Argrave, Anneliese, and Galamon sat around a faintly flickering spell. Garm was there, too, though considering he was stabbed into the sand upright, he wasn’t exactly sitting. Despite being the middle of the night at the end of fall, the temperature was quite pleasant. In the Burnt Desert, the heat would linger in the sand for a long time after the suns set, both because of its color and its composition.
Galamon did nothing. He had done all of the maintenance he needed for his weapons and armor the night before. He simply stared at the spell light in silence, legs crossed and boots sinking into the somewhat cold black sand beneath them. Anneliese did just the same. Though she might’ve busied herself with reading in the past, it seemed even she had to surrender herself to the whim of relaxation at times. She braided her now-clean white hair idly.
Argrave, though, found it difficult to be consumed by the same spirit of relaxation. His brain was consumed with a veritable whirlwind of thoughts, foremost above them a simple fact: he had promised to be honest with the people here.
He couldn’t deny he didn’t want to. Refusing to let his guard down would be much easier—and probably much more manageable—than telling the truth as he understood it. And indeed, he could probably worm his way out of this one. He had many excuses: Garm’s presence, for one.
After much introspection, Argrave came to realize something. It wasn’t a lack of trust—he was confident Galamon and Anneliese would keep his secrets until the end of days, if need be. He didn’t suspect they would abandon him, cast him aside—they had proven time and time again that they were in this to the bitter end. The issue, then, did not rest with them. It rested within himself.
Argrave didn’t want to tell them where his knowledge came from. But he wished they knew. He valued them beyond simply tools best suited to ending Gerechtigkeit. Argrave couldn’t deny he enjoyed lying—perhaps that was why it came so naturally to him. But his life experience both here and on Earth had taught him constant deception boded poorly for any relationship, be it as friends or otherwise.
With this in mind, Argrave raised his head and looked up into the starry sky, where the bright red moon neared the horizon. He took a deep breath and sighed.
“Garm,” Argrave said, lowering his head. “Anneliese has told you what the purpose of our journey is, right?”
“In rough terms,” the head replied, unable to nod in confirmation.
“With that in mind…” Argrave looked at him, as serious as he’d ever been. “…will you set aside any notion of benefits and demerits, any self-interest, and freely share with us what you know?”
Garm’s black and gold eyes stayed locked onto Argrave. His face was as immovable as stone, and the only sound that could be heard was the howling of the desert wind against the towering mountain above them.
“No.”
Argrave nodded, expression disappointed.
“I have always been a man of logic and reason, not of fairytales about the world’s end,” Garm continued, voice cold. “What superstitions tribal elves hold has no bearing on my reasoning. If you wish for my knowledge, I expect a return. The girl has promised my protection, and you have agreed to that condition. Until something else comes along, that is the extent of our cooperation.”
“And if you see irrefutable evidence?” Argrave continued.
“…I don’t know what I’d do,” Garm admitted. “I won’t say ‘no.’ Reasonably, I should say yes, if the evidence is irrefutable.”
“Then as long as you refuse to trust in this group, I cannot include you in this next conversation,” Argrave shook his head, adjusting his sitting position.
Garm took that in for a long while, finally closing his eyes. “So be it.”
Argrave nodded, turning his head back towards Anneliese and Galamon. They both stared at him, expressions passive. Argrave thought there was a certain seriousness to their expressions, though—they understood that Argrave had finally made up his mind.
Argrave held a hand out, a C-rank matrix swirling in his hand. A large ward spread out slowly, enveloping the three of them. The sounds of the desert stopped, and they were left alone with each other. Garm kept his eyes closed just beyond the ward, as though refusing to even look at them as they spoke.
“Don’t know where to begin,” Argrave said. He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Let me just say what I’m thinking, cut past all the filters I put over my words. I don’t really want to do this at all. Been dreading it. I feel idiotic.” He brought his knees up, then bunched them together with his arms.
Anneliese and Galamon waited silently.
“But I can’t imagine you two wanted to go through the Low Way, or the Cavern of the Lily’s Death before that. Yet you did. You placed your trust in this wiseass sitting right here,” Argrave pointed to himself. “I owe you an explanation, I think. But beyond just owing you… I guess I care about you, and what you think of me. I don’t know,” Argrave shook his head, somewhat embarrassed by his bumbling.
“Up until… some months ago,” Argrave continued quickly, ignorant of the exact date, “This place… Berendar, Veiden, everything around me… it was fictional. It was as fake as a fairy-tale—made-up people, places, cities, happenings. Think of it like a book, or a… a live theatre,” he grasped for concepts they’d understand.
Evidently the conversation had not gone the way either expected, for both donned perplexed expressions.
“Unlike a book, though, I could—well, anyone could—interact with, and change the direction of the story,” Argrave outlined. “I would…” he paused, thinking. “I would interact with this world via an avatar. A proxy. I would take control of something living in this fictional world, and with it, do what I wanted—hunt monsters, go on grand quests… and, well, fight Gerechtigkeit. It was a game.”
Argrave turned his head away, having trouble keeping eye contact with them. In the distance, he saw the first beam of light come up over the mountain, illuminating the vast dark landscape of the Burnt Desert.
“You could experience this world… through a proxy?” Galamon questioned.
Argrave nodded. “Yes. I existed in this world, through proxy, thousands of times. The timeframe of my control over this avatar was limited to a few years—three and a half years before Gerechtigkeit being the starting point, and Gerechtigkeit’s defeat being the ending.”
“But were you… well, were you…” Anneliese began, unable to vocalize her question.
Argrave tried to predict her question, saying, “About… three months ago, I guess, I woke up as ‘Argrave.’ Fiction became reality,” he finished, nodding and looked into the distance.
The light continued to rise further yet, dispelling the shadow over the dark sand. There was a long, long silence—the longest yet.
