Into Dust

Chapter 3 - On The Horizon

Astoria woke with a start. Just as he expected, the humid air of a desert assaulted his senses, but it strangely wasn't as overwhelming as he had expected. Quickly, he rose to his feet, preparing to hear the clangor of battle, or at least the smell of blood and decay; but instead, he found himself in a space of unusual comfort.

A soft, thick carpet spread beneath his feet, its intricate designs obscured by the dim light filtering through the heavy canvas drapes. Some sort of esoteric scent filled the room, reminding him of morning dew. The room itself was full of polished wood and fresh fabric. Scattered around the tent were soft, golden lights emanating from an array of candles, their flames dancing gently in the air. The air, while warm, was not stifling, and there was an almost soothing stillness to the environment.

Astoria blinked, disoriented, as his eyes adjusted. He looked around, seeing shelves of finely bound books lining the walls, a large writing desk near the far corner, and ornate lanterns casting flickering shadows across plush cushions and fine drapes. This was no ordinary tent.

The furnishings were lavish—silk tapestries hung from the ceiling, and a massive four-poster bed with a velvet canopy dominated the center of the space, and situated directly to its right sat a comfortable futon, from which he had awoken from. The entire tent, though temporary by nature, had an almost permanent, regal feel to it.

Astoria's breath caught. 'How did I end up here?' His thoughts raced, but no answers came. He reached out, touching the polished surface of a nearby table, tracing the intricately carved patterns of stars and moons that adorned it. Nothing made sense. He had been on the battlefield watching the army and the singular entity approach another, or, the army approach the still form of the figure. The last thing he remembered was the Spell announcing his arrival. He had expected to appear on the outskirts of the battlefield but apparently, the Spell had other things in mind, throwing him to wherever the hell he was.

He was still grappling with the situation when a voice broke the silence, low and measured, "I see you're awake."

Astoria's head snapped toward the entrance. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the sunlight pouring through the opening. As the figure stepped inside, a tall, lean man came into view, dressed in fine silk clothes. His dark hair was slicked back, and his expression was unreadable—like someone accustomed to observing without revealing much. His presence was commanding, though there was an almost theatrical flair to the way he carried himself.

Astoria remained silent, though his mind swirled with questions. Still, he held his tongue, feeling the weight of the unknown. Sometimes, it was better to wait and let others reveal what they intended.

The man raised an eyebrow, as if noticing something amiss. "No 'good morning'?" He seemed to be mulling it over. "Hmm, you must be feeling under the weather."

He took a step closer, placing his hand over Astoria's forehead with the kind of certainty that only someone who had made this gesture countless times could manage. He closed his eyes, as if to confirm his diagnosis. Nodding along to himself, seemingly proud of his discovery.

Astoria remained still, blinking at the strange man's behavior. 'What is he doing? It's the desert; of course, I'm warm. Does he think that makes me ill?'

After a long moment, Astoria managed a dry, "Good morning."

The man smiled broadly, stepping back and nodding approvingly. "Good morning to you, my dear apprentice!" His voice was bright, almost theatrical. Without missing a beat, he added, "Are you ready to hike through the desert? We've got a long day ahead of us."

Astoria frowned, his confusion evident. "Hike through the desert? Why?"

The man's smile faltered for a moment, then his eyes widened in concern. "Wait… have you not been listening to me?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You are feeling alright, aren't you? I've been preparing you for this trip for weeks."

Astoria shook his head slowly. "I'm fine, but it's always good to review before diving into something."

The man's eyes lit up as if a sudden realization had dawned. "Ah! Of course! A wise approach. You are maturing after all!" His smile reappeared, wider than before, but then it suddenly faded. His expression shifted to one of quiet seriousness, his tone dropping an octave. "But you must understand—there's a war brewing on the other side of this desert. Two Supremes have declared war on each other. Where there's war, there are casualties… and, naturally, opportunities." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "As a merchant, I see those opportunities clearly."

'Supremes? Perhaps I saw one Supreme, but the other was just an entire battalion of soldiers. And what are Supremes?'

"And you as my apprentice, are going to trek through the desert and receive all of the valuables left from their battle. And knowing that brat Lance, there is bound to be a harvest."

Astoria hesitated, his mouth dry. "And you want me..." He raised a hand, pointing at himself. "To go in between a battle between these two ;Supremes? And steal valuable items right from under their noses?"

The man, whose name Astoria still hadn't learned, stared at him for a moment. Then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh, no, no, no. You've misunderstood," he said with a dramatic wave of his hand. "Between those two monsters? You'd be obliterated in an instant." He shook his head, his expression softening for a brief moment. "No, no, not at all. By the time you reach the battlefield, the fighting will be over, or at least mostly? Either way, the spoils, however, will remain—and they'll be ours for the taking, or it will be yours for the taking, I won't actually be there. But still, they will be ours."

