning the surrounding area.
His gaze landed on a distant shift in the sand.
"Tsk, it's close," he muttered under his breath.
Turning to look down at the walking Lost Souls, he raised his voice, "We'll make camp here for now. Rest up well—you'll need the extra energy."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire caravan stopped. The Lost Souls moved like a well-oiled machine.
The view never got old.
Each person clad in white, bleached robes performed their assigned task. Soon, multiple tents stood erected atop the prismarine sand.
Sev simply sat down, feet hanging off the edge of the carriage, humming a soft melody.
Light started gathering around his hand. Particles formed into a long shape with a circular base. As it materialized, Sev positioned his hands as one would when playing a guitar.
The notion took full form: a dark wooden acoustic guitar, elegant and aged. It suited Sev's style perfectly.
His fingers slid across the strings, playing a comforting melody to which he continued humming. His body swayed gently, head nodding, eyes closed.
After a proper rest, the caravan began moving again. The area where they had camped was already buried—no trace left behind.
The mountains looked so close, it seemed as if one could simply walk there—as if it only took the smallest effort to finally escape the desert.
Sev stared at the tall peaks in silence, arms crossed.
Then slowly, he looked away from the horizon and shouted,
"Everyone, turn around!"
As if spellbound, the moment the words left his mouth, every single person turned around in unison. Even the large animals pulling the caravan obeyed, shifting direction.
Their surroundings were calm. No wind. No storm. No sudden attacks. The caravan simply turned and moved away from their destination.
Despite the peaceful quiet, a strange, chilling feeling crept up Sev's spine.
The sound of cracking began to echo.
The further they walked, the louder it became—until it happened.
Sev stopped. He turned, eyes locked on the mountains behind them.
A giant wall, like glass, shattered into pieces—each shard falling into the endless desert. The mountains vanished with it.
The sight was as stunning as it was terrifying. Sev shivered.
'I'll never get used to this.'
He watched the glass disappear into the horizon... then noticed something.
His gaze snapped toward a shifting patch of sand. He stared at it intently.
His gaze alone felt like a threat.
As if in response, the sand settled. The motion stopped.
Sev's mood soured.
He turned to look forward—toward the path ahead.
A wall of sand had already formed. Unlike before, this one didn't move.
It appeared more like a barrier—a threshold they needed to cross to get one step closer to reaching their destination.