V Mausoleum of Death

[Gildarts]

No. Not again.

Colors merged together and soul stretched from body, twizzling like taffy. Same yet different. Muscles didn’t respond to their beckon, fingertips that weren’t real twirled in the air like magic. There was a distant cackle. The ebb of fate, or so it sounded. A long string of rolling liquid poured from a bucket above, his amber eyes lurched up, quivering and making the image above him wobble within his own paralysis.

Him, a mere supine body. Beneath a cascade of liquid life, magic, and power.

“Wonder?” the voice said, “Calling. Fun. To. Do. Againnnnn.”

Its tone was thick, yet final with every word.

“Your body, suuuusssssstains...” the mage heard a sick smile seep into its whispering voice.

The pale fingers that held the slothy liquid were coiled around the tilted silver bucket, the stream loomed close to his forehead in a gentle cascade before drooling over, connecting to his skin. Enveloping the auburn hair, the lilac-tinted ooze washed over his eyelashes, as though it were sentient, the goo drew itself in his nose and through the lines of his lips. Slowly, the liquid came to completely envelop him. Veiling his face before submerging his being.

“Gildarts. Mercenary. Say goodbye. Ha-”

Unfinished sound.

Stagnant silence. Soundless, stone-cold, grimey, ground below. Gravity lurched in his stomach and he was haunted awake by the empty feeling of rot in his gut. Nausea unanswered by the conclusive swash of bile met his throat as he lifted his torso up and tossed in his stomach in a medley of laughter bubbling and pain. His bloodshot eyes traced the muscles that responded with soggy fatigue. The substance, goopy and petal-colored was still slick upon him, some splashed off as he flicked it and he saw the silver gleam of his hollow arm. Lost in battle, he was a mercenary after-all. Or was he?

His eyes traced the dim light of gray twilight and the crunchy pebbles that composed the earth beneath him. A dull ache in his swarming mind grounded all that felt, his tornado of motion anchored by pain. The voice. It rang with finality. His mind, spellbound, dare not question it. His neck twisted around analyzing the space he awoke. Dismal, empty terrain, almost like out of a novel.

Perfect for what it was. Straight desert. It felt far from any notion of a crossroads for his destiny.

Time was a motion, still as the sand around him. He was trapped within a drained hourglass, waiting for the twist. He spat out a gulp of purple ink and wondered what type of reaper of life he had just escaped. Surely, he would not be chased by this being forever. Faceless, nameless, sexless, hooded. All sense of the creature was encumbered by the fog of mystery and ignorance.

With no context of meaning for his event, nor even able to recall where he had last been, he was faced with a more realistic approach of what needed to be done. He was currently stranded. And frazzled and chilled by the soul-bending creep.

Shaken nerves lead to rash choices and fear left unresolved. He pushed this notion from his thoughts and with each stride forward, he created a trail of footprints behind him. Alas, sand speckled his skin and the sun began to subside.

Dust dribbled in the wind, chasing tails of devils crawling over the dunes. Steps padded through the sand, leaving a path of little dents leading up to Gildarts, who was glancing around from either direction and making geographic adjustments to escape the maze of desert. His step paused, however, when he noticed the hooded figure with fabric over it’s face, another cut of fabric slit cut for its eyes. It was coming for him.

Gildarts could tell this was not the shadowed, soul-bending figure he’d previously encountered. The fabric donned person continued close. Several feet away, the faded figure came to a halt. “Greetings, do you speak this tongue?”

“Eh?” Gildarts muttered, confused before comprehending, “Yes.”

“Excellent, hello there,” the voice was boisterous and had a deep tone, “I noticed you on my way and was wondering if you wanted any assistance. I am a man of many talents and might offer some service of transport to you for something in exchange. Now, what may I ask is wrong with your leg? Oh, and what is your name? I am known by many names, but most people call me Gin.”

The battlemage had to consider the ‘name’ he went by. It was covered in fog, and far away in his mind. “Gildarts, and actually this is good news, where am I? I’m not, uh, concussed... I’ve actually just unexpectedly traveled.” Gildarts wondered if that was enough of an explanation while staying on guard from the masked creature, “And what’s wrong with my leg is that it isn’t there anymore, but worry not, I walk and battle juuuust fine. So you’ve got a faster way to travel, Gin? Does it involve me tossing up what’s left of my stomach?”

“Ha! Quite funny, you are. And well, you happen to be located in what is known to most as Mesa Roja, the desert is a bastard of a place, barren, but if you say you were surprised to be here then I can’t really ask where you were hoping to be going. How long have you been traveling for?” Gin asked calmly, the wind flickering the cloth masking his skin from both sand and sun.

“Traveling for my whole life, but here, I’m not sure how time works and the sun has hung in the air far too long today, so I will tell you what I’ve seen on my scenic hike. A tiny wisp of water at the base of a great crevice helped me get my bearings so I was sure I wasn’t going in circles. I saw and battled a few strange beasts and then I met a mysterious man who may have been a hallucination. Something’s been very wrong with this travel since I’ve arrived. I believe this place to be haunted.” Gildarts surmised.

“Haunted? You’ve seen things?” Gin’s voice shot up with unmasked excitement, “Tell me more, what were they?”

“Spirits are my best guest, their faces and pigment collected in sand before drifting away as soon as they came.” the mage explained.

“Where were they leading you?” Gin asked.

“Not anywhere? They weren’t saying anything to me yet their eyes were very expressive despite being fragmented. They were in despair, like they were trapped.” Gildarts remembered back, distant memories flickering with their marble-esque features.

“Hm, I think I know where our destination will be first then. Gildarts, I do believe you’ve stumbled on an ancient discovery, something huge. Known for generations in my culture, which- Ha! Is saying a lot.” he laughed as if his words held an inside joke.

“So I guess the question is… Do you care for a little adventure?”

Phrased so simply, Gildarts couldn’t shake the smile from turning up his lip. So badly did he want to wash his haunted, senseless old memories and get out of this steady baked oven of sand. Excitement electrocuted his veins and made his senses tingle, together they’d get to the bottom of this mystery, or this guy was trying to trick him with some sort of trap. Either way, Gildarts felt eager to draw something’s blood.

It was a thirst he had not felt for a long time.

 

[Gildarts]

“So, do you have any food?” The mage asked as he stood aboard a very large turtle creature. The shell was flat, spanned at least ten feet, and he felt like he was in a room with no walls. The two were moving slowly and this Gin fellow had been mumbling on about the “Dirata’s” speed and travel habits for some time.

Dirata the turtle kept its steady pace as Gin handed him a cloth pouch and Gildarts pulled the strings around its mouth. It seemed empty but before making those assumptions the mage stuck his hand in the enclosed space and felt something and pulled it out.

“It reads your mind and makes you food from your past.” Gin said.

“So you’re a mage who makes trinkets, then?” Gildarts surmised and took a bite of freshly buttered bread.

The cloaked being spoke, “I’m a crafter who makes many things and records history. But yes, I dabble in magic. And it seems yours is a beacon. Very dangerous without a cloak for that. Maybe my wares can aid you in your new home.”

“I have no home. But thank you. And yes I’d be interested in some of these upgrades if you would be willing to provide. Tell me more.” he said confidently.

“Hmm. Well I’ve many things depending on your trade?”

“Mercenary, magic user, and traveler.” Gildarts declared his life as he knew it, in so few words.

“Are you greedy, nomadic Gildarts? What do you do with people who do not pay you for the work you provide?” Gin inquired.

“Are you asking for a friend?” the mage smirked.

“No, I want to know what type of man you are. So I know I’m not giving gifts to a cold-blooded killer.” Gin stated, though the mage couldn’t see the figure’s eyes, he felt a sharpness shoot over at him.

“I have killed few in my travels.” Gildarts said, yet he did not know how he knew. His past lay dormant, still an undefined blur.

“Ah, good then. I like heroes, you know. Anyway, for your… Build, I see you’re a physical man who uses magic perhaps lastly. You also have a few things up your sleeve, things you’re afraid of. That’s cool. No one likes to be punched to death let alone release a little too much magic when they’re trying to save a little girl’s life. Anyway…” Gin was an odd one, his words branched around his points in little stories.

“These things are now yours. Use them wisely.” A small pouch much like the food one was offered. Gin’s intensity through his fabric mask was tangible in the air as Gil took it. He was going to look inside but the turtle lurched to a stop.

