Into Dust

Chapter 5 - Desert Song

The runes read,

☆☆☆

Name: Astoria.

True Name: —

Rank: Aspirant.

Soul Core: Dormant.

Memories: [Mantle of Reproval] [Rapacious Satchel]

Echoes: —

Attributes: [Fated], [Mark of Divinity].

Aspect: [Lost Pilgrim].

Aspect Description: [An ancient, unyielding call pulls at you, its source hidden beyond the horizon. Your journey is a tapestry of endless paths, your footsteps weaving closer to a truth shrouded in shadow. Your footsteps may trace the edge of the world, but no matter how far you wander, the unseen destination draws you onward, an ache within your soul that cannot be ignored.]

[Fated] Attribute Description: "The strings of fate wrap tightly around you. Unlikely events, both good and bad, are drawn by your presence. There are those who are blessed, and there are those who are cursed… but rarely both."

[Mark of Divinity] Attribute Description: "You bear a faint scent of divinity, as though someone briefly touched by it once, a long time ago."

[Mantle of Reproval] Memory Description: "A gift from Avon the Silent Merchant, a fragment of the heavens woven into cloth, said to embody the silent resolve of a lone wanderer who defied the sun itself. The Mantle of Reproval shields its bearer not with brute force, but with the quiet perseverance of drifting clouds."

[Rapacious Satchel] Description: "A gift from Avon the Silent Merchant, the accursed satchel once belonged to a merchant whose greed knew no bounds. It swallows all things, keeping their essence suspended in an endless void. Though fair in its trades, the satchel's hunger is never sated."

Astoria closed the runes, thinking, 'Surely this Aspect has more purpose than a poetic nod to walking. If it doesn't at least enhance stamina or grant some movement-related ability, then what's the point? There must be something more to it, right?'

Although something inside him deeply doubted that was the case, the Spell felt cruelly intentional, as though it delighted in setting him up to fail. He was merely an Aspirant, not even an Awakened and it was forcing him to traverse a strange Desert that not even someone as powerful as this so-called "Avon" could venture through, not only that but he was also supposed to steal supplies from two individuals with the titles of "Supremes", in which he still didn't even understand what that title meant.

Still, nothing in his life had ever been easy. If he'd learned anything, it was to take whatever tools he had and use them to their limits.

With a flick of his wrist, Astoria summoned both the Mantle of Reproval and the Rapacious Satchel in order to take a proper look at them.

The Mantle of Reproval seemed as it it was a fragment of the sky captured in fabric. Its deep blue surface shimmered with an iridescent sheen, resembling the endless expanse of rolling storm clouds. Wisps of pale mist swirled and coiled across the mantle, their movements subtle and hypnotic, like the quiet persistence of drifting clouds.

Silver embroidery lined its edges, jagged and sharp like forked lightning, faintly crackling when the light caught it. At its neck, the clasp—a crescent moon carved from cool metal that glimmered faintly. Intricate, unreadable runes etched into its surface pulsed with a soft luminescence, their purpose most likely to shield against the harsh environments.

Despite its ethereal beauty, the garment carried a strange weight, as though infused with the defiance of someone who had stood against the desert's fury. Draping it over his shoulders brought a cooling relief, like stepping into the shadow of a towering tree amongst an especially hot day. Around him, a faint misty aura seemed to form, shielding him from the desert's heat.

Instantly Astroria let out a relieved sigh, 'At least this is helpful.'

Astoria turned his attention to the Rapacious Satchel, it was deceptively plain at first glance. Crafted from weathered leather as black as a starless night, its surface was riddled with faint runes that appeared to writhe and twist when viewed directly. These shifting patterns hinted at grotesque shapes—open maws and clawed hands—before melting back into the satchel.

The satchel's buckle, an obsidian clasp, emanated an unsettling aura, as if warning of the hunger within. When Astoria unlatched it, there was no discernible interior—only an endless swirling abyss that tugged at the edges of perception, a void that devoured all light and sound.

A faint chorus of whispers emanated from within, distant yet insistent, rising and falling like the tide. The satchel seemed to grow heavier the longer he held it, as though it weighed not just on his shoulders but on his very soul.

Clasping a handful of sand, he directly placed it over the Satchel and let it descend into the gaping maw of the abyss, it disappeared without fanfare, consumed without trace Yet, Astoria could directly feel that there was now something inside the Satchel. Although he could feel there was something inside of it he

was unable to retrieve it.

Astoria tried to understand why he coudnt retrieve retrieve the sand. It wasnt until he again offerd the satchel more sand that something occurred. At the very reccesses of his mind something neither spoke out to him or told him but still somehow he understand what it meant, the satchel was asking if the offerd sand was for an exchange or for it to be stored. Astoria let the sand fall and simultaneously thought of it as an exchange for the sand he had previously put inside of it.

He felt a strange sensation of acceptance come from within the satchel as if it was telling him that the trade was acceptable. Instantly the Satchels buckle swallowed down on the sand and the sound of something being ripped open emanated from the bottom of the Satchel.