“How?” Anneliese finally broke the quiet.
Argrave didn’t answer, watching the sunlight slowly creep along the desert. Finally, he turned away from the scene.
“I don’t know.”
Nothing could be said in response to that, Argrave suspected, for both grew quiet.
Argrave elaborated, continuing, “I woke up, in a body that wasn’t my own, three months ago. I knew who ‘Argrave’ was, but he wasn’t me. This world, which I perceived as fiction, gained detail, gained depth, and became my reality.” Argrave paused to gather his thoughts.
“From there, I confronted two facts: Gerechtigkeit was coming… and I might be the only one capable of stopping it. That realization made me set aside all this existential nonsense. Even now… I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it.”
“This is difficult to wrap my head around,” Anneliese placed both hands on her temples.
“Why are you the only capable of stopping Gerechtigkeit?” Galamon questioned.
“When I played the game with my… avatar, some details remained consistent,” Argrave stared at Galamon. “In this world, my avatar was the one who stopped Gerechtigkeit. And in this world, my proxy always possessed one item.”
Argrave pulled over his backpack, rustling through it. He pulled out the bronze hand mirror.
“I would always possess this mirror.”
Argrave briefly caught a glimpse of it.
Traits: [Tall], [Sickly], [Weak], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)], [Insomniac], [Blessing of Supersession (MAX)]
Skills: [Elemental Magic (C)], [Blood Magic (C)], [Healing Magic (C)], [Illusion Magic (D)], [Warding Magic(C)], [Druidic Magic (C)], [Inscription (E)], [Imbuing (E)]
Anneliese stared at Argrave, simultaneously enlightened by his mention of the mirror and confused by the entire situation.
“Alright. That’s the best I’ve got for explanations. Now, ask me questions. Help me make you understand. That’s the only way we can salvage this mess, I think.”
In the distance, the twin suns finally began to rise over the blackness of the Burnt Desert, shrouding the desolate landscape of blackness in the bright and warm light of a new dawn.
#####
Argrave found the entire conversation very unpleasant.
But then, Argrave reasoned there were many things in life that were unpleasant yet ultimately beneficial. Cleaning out a wound with alcohol, for instance, was excruciating—letting an infection fester was far worse.
Of course, his analogy to assuage his discomfort quickly fell flat when he acknowledged the existence of healing magic.
Nevertheless, Argrave answered all of Galamon and Anneliese’s questions for hours as the suns rose ever higher into the air, dispelling what chill had taken the desert at night. The more questions he answered, the more they had—it seemed a never-ending cycle, and yet things did eventually come to a close, in large part due to Argrave’s voice giving out.
Argrave stared out into the vastness of the Burnt Desert, Galamon standing just beside him.
“A lot of things about you make sense, now,” Galamon commented.
“Yeah?” Argrave pressed.
“Yet even more has stopped making sense.”
“Yeah,” Argrave repeated.
A strong wind blew across the desert, sending black particles drifting through the air.
“I’ve realized something,” Argrave said.
“What?” Galamon looked to Argrave.
“We don’t have much food,” Argrave gazed out into the empty sandscape, eyes unfocused.
Galamon exhaled from his nose loudly—as close to a laugh as the elf got.
“The nearest place… it’s pretty far,” Argrave said neutrally.
“Don’t worry,” said Galamon.
Argrave looked at him, hopeful the elf had an idea.
“If you collapse, I can carry you both,” he patted Argrave’s shoulder.
“Yeah. That’s because we’re your emergency food.” Argrave sighed.
They stood in silence, letting the wind wash over them. Anneliese stepped up beside Argrave, standing opposite Galamon.
“What you told us… I hope you know that your secret will remain with us,” Anneliese began.
“Was never worried about that,” Argrave shook his head. “I know you two well—Galamon more so, but you…I know enough. I told you from the beginning. You are a person of good character,” he looked at her. “Just… didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t want to ruin things. Too much at stake to do so.”
She nodded passively, evidently lost in thought. After a time, she lifted her head. “Do you dislike being here?” Anneliese questioned.
“I don’t dislike the desert,” Argrave shook his head. “Magic removes all of its inconveniences. During winter, it might be the best time to be here. Of course… if you thought Vasquer was despotic, you haven’t been to the Burnt Desert. The powers that be control every facet of life here, and they’re slowly whittling away any resistance.”
“That is not what I meant,” Anneliese looked at Argrave. “Do you dislike being Argrave?”
Argrave raised a brow, a bit taken aback by her question. He looked around, being sure Garm was not near. Seeing that he wasn’t, Argrave let himself be lost in thought.
“I like… this place,” Argrave reluctantly said. “I love its cultures, its people, and its history. I spent years playing the game for those reasons,” Argrave admitted. “I like the idea of being here. Magic fascinates me. Discovering things, secrets, about Berendar… even now, it does excite me. But thus far? I think you can know my feelings just looking at me.”
Anneliese nodded. “Argrave,” she said.
Argrave looked over, his gray eyes locking with hers.
“You will win again. When all is said and done, and when the world is settled… you will have freedom.”
“Bold claim, missy. We haven’t even crossed this desert without dying,” Argrave pointed to the sandscape with his thumb, keeping his gaze locked on her amber eyes.
She merely smiled at him. Her eyes were strangely sad, Argrave thought. Eventually, he looked out across the desert, unable to maintain the eye contact.
“Let’s worry about winning later. After we cross the desert, we have to dance around in a despotic regime directly responsible for climate change. After that Low Way, it’ll be nice to have some fun in the sun.”
Argrave held a hand out, blocking out the two suns. He felt like a mess—his chest still ached, he had a terrible headache, and he couldn’t stop simply thinking.
Yet for the first time since he had come here, he didn’t feel entirely alone.