“What the Olick?” The masked man exclaimed and walked to the edge of the turtle’s textured shell. “Hm, seems we are here. Oh, Gildarts I need to mention because you can see the sand-beings you will need to stay aware enough to watch where we are going. I do not see them. We venture now to the land of Oris, many do not tread near it. One reason is that it is on the furthest point of the desert; the other is that they will see something hauntingly different than you and I will.”

“Hauntingly?”

“There is a spell placed on it for people who don’t use magic. Among other things...”

“So, ghosts?” Gil asked.

“Yes. Ghosts, among other things, like I said.” Gin added. “Anyway, so what you’ll be looking for specifically is the frequency of the sand beings as you call them. That will lead us to the entrance of the lost temple. It remains undiscovered for centuries but there’s a curse upon the land, thus the ghosts and illusions we will be encountering.”

“Hm.” Gildarts said, his confidence steel. “So why do you not see them?”

“I am not explicitly a mage, I simply dabble in magical infusion… Of sorts.” He stated and then pulled up the sleeve of his arm. Gildarts blinked and felt the breath in his throat get caught as he saw it. “So you see. I’m more or less immortal. In a sense.”

“You’re extremely strange. You make me question whether or not I should continue this quest. But I’m a man of my word, so worry not.” Gil gestured lightly. “I don’t see anything here, why did the turtle creature stop?”

“This is as far as even he goes. He is an ancient being and my people have a pact with him.” Gin waved his hand and the grooves in the turtle’s shell lit up with white light. “But he doesn’t travel beyond the limits of Ayarva. He will stay here and wait for us to return once I have mapped it.”

The shimmering of different gems shown in his gloves, somehow, those shiny rocks were going to map their terrain, though Gildarts did not know the greater context of what the stranger had meant by everything they would see, and where they would go. He asked, “So we will do the rest on foot then?”

“Uhhh unfortunately yes. Listen, so when you see the indicators -that means ghost people- you will go toward them and I will simply follow. They will not be able to harm you as illusions cannot. Then, as we get closer to the temple, they will dissipate into a different evil. You will know what I mean when I see it. This is all according to the lore of my people and our traditions. There’s high historical significance in our culture for this place, you know. It is not gold that fuels us, but artifacts. Thus the value in my gifts to you, if you like.” Gin explained.

Gildarts nodded slowly and jumped off the turtle, his feet landing square in the sand, despite the sifting watery way the coarse mush tended to be. Gin followed though, the turtle took its time to bow, letting the immortal off gently.

“What would you do with a million gold, Gildarts the Mage?” Gin asked as he motioned for them to walk forward… Towards more sandy nothing.

“That’s a bit out of the blue,” Gil replied tilting his head in contemplation. “I’m not the type to sit put and get a house and wife, or invest in jewels. But there are things I do fancy, such as a loooong vacation from all of this. Any suggestions in your land?”

“Land? Gildarts, this world is not the only one of its kind you know, there are many lands of different nature here… Erde Nona and Opealon if you want relaxation should be your top picks. Go there next. Very pretty atmosphere. Hm.”

“Sounds nice…” Gildarts said curiously and his eyes picked up on something. A flicker in the corner of his eye, he turned his head. Had to have been nothing, right?

A foot away from his next step there was a figure manifesting, drawing up a sandy mound. As though someone was churning the sand and forming a person, one that was moving and due to a slight moving of their diaphragm somehow breathing despite their body of the beige grain. Gildarts had stopped in his tracks and was narrowing his eyes. The woman was young, beautiful, and had long hair almost sleek in the glimmer of sand. Her expression was agonized, her eyebrows caught in a forever pain and her eyes had blinked shut. Her expression contorted and her lips let out a soundless cry for help. Then the figure was whisked away, falling into the sand it was formed from.

Gin was merely eagerly watching as Gildarts turned round to him, “I feel like they are warning me, not leading me.” He stated, his voice gruff and threatening. Angry, even. To see spirits like this. Their emotions, eerily displayed, impacted the mage.

“Perhaps so, they don’t want you to suffer their fate. However that is not going to happen, as I see there is a special sort of spell on you, warrior mage.” Gin stated, reinstating that Gildarts had what it took to make it, wherever they were going. “Do you not want to go? We have come this far.”

“I feel like bait, almost.” Gildarts stated, still scalding. No real reason, to his assumption. Yet he knew somehow it was true. The sand beings were way too real. She had defining features. That woman had a name, a story, only to be lost to the desert’s memories in pieces of sand. It was no legacy for her, no way for her suffering to end. “But I consent to continue. There was only one battle I had to flee from when I was younger. Dragon of Death. Many called that creature accursed too.”

“Hm, sounds like a very thrilling tale.” Gin said, almost dismissively. Tweaking Gildarts’ interest and spiralling morale for this mission even more.

Gildarts looked at the sand on the ground. Still sparkling in the setting sun. Time really did move slowly, he hoped the night would not seem as eternal as this day had been. Twilight crept in the sky and washed it with watercolor, light and pastel mixed before allowing the glitter of stars to fade in the navy of night.

The stars were different than those of home, that was expected. Yet they were also different from… That other place. He had been a denizen there once too. That world had many places, but the islands were the best. Except for… That island. What was that man’s name again? He had been such a pain in the neck. Great hair though.

Soon the ghostly figures became statues instead of animated ghosts, leading by frozen frequency and scattered about their straight path forward. These statues were unmoving and Gildarts was sure that Gin was able to see these too. A graveyard of sand statues, somehow bits of life were probably preserved in them. Gildarts had not resisted his temptation to touch one and it had disintegrated immediately. Changing the balance of the figure’s composition, a gust released from it as it fell in a cascade of destruction.

The figures felt like a preservation of pain trapped in a single moment. His touch. Art and life were destroyed in one motion. He would never know this once-living person’s name. They would be forgotten, yet their pain was now put to rest, for it would be forgotten too.

 

[Gildarts]

Gil glanced over to Gin, “We’re getting closer,” he’d said a while back.

“We are here.” Gildarts stopped and announced.

“I see nothing, Gildarts?” Gin expressed his curiosity.

“It seems to be underground.”

“And you know this… How?” Gin asked.

“That is what happens when people lay dormant in the desert, the sand blows over them and they’re forgotten like their figures rising above. Trying to escape as their spirits are trapped in death. Reaching up not out. It is very sad. I believe magic or if we find a totem, the land will be awoken.” Gildarts explained his feelings and Gin was left numb with confoundment.

“Well that is not what the legend says, but there is a reason that you see them and I do not.” Gin nodded, “I will cast some runes and see if I can pinpoint the location of…” Gin’s voice wavered in concern before drifting into silence.

Before them was a small pool of blood in what Gildarts could only compare to a birdbath. There was a tombstone looking thing with some carved scrawlings. He had no idea what was scrawled on it.

Gin announced. “It says drink in the language of my people. I believe it has to be someone of my species who does it.”

Gildarts nodded, he wouldn’t have touched it anyway. “It smells evil.” Gildarts said, though evil didn’t exactly have a smell.

“I know.” Gin agreed. “I must do it anyway. There is a binding promise, of some sort. And Gildarts, these ghosts are probably for my people to put to rest. The history I have been talking about is not all good. Not with this place. It is saddening what one bad man in power can do.”

The immortal creature pulled out a vial and dipped it. Filling it up with the living, pulsing crimson liquid. Slipping the vial underneath his mask, Gin gulped and then his whole body shook, seizing. No sounds were made other than that of the sand he’d fallen back on. His clothed arm reached up and then with the sound of a crystalizing frost and was suspended, immobile in the air above him. He remained frozen, one arm extended up, the other permanently grasping at his neck.

Gildarts fell to a squat and crouched over his companion. “Can you hear me, Gin? Please don’t become possessed. I’ve had that happen before and it is just a bad time.” He wanted to pull up the mask, but was almost afraid to see what his face looked like, since his arm was… The way Gin had shown him. Luckily, something more urgent called him from his position over his frozen friend.

Screams.

Like the dead gasping for life and light. Tickling his ear and then sending chills down his neck. The ground was ripping open the sand resting above it. Forging forward with the mountainous peak of the pyramid. The daunted Gildarts watched it rise as the earth shook.