Bringing it eye level with himself Astoria watched as the seams on the underside of it unraveled in an order that only could be described as creepy. It was as though the satchel was mutilating itself with eerie precision. The process was unsettling, each motion deliberate and unnervingly alive. Eventually, the seams were all undone, and he watched as the sand he had placed in previously returned to its home, although it had reappeared with a faint shimmer of darkness, as though touched by the hunger of the ancient satchel.

Watching the eerie scene left Astoria's former hunger absent, which also reminded him of a pressing problem. He was in a Desert; without food or water, for who knows how long, where exactly would he find the necessary supplies in order to survive? Either Avon hadn't considered this, or he thought it wouldn't be a problem for him to solve.

Hopefully it was the second option, 'Avon, had considered it right? Surely he's smart enough to of considered something so simple?'

A moment later he decided to abandoned the thought that Avon did indeed not consider it. Afterall, worrying would not only cause more problems, but it would also waste his already limited amount of time.

Astoria looked off into the distance, the only thing that greeted him was the endless expanse of sand, stretching in all directions under the oppressive sun. He looked behind him, hoping, just maybe the tent was there again, and yet again the only thing to greet him was the endless amount of sand. Astoria even hoped that there would be something else to greet him if there wasnt a tent, even if that wasnt the direction neither Avon or the Spell wanted him to go towards. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately; there was nothing.

He sighed, brushing off the feeling of helplessness.

'Its going to be easy to lose sight of which direction I should be walking in, Ill need to make sure I dont stray off path in the coming time that Ill be here.' He thought, almost lost in the repetivenss he saw in every direction.

Standing was no longer an option, he was wasting precious time here. He adjusted the Mantle over his shoulders and tightened the strap of the Satchel. His boots pressed into the sand, the first step sinking slightly before stabilizing. Then another. Then another.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the Satchel an uncomfortable reminder of what little he had and what more he would need. But something called to him, as his Aspect had promised, urging him forward with poetic inevitability.

With measured resolve, Astoria began his pilgrimage into the desert.

'16,207, 16,208, 16,209…' With each step, he mindlessly counted. Although he had lost count numerous times so he woudnt actually know how long he had been walking for.

Astoria trudged forward, he had been at it for who knows how long. The dunes shifted and reshaped beneath his feet with each step, and the sand was fine, almost like powder, and it clung to his boots and the hems of the Mantle of Reproval. He moved with care, the vast desert stretching endlessly in every direction. Each footfall sank slightly before finding purchase, the terrain refused to make his passage easy.

Above him, the sun hung like a merciless overseer, its rays piercing even the faint misty aura of the Mantle. Though the garment provided some relief, the desert's oppressive heat still bore down on him. The horizon remained distant, a thin, wavering line where the earth seemed to touch the sky.

He adjusted the strap of the Rapacious Satchel, its unsettling weight pressing against his side. It felt heavy, but at the same time, it also felt lightless, perhaps the weight he felt symbolized the bottomless greed it held. He tried not to dwell on it too much, just earlier he had stared at it long enough that the satchel itself seemed to notice. Astoria had suddenly felt a very hungry pair of eyes placed on him, and since then he hadn't bothered to give the satchel another glance. Now, he occupied his mind by counting his steps, a mindless exercise, but still it kept him on guard.

Astoria looked infront of him, the desert's rhythm was somehow hypnotic. Dunes rose like frozen waves, and valleys dipped into shadows where the temperature dropped by a fraction. Astoria crested one of the taller ridges, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he steadied himself against the shifting ground. He paused there, surveying the vast expanse before him.

No landmarks. No signs of life. Just the unbroken expanse of sand.

He pressed on, his movements were mechanical yet deliberate. The desert offered nothing—not a sound, not a whisper of wind, just the dull crunch of sand beneath his boots. Time lost meaning; not even the sun itself seemed to move behind the horizon.

His mind wandered as he walked. 'How much farther?' The question was pointless; there was no answer. Still, he kept moving, driven by a quiet defiance that burned in his chest. The Mantle of Reproval swirled faintly in the breeze, its silent resistance seemingly similar to his own.

When he finally reached the base of another dune, he hesitated, glancing back. His footprints were gone, swallowed by the shifting sands. The desert erased all signs of his progress, as if mocking his efforts. Grinding his teeth, Astoria habitually adjusted the Mantle over his shoulders and began the climb. His boots sank deeper, and each step was a battle to not give into exhaustion and let his body tumble back down the dune.

The horizon is still there, but it hadnt changed, he reminded himself. But something about it called to him, pulling at a part of his soul he couldn't explain.

Keep moving. Don't stop.

The thought wasn't entirely his own, but he obeyed it nonetheless. Tightening his grip on the Satchel, he descended the other side of the dune.

'16,398, 16,399, 16,700, 16,701, 16,70… What?'

Something new had finally appeared on the horizon.