Astoria blinked, still unsure. "And I'm supposed to... just take what's left? While they're still reeling from the aftermath of a war?"

The man's expression softened into something almost affectionate, though his voice remained sharp. "Exactly. There will be no fighting by the time you arrive. Just wreckage. And... I'll make sure you get your share. Of course." He gave a wink, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Astoria's lips pressed into a thin line. "And how far will I have to travel?"

The man's gaze shifted uncomfortably, and for the first time, he seemed unsure. He looked around the tent, avoiding Astoria's direct gaze, before walking toward the drapes that separated the interior from the outside world. He paused just before stepping through, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Follow me," he said, his tone abruptly shifting back to business-like precision.

Astoria hesitated for a moment, still processing the strange, unsettling proposal. But then, curiosity won out. He rose to his feet, brushing sand from his boots, and followed the man out into the blistering heat of the desert.

'When did I get these boots? Or this clothing? Perhaps the Spell.'

As Astoria stepped through the threshold of the tent, the oppressive desert heat immediately struck him. It wasn't just the usual dry, suffocating heat—it was stifling and relentless, as if the air itself had been baked under a fierce sun for centuries. The vast, open expanse before him stretched endlessly, an ocean of undulating golden dunes that seemed to shimmer in the heat. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, almost impossibly clear, with the sun hanging like a blazing furnace high overhead, its rays cutting through the air like blades. The ground beneath his feet was cracked and parched, a deep, sun-scorched earth that seemed to groan beneath each step.

The air shimmered with heat waves, distorting the horizon in an almost hypnotic manner. There was an eerie stillness, the kind of silence that only existed in places where life struggled to survive. Not a single sound of wind or wildlife. Just the faint sound of his boots shifting over the dry sand. In the distance, jagged rock formations rose like ancient sentinels, their dark, craggy faces stark against the bright landscape. The sand, once golden, shifted to a pale yellow further out, becoming almost white as the dunes rolled into an ever-changing sea, swept by winds that could erode them into new shapes by the hour.

Astoria squinted against the sun, shielding his eyes with one hand as he surveyed the vast landscape. The landscape was harsh, and beautiful in its desolation, yet it held a kind of unsettling emptiness that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

He tried to focus on the strange man in front of him, but even he seemed to be blending into the harsh desert backdrop, his silhouette becoming indistinct against the fierce light. The distant horizon appeared to ripple, as if it were a mirage, distorting the outlines of the desert and adding to the overwhelming sense of isolation. Not a single tree, not a single structure—just endless waves of sand and stone.

Astoria took a deep breath, the dry, warm air filling his lungs erupting a stifled cough from him. He truly felt the weight of the land pressing down on him. He had no idea what lay ahead, but the desert seemed to offer little in the way of answers. Only dust. Heat. And the cruel, unforgiving sun.

'How did the tent shield us from this environment?'

Astoria turned back, expecting to see the tent still standing, the shelter against the harsh environment. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief.

The tent was gone.

His mouth fell slightly open as he scanned the horizon. Where did it go? For a brief moment, doubt crept in, and he wondered if the entire experience had been a mirage. The linen beneath his feet, the polished wood of the desk, the scent of morning dew—everything felt so tangible, so real. And yet now, there was nothing. No sign of the tent, no trace of its existence. Just endless sand stretching out in all directions.

He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wake from a dream, but nothing changed. The tent was simply gone.

Far off in the distance, he heard the stranger's voice calling out, "C'mon, kid."

Astoria snapped back to reality and looked up at the man, who was now a small figure against the vast desert backdrop. He lifted his feet, trying to adjust to the strange sensation of walking on sand, something he'd never done before. For some reason, he half-expected the sand to suck him down, like ash from the outskirts. It felt familiar in an unsettling way, like a memory he couldn't quite place.

He quickened his pace, but the effort left him winded in no time. The desert's heat seemed to drain his energy with every step, and he quickly slowed to a walk, trying to catch his breath. Despite the weight of the oppressive heat, he managed to close the distance between himself and the man.

'How did he move so fast?' Astoria's gaze shifted back toward the man, who had covered an impressive amount of ground in the time it had taken him to look back at the vanished tent. It was unsettling how effortlessly the man moved across the unforgiving terrain.

Astoria's breath was still heavy as he finally caught up, looking up at the tall figure. But the jovial expression he had seen earlier was gone. The stranger's face was unreadable as his eyes scanned something in the far distance. He muttered to himself in a whisper, "Where does it take you? There must be an offset for its abilities."

Astoria blinked, confused. "Where does what take you?"

The man didn't respond right away, instead lifting a hand and pointing towards the horizon. His voice, when it came, was low and serious, almost reverent. "The Desert."