Black, hungry claws surrounded the ground, his feet had to wiggle, jump, and spring to stay free. He rushed away from the unearthed pyramid at first and then, stilling the moment of rushed fear and adrenaline was a voice. He was in pain, terrified, “Please, I’m trapped inside and I’ve been in here my entire life. Come save me! PLEASE. Their hands won’t pull you down on the pyramid’s stone! It is your escape. PLEASE. You are the only one. PLEASE!”

The urgency. The pain. His own turmoil of feet dodging blackened claw. Or perhaps it was the age of the boy’s voice that called to Gildarts the most. Immediately, the mage dug his feet in and launched himself across the sand in four quick strides, gliding just above the black skeletal hands that wanted to drag him down faster than quicksand.

An exhale of relief escaped his lips when he’d reached the stairs. The claws seemed to have their limit past their elbows. They were black skeletons, as though an army of cursed bodies lay just beneath the ground they’d walked on. They had left Gin untouched across the sandy courtyard. He was still next to the stone karn he had sipped from. Still unmoving.

For a moment, he regarded Gin, worrying. Could it have been poison? He’d seen what was beneath Gin’s disguise and the creature had stated he was immortal. Unaging. Un-being. If it was a spell or curse, Gildarts likely couldn’t do much for him. Instead, it sounded like the kid trapped in the pyramid was in immediate danger. The auburn-haired warrior turned from the night-kissed desert, and from his cursed companion; as his gaze moved up at the torch-lit pyramid, covered in grandeur and golden light. The mountainous building’s point stopped just before the stars.

The pyramid had an entrance outlined in fine colored rugs, either side had twin pillars with etched designs and colored rubies. The doors were stone. Gildarts let his temper release when the doors did not open, he let his magic break them down, collecting a punch with one fierce fist.

He walked over their cubed remnants with a defiant strut and flames grew from the sides of the walls at his arrival. Their amber glow spread from one side of the room to another, much like one fluent torch, lighting his path: Straight down.

 

[Gildarts]

“Kid, are you in here?” Gildarts called out, seeking. He heard his own voice’s echo.

“I am. Do not be startled, I am able to speak inside your mind.” The voice rattled inside his head, no echo from the cavernous walls.

“Why are you unable to show yourself.” Gildarts questioned, trying to be subtle about his suspicions to the child.

“Trapped means I can’t get out from where I am, okay? I’ve been here centuries by my count and I just want freedom. My body doesn’t age, I’ve been here forever. It is a fate worse than death… I would give anything to just get out of this place. This ground has made it so I can never age, so nothing I do can end my fate within these walls.” Gildarts frowned. It was pretty convincing, his tone, his waverings, were that of a prisoner’s pain. The curse of this little ageless kid, for he knew his immortal fate.

“How old are you?” Gildarts asked, “And where are you located? How do these cursed grounds make you untouched by age?”

“I’ve been unaged since I’ve stepped foot here. Eleven years old, though time has made me weary and I would consider myself an old hermit if I had no other memories and experiences than this place. I am on the bottom level. You are a mage are you not? I must warn you of the illusions, sir. They’re deadly. They will grip you. I don’t want you to go through, but I need anything other than this place to fill my mind. Save me. I beg of you. My life is in your hands.”

“Right. Uh, can tell me what happened to ol’ Gin up there?” Gil asked.

“Who? I can’t warn you of the traps if that is what you mean. I was imprisoned before they were deployed.” the kid explained.

Gildarts sighed. He wanted to tear the walls down. He wanted to rip the shreds of the pyramid and leave a mountain of rock in his wake, but that would likely kill the child who Gildarts was only a little bit sure was actually real. A child’s life was worth the risk.

The mage followed the path and continued on for some time. The deeper he went the cooler his skin got and the more thin the air became. Finally, he got to a door that opened into a wide room. He was entirely underground and had to be careful with his magic which would likely cause a bit of earthquake so Gildarts simply pushed it open.

The room was vast and tall, he stood at the entrance, a ledge that dipped into a pool of what Gin had sipped. Evil blood. He felt the darkness brewing. The tinted hue of black mingling with crimson. Little stone islands just big enough for two of his feet traced around the room and lead across to the door on the opposite side. Like a frog he was likely expected to jump from the stone lilypads to reach the other side.

The water swirled in certain areas and waves rippled, spinning around where he stood, as though thirsting with each bloody wave meeting the ledge.

“How delicate.” The mage was a bit dismayed. He wanted to drop something in the liquid, see if it moved. See if any motion would activate something that would cause it to rupture all balance and eat him alive. Gin was frozen, likely dead in his own immortal way, from one sip. A touch would not simply burn his skin, but could poison him in a way he could not imagine.

The path seemed pretty straightforward, or maybe some of these steps were illusions. It all seemed too picturesque in a horrific way. He shot a bit of magic at the crimson stained water, which merely spread apart the pool and disturbed its balance. But in response, the pool’s surface rippled from a deep rumbling growl that shook the entire room.

“You live, don’t you, creature?” Gildarts called out. Sickened. “I will not fall for your tricks, as I have encountered things that are like you before. But not like this, not as dark a tragedy as what’s become of you.”

Gildarts paused. Tracing his feelings, sensing the magic and its source. He pressed his eyes shut, focusing on the repulsing pain that dwelled in the heart of this room.

“Do you not speak? Perhaps it is an ancient tongue. But I know your story, I sense-no, I feel- your history. You did not choose this life. Yet all you crave is to consume. Pushed by your past that has made you at your present, a devil. I will not give you that hedonistic desire, for you are more than that. I know it. You were once many people, light and beautiful souls. Yet, somehow, their lives -your lives- were magically drained, cursed to live forever here. Every piece of you used in the creation of this hellish place. Your hands and arms are out there. Nicely decorating their yard,” Gildarts spat feeling his anger rise, “Blackened by the curse of death. Yet your blood, once within each live human’s veins, now runs together, your deathly tragedy became a monstrosity preserved for whoever did this to you! They’ve made you renounce your humanity. Doesn’t that sicken you?”

The mage paused, calmly breathing while catching his anger and reeling it back. He reflected. “That is not who you were. The pain on those sad faces. I am here to save you, not the boy, aren’t I? Is he even real? I understand now. You will not eat me, nor consume me. This is no illusion. This is all plenty real. I have passed this test. Show me the floor. Now.”

His command was met with silence, but something about the disposition of the water changed.

“This is why you needed a mage, temple, and kid.” Gildarts reflected as the levels of blood filling the pool decreased. “Who would do this to you? How many… Were massacred to create this cursed place of death?” Gildarts sighed, nothing responded, but the ebb of cursed blood continued to recede into the cracks of the walls. Likely, they would meet him again.

The bottom of the pool was plain stone and the true path was revealed, now below his ledge, where once thick rouge water had made the ground unseeable, there were stairs. Dismally, the mage continued to his morbid path, unable to forget what it once held. He felt more and more sick with every step, the idea of this place being a mausoleum of death, commemorating terror and injustice, torture and death. He could not fathom but the feelings… Boiled with a blend of heavy pain and sorrow beneath his steady composure.

He reached the doors and they opened before he could reach out. Flames continued to wisp across the path he was to follow. This time, stone stairs winding down in circles emerged.

Gildarts, feeling like a pawn, continued the medieval path.

 

[Gildarts]

Claustrophobia crawled in his joints, he felt a taste of deja vu answering why he felt this unease. Nightmares in the back of his mind were brought to light by the stony setting, he imagined destructive implosion, but not of this building, but of an entire city. He had the notion it was his fault. His magic. The image was gone as soon as it bloomed in his mind. Distant now, he sought to quantify the power inside him, surely it was not capable of that sort of mass destruction. Yet his memories were far from this place. The place of illusion, both murky and deceitful.

His eyes traced the edges of this seemingly endless tunnel of spiralling stairs delving straight into the depths of this tomb. The stone was traced with runes made with bonds of sacrifice. Gildarts felt his instincts crawl, many people thought magic was normal, made by only the people who cast it. That there was only a single type of magic. Dark magic like this was arguably the most powerful and the most tragic. Many lives had been lost. Gildarts could only speculate what happens to their souls.

The stairs just kept going. Mournfully he persevered. “Yo kid, are you still out there?”

“Who said that?” Something called back.

Gildarts felt his eyes widen as he swiftly stopped mid step. The voice had been directly behind him. His neck prickled and he clenched his palm. The mage’s head swiveled round to see a creature not standing on the stairs, but crawling vertically on the stone laden wall beside it.

Unflinchingly Gildarts’ body followed his motion. His gruff voice didn’t bow to his sense of surprise. “Who are you, and how long have you been there?”

“Me?” The creature spoke as it glanced over its shoulders and Gildarts raised his torch. The light revealed a charred skeleton with luminous eye sockets. It was crawling on all fours like an animal, using its fingertips as claws to grip the edges of stone brick. The mannerisms of this living black skeleton were very human, which was haunting to see on a creature stripped of flesh and life. “I uh, don’t remember my name. Sorry. And I’ve been here since you entered my hall. I don’t get many visitors…”

The creature’s long arm moved from the wall, extending a hand, reaching toward Gildarts’ hair. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you.” He warned the skeleton with a glare that promised death.

“Right, right.” The skeleton receded his hand back to the wall. Sitting perched like a demonic cat. Still sideways.

“Tell me of this place. Why are you here? What spell binds you?” Gildarts demanded.

The skeleton let its side sway back and forth, creeping, looming, casting a spooky lithe shadow behind him. Gil’s eyes fixated on its mouth which seemed to move up and down without a tongue and lips, the teeth simply chattered around the words that came out, “I only remember waking up here, once long ago. Though I can’t measure how long. I am trapped in this cavern alone. No sense of time, just dark. I can’t even go to any of the others.”

“Others?” Gildarts asked, his distrust was beginning to build for this being. His gut tensed. Something wasn’t right.

“Yes,” It paused.“Don’t you hear their screams?”

 

[Gildarts]

Gildarts felt like the monstrosity was trying to smile, but bone was rare to have expression. Only the backlight in its eyes seemed to cast any feeling over him. It flickered with excitement.

“You’re a trick too, aren’t you?” Gildarts asked and then tossed his glance over his shoulder. Nothing had ambushed him yet. “I don’t like the way you’re just sitting there.”

“Well I can’t walk like you, I don’t have much of a choice. Unless…” The skeleton continued snakily in almost a cackle, “You let me steal your skin?”

Immediately, the creature’s sharpened fingers swiped at him as the skeleton’s body readied into a lunge. Slashes to Gil’s face oozed blood that dropped into the stone stairs. “Oo you shouldn’t have done that.” The skeleton crooned, as though the blood activated what appeared next. Weaving out of the walls like spiders from a dark split in the wall, two more black skeletons formed the creature’s army.

This was no lost soul. This was a demon, planted here as a trap. To ensure no one ever left, entered, or saved the boy, or freed these imprisoned people.

“You see, a skeleton has no flesh.” The beast bantered into a sing-song, “I’ve got unbreakable bones. I will soon have your skin to wear... For a while.”

This threat ignited the mage’s anger and his hair rose with the static of his power crisply tainting the air.

“Ooo you’re a mage… I will like the taste of your meat.” The creature’s eyes glittered as the two other skeletons bounded forth, their legs like a frog’s, launching them forward. Up and out. Gildarts batted them away with a swash of glowing magic. Their bones clattered on the ground motionless.

“Heh,” The lead skeleton seemed amused and didn’t immediately move. He merely tipped his head to the side. Gildarts grasped the sooty skeleton by its spine-neck and felt the edges of aged bone crack within his grasp.

“Tell me what this place is, demon.” the mage seethed, heat snarled in the man’s scrunched nose, power began to roll from every part of the mage’s skin.

The creature, though it did not need to breathe, found itself in the man’s clutches and did not try and draw its claws on him. Instead it paused. Their curiosity was mutually different. The skeleton asked him, “You are not from this world, are you?”

“And you don’t belong here,” Gildarts snarled and gripped tighter, threatening to fracture the thing’s spine.

“I admit this.” The thing chattered, its personality was aloof, taking a change from unquenchably curious to cunning, somehow it was still responsively human. “It is in my nature to kill you and feast. But I am an intelligent creature. You have me by the neck which wouldn’t be fatal if I let my head pop off, but I have a feeling something could be worked out…” The devil was trying to make a deal. Meanwhile at Gildarts’ feet the creature’s comrades’ bones slowly melded together. The beast’s followers were beginning to rise again.

Gil made note, “Make it quick. Tell me everything I need to know.”

“I’ll first tell you what I want. Since I know what you want.” The bartering creature seemed amused. “You would break my curse. The sacrifice, a broken bone. Suitable? Wouldn’t be too hard except that… You’re missing a few. Then I leave the way you entered and I tell you what you want to know.”

“You’re lying and it boils my blood. You want me to become trapped in this stairwell? To take your place? I’d sooner die than free you. I know the way magic trade is formed. From this land or not.” Gildarts did not release his grip but time was running out. Any information about this place that he didn’t need to guess was valuable. But the skeletons at his feet were already half-formed from the hips down. Twin skulls were rolling around at his feet. “Freeing you to feed upon others is not an option. You sacrifice this one meal,” himself, “For a million others would be what you’d take over your immortal life span. I think not.”

“Hahahaha, should’ve taken me while you had the chance!” It exclaimed with pizzazz, “I can’t be killed. That’s another problem… For you.” The skeleton smirked a skinless smile. “Ah-haha-haha,” The creature began to laugh, jittering ivory clashed together causing chills to run down Gildarts’ blood, “I think its so funny how it is always the same. Everyone I meet here seems to think I want to eat their flesh!” The skeleton babbled insanely, “But I don’t even have a stomach! You, out of all of them should know...”

 

[Gildarts]

“I’m going to eat your soul.”

The creature’s arms moved up immediately and sunk its blackened talons into Gil’s back. Piercing and caging him at the same time in bone that was imbued with strength and bound with dark power. “My eyes Gildarts, look.” Gildarts pressed his eyes shut immediately, fighting blindly as he pressed with all his might, to pin this creature against the tunnel’s walls. Fighting against the black backdrop as he heard the chomps of teeth drawing near to his neck.

He continued to struggle, Gildarts pushed his feet off the ground and purposefully fell down the winding stairs. First landing on the skeleton’s back, then tumbling with momentum onto his own. The black claws sliced deeper into his back and he exhaled a yelp of pain. Causing skully to chime, “Yes mage, give your soul to me. You’re old, don’t have much fight left in you. I’m asking nicely right now for your juicy soul. Wait until I stop being patient.”

They’d stopped. Jumbled and at an angle, Gildarts still couldn’t risk opening his eyes. He had managed to maintain his grasp on the creature’s neck through all the ruckus and decided, “That’s enough talking,” easily the muscular man pried the spherical head off the creature’s spine and slammed it into the wall with all his force. Cemented and wedged in there for a time, Gildarts opened his eyes to a headless skeleton, still grasping onto his body, blackened bones inside of him. With the safety of the face planted into the wall, one by one, Gildarts began to rip the limbs from the spine and apart from his body. The spine fell easily to the ground. A rack of ribs clattered with it. Next the feet had wedged themselves around Gildarts and were shaken off. Two boney arms managed to be attached to him like wings. Deep in his back and adjacent to his spine. Painfully ripping his flesh when he’d try to yank them out.

Agony began to burn. Evil, like poison infecting his flesh, battled against the pure magic that composed the mage. Gildarts, immobile, fell to his knees as the torture burned inside his flesh and radiated across his back and through his lungs. Each breath was a struggle, pain was all he felt, echoing within his thoughts as his body wreathed in its struggle to survive. His arms were unable to reach the wrists that pressed their taloned fingers, the deepest they’d been in his back.

“That’s right Gildarts, I’ve many talents.” The skull popped out from the wall and slowly began wobbling down each ridge of the stairs. Followed by a dull thud with each step.

Gildarts was now reduced to a man wrenching in pain, crippled on the ground. His arms grasping helplessly at the points of impalement in his back that he couldn’t reach. Pain dazed the mage, his expression was contorted and eyes pressed shut. He heard the pop of sound as the skull landed on the stone in front of him. “Open your eyes.” The demon crooned again, knowing it would get its way as it always did. Knowing the torture the man was in.

Gildarts winced, this was not the way things were going to end. Yet defeat was lining his pain, almost as a cushion the assurance was death, a set of knowing hands ready to catch him... Soon he would die and his eyes would open. Letting the creature devour whatever was left. “Tch.” The man’s head lolled back as his neck became weak to the coursing pain. His eyelids began to flicker, curiously seeking to alleviate the pain with colors of life and distraction.

Agony was felt so much deeper in the dark.

 

[Gildarts]

A sudden lightness could be felt in his armored limb as it fell unshackled from his shoulder. It moved with its fingers as legs, the silver hand autonomously crawling to the mage’s back and then grasping the last of the poisoning claws inside him. With an excruciating rip and a fresh splash of blood from the now open wound, one of the creature’s boney hands lay on the ground. Covered in Gildarts’ magically endowed essence. Next the silver armor grasped the last clutches of the being and pulled out the weed. Freeing Gildarts of the demons’ literal clutches. Another splash of the mage’s thick red essence fell upon the stone. The walls began to rumble but the deadly, tremendous poison Gildarts had been suffering was alleviated. The paralysis of torture was mostly gone, instead replaced by deep holes in his flesh, he began to wobble to a stand. The skull growled. With each drop of blood that was shed, more of his followers would emerge and soon overrun this place.

Gildarts, woozy from the pain, but a trained warrior, fought through the weakening of his muscles and his head traced around, eyes narrowed open, seeking the glint of silver that was his unattached limb. With his flesh hand he dipped down to grab it. Then caught a glimpse of a sea of skeletons all crawling like ants down the winding staircase.

Blurring black silhouettes of mere streaking lines made an impression through the dark. The man leaned on the wall for a moment praying it was an image created by his own painful delirium. It proved to be real and the black skeletons continued to crawl on their sideways wall.

Gildarts had the choice to run, but he had spent nearly an hour in this winding staircase of hell and everything looked the same. It was likely bewitched. The mage activated his crash magic and with a motion of movement cast a blast of power through the side of the curved stonewall. The castle-esque staircase now had a broken side of brick. Rumbling continued, pressure from above began to crumble on the brick below. Gildarts took a quick breath and jumped through the gap into wherever it would lead. The crafted stones imploded at his force, burying the scorched creatures behind him.

 

[Gildarts]

The auburn haired mage woke up with his head ringing. He couldn’t lift his neck, not even for his eyes to check the damage below his chin. He’d lost a lot of blood. The weight of fatigue on his body was too dense. It became harder for his blurry vision to stay in focus. He could taste metal on his tongue.

Inhale, steep, harsh, and watery. Bubbles of air reached his throat and splashed it with the warmth of a hot drink.

Exhale. A sputter and swallow of the same drink caught in his throat. He winced at the pain when his esophagus closed. The light burning sensation that was immediately numbed by the defeat of his body. By the flesh of his fingertips lay next to the cold the prosthetic armor that had saved him. He thought to himself senselessly, Good thing I lost that arm a few years ago, though... It seems I won’t really need it now.

“Sir?” a voice rushed in his head loudly. Gildarts felt the ache of a hangover and groggily tried to shake it away. Shhh. Time to sleep. His body was draining of energy and with it, came a blanket of cold.

“No, don’t do that! You came all this way for me. Oh no!” Above him was a real person. No illusion. The sound was too loud. Too waking. Too much of a menace to his ears.

A boy, about the age of ten. Blonde hair and a worn tunic of cyan. “Oh no… I’ve got you man. Don’t worry. I've got a few things up my sleeve. Stay with me.”

The kid cradled Gildarts’ bloody head in his hands. The battlemage’s eyes were swollen with the blues of battle. No I’m… Ready to go. The creator gave me this last journey to spin. I’ve had my shot. Gildarts thought. The mage coughed up more blood. Staining his lips as it trickled down the side of his cheeks. Just as the crimson soaked his black cloak. His eyes were distant, hollow, as he looked above the child’s head.

“Stay with me, I need you to get out of here, even if I don’t!” The teal shimmer of the kid’s eyes were gleaming with concern, he left the man’s head to cradle in his lap as he moved his hands just above the dying man. Casting a shimmer of bright light that made Gildarts wince. “Ugh,” he complained and then hacked up more clotted blood. There was an itchy burning in his back as flesh began to regrow.

The kid continued weaving his healer’s magic into Gildarts and the drink of blood caught in his throat began to dissipate with every repulsive swallow. Gildarts felt fatigue flood over him and his limbs settled but his body was restored. All he wanted to do was let his body sleep, recharge, it felt nearly-dead. But the boy continued to prod him.

“Hey, hey, we’ve got to go. There isn’t much time. They’re coming! Wake up. Please, come on!” The blond child began to smack him, but pain was everywhere in his memories and did nothing to summon him awake. A splash of water poured on his face. Perking Gil’s senses just enough for his eyes to crack open.

“Please! We’ve got to go.” The kid pleaded, then between black-stained blinks Gildarts caught the kid looking over his shoulders. “It’s our only chance to get out of here.”

“Go... Without...” Gildarts heard his voice wheeze in and out, “Can’t move.” Simple admission of weariness. He couldn’t will his body to do any more. Too much of his blood had poured from his veins. The kid should save himself if the skeletons were coming. “Run from them.”

Funny, he didn’t hear the boney, skeletal army’s rattling. The kid frowned, worry dampening his voice, the child responded to Gil’s thoughts, “It’s not them I’m afraid of, but I can’t carry you and with my curse I literally can’t leave without you.” Confusion muddled the kid’s searching eyes.

Gildarts again attempted to will his muscles awake, they protested with yelps of pain, numbness, and fatigue. An intoxicating combination for him to fall back into the temptation of sleep. Away from the pain of life.

“Please!” The kid screamed and Gildarts felt his spirit rattle. The tone of his voice was dire. Urgency provoked his muscles. Life or death. But nothing was fast enough. Nothing would’ve prepared him for when his eyes finally opened, to see the edge of a spear cut through the kid’s chest splashing fresh blood onto the man’s cheeks.

Hallucination. It had to be. Gildarts thought desperately But the blood had a copper smell and left a warm dampness on his chest. The mage shook himself drawing from any bit of energy he could get and pressed himself to one side, gritting his teeth as he leaned pressure on his arm. It was just in time to see the kid grasping at the hole in his chest, fall to his side.

The child’s jaw hung open, shock, fear, pain all collected into a soundless sigh that was the last air to leave his lungs.

The young healer had collapsed to one side and his body sprawled out immediately. The nameless boy, according to his story, had been trapped here all this time. Black blood covered his bright blue tunic. Tarnishing the beacon of blue hope he’d brought Gildarts. The boy's expression wavered, confused and in agony as he choked on his own blood. Paralyzed with fear and pain. His eyes lazed to the back of his head.

Gildarts felt shock bind his body. They’d traded places of death. Destiny was sick. Gildarts, an old man, had been ready to go, however. This was a child who’d known nothing but these walls, not even touched by the deliverance of death with age. Fury set aflame and Gildarts’ magic became charged. He searched for the culprit, the monster, the one who had done this vile act. It took his eyes no time to find this being, vengeance, hot in his blood began to grip the mage’s mind.

Implosion. Doom. Destruction. Visions of hellfire burned behind his eyes. Gildarts extended his arm and the blackened tentacle being, faceless and shapeless to the mage blinded by hate, was immediately sliced into bits. Fire continued inside the mage’s blood. Magic fueled every movement. The room began to fall apart. It was vast and wide, surrounded by an army of similarly squidlike demons charging at Gildarts who did nothing but feed from the violence to forget the horror he’d witnessed.

More blood.

It continued to spill around him. Another, and the final innocent of this place had died in his arms. Undead cursed creatures with their skin scarred cold sleek black all were destroyed, splashing more blood on these already hallowed walls. It was a blaze of powerful magic. Yet nothing he could do would bring his savior to life. He’d given his life for Gildarts. Drank in his last breath looking into the eyes at his only hope to help him escape. To break his curse.

The walls had come down, yet the old mage had still failed.

 

[Gildarts]

The gigantic tomb was crumbling now. Huge tons of wreckage from the caverns above was falling toward the duo of humans. This final layer in the caverns was succumbing to everything above it. It seemed to be the natural order of things.

Meanwhile Gildarts was on his knees, he had not even been standing to bring this destruction. Instead, he was filled with despair for this nameless kid. He’d called to him, one last hope. His soul had melded with sorrow. He accepted his fate as he swallowed his failure. To go down with this cursed place.

Gin’s voice now boomed within Gil’s mind, offering direction. “Put your arm back on and escape. Bring the kid’s body. His fate is not yet decided. HURRY!”

Gildarts felt no resistance from his mind and his body soon delivered. First clicking his prosthetic back in place. Next gently picking up the kid and leaving most of the spear inside. Instinctually, Gildarts jumped up, casting his magic at the debris flying down and scattering it into pebbles.

By some miracle, Gildarts had glided to the top and made it into the sand. The once-was pyramid lay in dust and ruin. Gildarts stood and the kid lay in his hands. The mage’s eyes looked around, dazed. The skeleton hands had gone, or had they never been there in the first place?

Gin remained frozen where he was. “Gin.” Gil nudged his body with his foot. The immortal creature lay unmoving, and offered no more telepathic messages. Gildarts narrowed his eyes and bitterly grabbed him by his cloak and began to drag his frozen body on the sand as he had the boy over his shoulder. Two fallen. One still standing. The pyramid lay in ruin, the price of so many innocent lives would never be paid. But with a sigh, he felt the magic trapping them in that hellish place release. He had broken the building that had caged their souls in. Now they could be free. Maybe he had accomplished something, if not for the living, than for the dead.

The mage, on the other hand, began his long trudge back the way he came.

 

[Gildarts]

Gildarts had ridden the giant sand-turtle to the place where Gin had originated, Gildarts had tried to talk to the magic colossal turtle and eventually just ended up pointing to Gin’s unmoving carcass, he had recalled the mention of a ‘home’ through muddled travel talk, which now happened to come in handy. The immortal was poisoned and frozen, yet still managing to live from whatever magic essence was within him. The turtle was fast, as it was a known route to the ancient turtle. It was a small oasis in the middle of the dunes where Gildarts found there to be more immortal creatures like Gin living.

Upon arrival, the great turtle knelt and allowed the curious villagers to mount. All the citizens seemed to sense something was wrong and the townspeople swarmed. Here, they did not hide their forms. Gildarts found himself surrounded by people who had woven bodies from branches, humanoid in figure, with vines instead of arteries and branches instead of bone. Skinless, the creatures were a form of some immortal race. Almost like a wooden skeleton, they all looked like monsters, but Gin had surely assured Gildarts they could save the boy.

“What are you doing here?” Someone with bark for a face and donned trimmed, dapper attire approached to ask, as his glowing hollowed out eyes laid on the pieces of the puzzle, capturing the moments. Glancing at the kneeling mage grasping a dead child’s body, and a frozen fully clothed one of their own.

“Er, I’m Gildarts. Gin asked for my escort to a strange pyramid he said was an ancient site to your people. It was there where he was frozen magically it seems, or cursed. Inside there was a boy, he was trapped and then slain. Gin said that you could save him. Please do not waste any time.” The mage informed the esteemed tree-person and gestured desperately to the child’s rigid body.

“Ah.” The well dressed creature approached the corpse of the lad. A lengthy inspection that lasted five minutes occurred, inspecting the wound, finally the branchy man rose from his kneel and said, “There is nothing to be done. It is the course of life, to die.”

“Surely, you creatures, of all things would know the value of living?” Gildarts protested, his voice wavering as he fought for the innocent in his bloodstained hands.

“Trust me. It seems… ‘Gin’ as you call him, only said this to save your life. To our people, the price of a lie is a light burden if it saves a life.” The branchy man with sprouted moss for hair, surmised with a haughty and dignified tone.

“Nothing... Can be done.” Gildarts narrowed his eyes as he spoke it out loud for himself. Anger leaking its way back, coiling around the mage’s heart. The earth began to rumble, and sand began to shake imitating waves of the ocean. “He saved my life.”

The mage’s pleas fell on deaf ears, though the gleaming gems the tree-creature wore for eyes seemed to gleam with curiosity. The creature continued, “Gin however, will be recovered. He brings great pride to our people, for that place of evil, now is free.” The tall walking twig followed the people who carried him on a stretcher made from two long poles and a single layer of fabric, the frozen Gin was escorted into a tent of gold-woven fabric.

Gildarts stood there, blinking. Had another -perhaps any other- gone in to save this child, the result may have been different. A hundred years, a thousand years more. Perhaps though, the demon in the staircase would’ve eaten them too... He couldn’t help to let his mind crawl at the what-ifs that could’ve saved the boy. The mage knelt down to the kid’s body, gazing at it solemnly before taking off and covering the blond’s head with his own black cloak in a single mournful motion.

The moon had risen by the time Gildarts had finished his vigil for the boy. The body had not been removed and the people of the town had not disturbed him. He lit a single candle and sat by the boy’s side. Behind him, the people continued with their lives. There was something about this town that didn’t add up. Something like sorcery, but not quite. To him, the people seemed like gypsies. Whether they had been born that way, or transformed during a ritual, it still struck him as odd that they were all immortal trees.

He pondered the new land he’d been thrust upon and finally made the motions to stand from his kneel. As he turned around, the familiar garments of Gin lay adorned by the creature’s familiar height and woven branches. It was unknown how long the creature stood there waiting, yet Gin seemed to have respect for the dead, despite being part of an immortal race. “I’m sorry about the boy.”

Gildarts chose to remain silent. The linings of his heart were still bitter. “You said you could save him.”

“He had a name you know, and a story. Our people have studied him for many eons. Your life, however is worth the trouble of a jump too, wouldn’t you say? There is no reason to die over a loss.”

“Who exactly are your people?” Gildarts seethed, when prompted. “Why can’t you save him, as they seem to have saved you?”

“We are known as the Gin, thus why I am known as ‘Gin’- uh, singular. We’re an interconnected type of folk who practice not so known realms of magic and rarely reveal ourselves to the public as we are very distinguished as tree-like. We were hunted long ago, and our weaknesses have died with the history of those who had us hunted. We are extinct to history, known as myth and legend. The fact that an outsider has come to our homeland reveals our numbers a bit, but it seems the Great One had permitted your entrance because you were delivering me. Which, I thank. I again, am sorry about the boy. He had great value. Perhaps he can now get the chance to sleep soundly.”

“Why was he trapped in that temple and forced to live unaged there forever?” Gildarts suspected it was ‘the Gin’ to blame.

“In the legend, Yama was heir to the throne of this land. However at his young age he was not seen fit to rule, the people thought it would be wise to wait until he aged, thus his advisors were put in charge of the kingdom. So, a witch was sought to keep Yama ageless forever. He was preserved or more accurately cursed as a child and when the deeds of his advisors became known, they threatened the witch, for their own necks were on the noose from their revolting people. Needless to say, they used the witch’s bones to create that terrible place. His own tomb, yet he remained alive. A terrible form of torture, immortality is. The city perished in all its wealth. And the only thing that remained was the boy, who had been protected by the very magic of the witch herself. Exempt from the magic that brewed the evil you witnessed. So many reanimated dead, so many lost spirits... It is a bit strange, but that is how the story is told. Runes everywhere, blood arts. The witch most likely would’ve never done those things herself without being threatened, but the men who were thirsty for power, seemed to quench their thirst of greed with blood.”

“It was all woven in magic…” Gildarts added.

“As a mage,” Gin gestured to Gildarts, “A man whose body is woven in the very… Shimmery fabric of magic, I’m sure it was quite sickening in there. To be honest, I thought for sure you’d be able to save the boy, but sadly, I think he would feel very lost to see what the world has become. To see all his people’s voices lost to time’s echo.”

“Is there… Any way you could try to save him, use the witch’s magic that kept him young to transplant life back in his body? Your people are immortality artists, afterall. Maybe the spell is still there. His face hasn’t aged, the spell, it wasn’t attached to his life. How is it that he was immortal, yet he died to a spear?”

“He was not immortal... But unaging to my understanding. Honestly, a worse curse. Had he been speared in the heart back then, he would’ve been spared the torture of being trapped so long, so senselessly. But no one would dare spear a future king.” Gin said, however he seemed to consider attempting to push the boy’s soul back in his body as an option and drew close to the child. “I do see what you’re saying but… Gildarts, are you sure he wants to wake back up? Now he sleeps peacefully in the void. It is almost as though you’d wake him up to endure his once eternal nightmare.”

Gildarts grit his teeth, “He deserves the chance to be remembered for a different song than the one he died with in those walls.”

“I see. However mage, you will be responsible for him when he lives once more. If he chooses to die once more, you will be the one to give him that gift. You also seem to not accept unhappy endings very well. Perhaps it is my own age, but these things merely happen. Do not project. This is one ending to one story and it is his. You have no right to choose him another.” Gin insinuated Gildarts’ failure.

“Your people hold him to a high esteem, a prince for the scores of history, and you’ve sought him out, asking a stranger who you found in the desert to hunt him down! He is the key to answering your history notes, or so you’ve said. Your own choices have caused his current fate. Your decisions are the ones that have tangled his fate.” Gil’s persuasion was lacing with his own guilt.

Gin sighed. “It will be very painful for him and still, I make no guarantees. But I have to agree with you, it is my fault. I owe you this much, plus, I would ask the same if I were in your shoes.”

“Why did the other guy say you couldn’t do it?” Gildarts questioned.

“I, out of my people, am the only one who is able to see and utilize this odd spell that might promise another outcome. We each have gifts. Our leader has very little magic ability because he does not need it. It is delegated elsewhere among our people.” Gin weighed a few other considerations in his mind. “Let us go to the ritual hall of Mor.”

Gildarts carefully picked up the boy’s body. Around the boy’s dried wound he could see tiny silver sparks in the moonlight. Candles were lit, fires with herbs began to smoke and when Gildarts laid the boy down on the stone tablet, Gin began to chant.

The heat in the room began to rise and the thin band of moonlight from a pinprick in the stone ceiling above cast a ray on the boy’s heart. The walls began to loosen. Sand began to sway rhythmically to a beat that Gil’s heart soon matched as well. The mage fell into a trance. He had no ability to move his body now and everything around him felt like a dream, something out of his control.

Screams. The most pain Gildarts had heard anyone ever express broke him from his tempo. The room was filled and then echoed with the same sounds. Agony burned in his own bones. The trance kept the mage from crying out in his own pain. Soon, the song of drums fell into a soft metronome, and the mage closed his eyes and felt his body slump to the floor. The fate of the boy was unknown, he only remembered the candles blowing out.

 

[Gildarts]

Sunlight splashed harshly against his eyelids and the redhead awoke choking on the dust of the desert air. Hacking himself awake, his heaves slowed as his eyes fell on a figure filling up two-thirds of the doorway.

“Yama.” Gildarts spoke as his eyes made out the hay-colored hues of the boy’s hair. The only other human in the village of Gin.

“You.” The boy wobbled over to sit on a chair next to the bed the mage was sitting upright in.

The hole in Yama’s chest was apparent, though covered in bandages reminiscent of the very ones Gildarts never took off. The boy seemed to notice this too, but saw it bathed in idolization, like a kid wearing his favorite hero’s costume. Gildarts meanwhile wore only guilt that colored his face the haunted shade of chalky bone.

“I see the procedure went well.” Gildarts regarded.

“Yes, you’ve saved my life, and Gin managed to lift the ageless curse as he freed me from death’s grip. I thank you.” Yama spoke nobly. A crown of vines now lay on his head. “I may now age, though my mind will always be older than my body.”

Gildarts felt his own frown cut into the pepper that was the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks.

Yama traced the warrior’s murky expression and added his reassurance, “I am grateful, still. You’ve been asleep for many days and during them I was able to convene with the historians of these people. We have discussed much, I have several choices ahead of me. One of them being where I go from here. I was once destined to be a ruler of my people. They’ve been swept away with the hourglass of sand that time has trapped them in and the wind carries off the sweetness and legacy of their memory. I have a desire to remind people of the past, yet I find myself an orphan of this time. Again, I find myself among familiar folk. People who do not know time as you know it in your human form.”

Gildarts blinked, the elegance portrayed in the body of this child shined with brilliance of something greater than a genius. That of a leader. The mage could see this young man would be respected anywhere, even if he did not ascend to be the king of people as he had been destined before. “I… Didn’t save you the first time.” Gildarts admitted mostly to himself, finding the maturity of the child’s words safer than the youth’s naive appearance.

“I do not find the inability of a man’s strengths to be his sins.” Yama appraised the mage’s feelings. “Don’t blame yourself, Gin has told me much of you, some of which you know not about yourself. Gin says you were plucked from another realm and placed here. It would be arrogant of me to presume the purpose was for me alone, still, I am thankful and feel no less fortunate.”

Gildarts nodded. He was stunned and the morning grog was a painless awakening from his long slumber. He was slow to function, but with each word from the prince, the juice flowed faster in his mind.

“If I may,” Yama continued, “Gin really likes you, but I sense like you blame him for the entire endeavor regarding my Temple. He is a piece of his people that is a bit like a compass, it is his job and within his power to seek out answers of forgotten legends. He’s a relic in a world that doesn’t value it. I would like to remind you, he likely knew I was inside of the pyramid when he recruited your very characteristics to save me, which you have in all respects despite witnessing my death. It is my belief that my death was the price to be paid to release me from my immortal curse trapping me in a child’s suit. For that I am ever grateful.”

Yama offered a flittering smile as he scanned the mage’s eyes which held steadfast on the boy’s veridian irises. The boy smirked before bursting out in a child’s laughter, this caused his body to shudder with pain and immediately the blond gripped his chest, his eyes bulged as he fought for air. As his body found stasis in breath as Gildarts concern was washed free when Yama smiled again and spoke.

“My, I haven’t done that in a very long time.”

 

[Gildarts]

The youth picked his body up and began to walk toward the door he paused as his fingertips touched the doorway and he looked back. Quietly, the child mused, “I can see why he likes you. You’re no brute despite what you appear and what you're capable of. It is a very personable trait. I wear a child’s mask but am an extremely aged prince behind it. And Gin, no longer human, is perhaps the most human of his people. You may be surprised to hear that he is the only one left with a heart.”

The child’s footsteps softly clattered into silence down the cool stoney hall.

Yama. Alive.

Gildarts’ mind stilled in impressed reflection of the Gin. Harboring in the mage’s heart was guilt and anger aimed at them, but what sort of people no longer kept a heart when they had no vulnerabilities in their body to name? It was almost like there was nothing to lose having a heart, but there was nothing to gain so they chose to keep compassion out of their logic. The mage sighed, he couldn’t just assume these things without seeing it for himself, he just wasn’t that sort of man. His resolve wouldn’t let him be.

In regards to the boy, Gildarts felt his paternal instincts fade. He was right. He did not have to guard a naive, defenseless child who needed to be rescued, for instead Yama was a wise, noble prince with abilities far beyond his years. The mage could only speculate how long the advisors had taken advantage of the prince.

Still, Gildarts remained still, humbled by the events no one could have foreseen. The day shifted into the night and the small slit of a window that had burned him awake now was silver with moonlight.

Gin found himself at Gildarts’ door, having heard from Yama that the mage was healthy enough to speak. In his hands was a plate with meager amounts of food. Their people didn’t eat, and had forgotten how much food should be in a meal.

“Hello,” Gin said as he entered the room, so as not to scare or infringe on privacy. “Brought you some dinner. I think the power of the transfer may have overwhelmed you as it would many of those who could sense these things.”

Gildarts looked up and said, “Thank you.” Before digging in.

Gin decided to sit down, as the mage had not un-welcomed him with any sort of glare and decided to make some conversation. He mentioned Yama and how they were working on restoring his kingdom’s legend, then Gin paused. “Would you like to know about us? Technically, I’m not supposed to share, and I’ll save you from the important details, but our people are likely one of a kind to even a wayfarer such as yourself. If you’ve any curiosity, you need just ask.”

“How often do you kill people?” Gildarts bluntly broke from his rampant chewing.

Gin paused, “Not often, we rarely put ourselves in the position to see people, we are legends ourselves, and historians. Every person who exists is written in our libraries of history. Some, you’d not expect, turn out to be the most important. A civil leader here, a doctor who saves lives, even mages who don’t know where they belong.”

It seemed, like Gin had been a bit taken dismayed by Gil’s insinuation of his people, however he had not lashed out with his words due to spite, but to touch on the mage’s lost fate.

“Do you ever fuck with timetravel?” Gildarts said, now, still chomping, his eyes slid predatorily over to Gin.

“Uh, no?” Gin paused, “Actually, twice. However, they each twisted only the span of a few seconds. We have never changed history beyond that. These are very obscure questions, I sort of expected differently but… Perhaps, though, I should’ve known, coming from a fellow keeper.”

The rigidness Gildarts had felt in his body now relaxed. He detected no lies from Gin and now knew the power and presence of those he was dealing with. He decided for now, he would not need to interfere and finished up his plate.

“We have not much more, however a warrior should have his fill, but I am the only one able to travel in town and I have remained. Now that you’ve awoken however, I should be able to fetch Yama his fill.”

“Thank you,” This gratitude was much more warm than his initial words. “How many people have you brought back from the dead, other than your own?”

The unyielding questions did not surprise Gin, who responded with, “Yama is the only one we have saved in that way. There are a few who we have healed and interfered with, but it was in hopes for a better future for those where they belonged.”

Gildarts nodded and paused with a glance conveying that of instant death, “If you take any other path, I will come for you.”

It was, however, almost the warning of a friend. “This is why we take the precautions we do, and remain in isolation.”

“You interfered with my fate, do you see if it was for the better?” Gildarts allowed himself a question.

“We do not see things like that, especially when the proximity is so close. We refrain from the temptation.” Gin explained but the little fires in his eyes smoldered just a bit brighter as they gazed at the mage.

“What is the probability one of you is evil?” Gildarts meant in regards to the rest of the tree folk.

“It is impossible, we are all the same person, and see the same things. We are an interconnected being, and beings. Not wholly together and not fully separate. No one will ever become tyrannical and use the power our people have harvested in that way. Ever. It is impossible as we would see. However, truthfully, if anyone were to have the ability to do it, it would be me. This is why I am cursed with a dose of humanity to stop the seed of greed. It anoints an emotion of compassion that will not allow domination to feast where there would be pain for another.” Gin explained.

“How old are you? And what happened to your body?” Gildarts asked.

“I have lost track of the exact number, but it is many centuries at least. My body was turned into these roots you see, so as not to waste their molecular riches.” Gin smiled which caused a twist of some of the vines in his cheeks.

“Your people never fall in love?” Gil asked again. This perhaps, may have been the worst tragedy to him.

“That would be a weakness for what we strive to be.” Gin answered. “Plus, who would we love if we are in isolation? We love our community, one another, and ourselves.”

“Then how do they -er, you- recruit more, or were you not human before?” Gildarts was curious.

“That is… Not something I can answer you at this time.” He said politely, his voice wandering off.

“You want to accompany me, don’t you?” Gildarts deduced.

“Huh?” Gin seemed a bit surprised by Gil’s assumption. “What do you mean?”

“You want to know what happens to me next.” Gildarts offered a boldly clever smile.

“This is true. A curiosity, a feeling that perhaps is a novelty to most of my people. It fuels me, in certain ways. For many eras we have followed not individuals, but groups of people. Towns, kingdoms, countries, all of course led by someone or groups of people. However the modern era has revealed many different paths. I like to indulge a little, sometimes a single man can change the fate of so many, or just live an eventful life. I do not interfere for the most part, just bear witness and learn. I evaluate from afar in most instances.” Gin said.

“You are very interesting creatures. In any other world, had your path not chosen peace, you could have easily wrought destruction.” Gildarts said as he sipped some clean -albeit sandy tasting- water.

“I understand your unease about the presence of my people even existing. We have all taken a vow to rather go extinct than to have the knowledge we have gained be used for ill-purposes.” Gin assured.

“Sometimes, in history, people in your position do not have the power to choose.” Gildarts said, his smile fading. “That is taken from them.”

“We have taken measures other than being known as only myths.” Gin assured again.

Gildarts nodded he didn’t exactly see this giant library recording all of existence that the wooden creature had mentioned. It was enough for now. Still, the mage felt trapped by this tiny room. He preferred to sleep roofless and under the stars, his acute claustrophobia was sensible for a man of his magical ability.

“I do not quite trust your people, or your ways. Given Yama, I think you have something to do with his history. But if he is your ally, and you are his for his destiny, perhaps his fate will bring him peace.” Gildarts spoke after a long pause of mutual silence, “However whatever form of individualism your people harbor, it is the one I call Gin that I have an expectation for. I hope I am not let down by it.”

“Uh...huh. I know what happened was evil, that the boy got trapped in there. But you can’t fight a battle with the past. The ruins may have been preserved, but their hosts died long ago.” Gin nodded, before seemingly smiling again, the light in his eyes was bright, before guessing. “You’re leaving now?”

“Yes, I need some real food. It’s getting hard to think.” The mage rose, and in turn, Gin did as well.

“Care to share the same turtle into town?” Gin laughed.

Gil nodded before smirking back, “You gave me a bag of your people’s secret relics, I’ll be keeping it if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. You’ll see they’ll be useful in the right hands. So… How many people have you killed?” Gin said, his personality taking a darker shift as the answer echoed down the hallway they shared.

 

[Gildarts]

The sand lined each follicle of hair sprouting from his scalp. Gildarts was sure of it. The agitated mage finally had made it to town and found when he looked into a mirror that his auburn hair was now pigmented sandy-blond. A sheet of dust covered his gorgeous locks and the mage who carried a bit of pride for a few of the details in his appearance now felt no sense of it at all. His skin looked decades older, the dust had accentuated and cemented itself in the wrinkles of the mid-forty year old.

Most people around here at least wore a hat, even indoors. Though Gildarts just found this added to the mystique of the inn he had found. The structures that were the buildings of this town were not made from wood, but carved of stone. You could tell their age and newness or renovation from the thinness of the walls; meanwhile their outsides had been smoothed by the ever-blowing sand.

He’d had his meal and it was too dark to inquisitively wander, so the mage settled into his modest room which held one bed standing on a stilted bed frame, a small end-table, and a pitcher of water. He’d lived with worse meager wantings and found his old bones falling into the mattress with several squeaks matching the weight of each joint making contact with the cushion.

A sigh released from his lips as his eyes rolled back into darkness.

The press of moist lips saturated his senses and roused the muscular response of his body. Gil’s eyes opened to find a gorgeous woman with long hair in front of him. He wasn’t where he’d last closed his eyes and his logical mind fought the gentle press each time her lips paused for air. Soon, Gildarts found himself closing his eyes and moving his hands sensually around her skin. He’d caress her neck, tangle her hair in his fingertips, and finally, he pressed her against a wall and drove in his last deep kiss before opening his eyes again.

A gasp caught in his throat as his muscles spasmed in surprise at the decaying corpse in front of him. Dried blood crusted around the corners of his lips which he brushed away, releasing the skeleton where it naturally fell to the floor and on contact became a pile of dust and sand. Soon, the mage found himself making swift strides to escape a labyrinth of corridors that all looked the same. In an instant, the pigmentless darkness of night switched on, and he was left tracing the walls with his hands, still fighting the sense that this was some sort of nightmare or illusion based spell, not any sort of reality he was awake for.

The sense of fighting the dream was the last thing he felt before waking up in a boiling sweat. It was midday in the desert again, no cool air was revolving around the room. It was thin and tasteless air, making it hard for his lungs to grasp, and he tasted nothing but salt on his tongue.

He felt his tongue and body retch as he reached for the pitcher of water. He fumbled it and watched in slow motion as it clattered to the ground. Remarkably, it didn’t break and he picked it up and poured it into his dust-filled glass, greedily inhaling the cool slither of liquid. He paused and released a deep, satisfied sigh. Then, stood up from the bed, left the inn for the day, and ventured into the blinding sun, this time, adding an extra piece of clothing to his meager garment collection.

Shielded from the wind, the mage had adorned a makeshift hat that threatened to blow away more than to protect his hair from the wind and dust. Accepting this, Gildarts still continued and found that this village, based near a small stream of water, was close to a big town he could explore. Or, there was some sort of shuttle that would be landing later that day if he wanted to leave the desert plains. The choice was up to him. Yet, he didn’t know exactly what sort of adventure he was up for, especially after living the last few days of nightmare.

He shut his eyes, trying to isolate and reflect on the decisions that came with the opportunities for the day ahead, but all he felt when he shut the light out was the still-warm blood of the child prince on his hands and his mind spiraled back to his nightmare of unending dark corridors. Gildarts gulped and opened his eyes almost surprised to find the small town still bustling around him. They had not seen what he’d seen. He exhaled his relief and almost longed to return to the Gin who could not be harmed by usual means, nor had the same capacity for feelings and humans.

Those who passed him by had scars, worn either on the fabric of their clothes or as thin pink lines on their skin. Faces cast in light shade with expressions imprinted on their wrinkles laced with emotion. Some grimaced in the sun, some snarled at the gaucking bystander, others smiled kindly and lifted their wares to show him, hoping to earn themselves some coin. Life flooded here and Gildarts felt himself recoil at its pungence. For he basked in a city full of lives he could not have.

He needed solace. He needed a job.