Into Dust

Chapter 4 - How to Dissapear Completely

"The Desert."

Astoria stared at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of his words. The Desert? Was he referring to the sand itself, or something more? He had no idea what the man meant, but the gravity in his tone made it clear that whatever was out there, it was no ordinary desert.

Astoria spoke up, "The Desert? Are you treating it like a sentient— "

"Hush."

The word cut through the air with an unnatural sharpness, and instantly, Astoria felt an alien force grip him. A cold pressure settled in his chest, as if the very air around him had solidified. His breath froze in his lungs, and his mouth, though open, refused to move. It was as though the world itself had reached out to silence him, the space around him vibrating with a power not of this realm. His thoughts, once swirling in confusion, now felt distant and weak, like echoes bouncing off distant walls.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unnatural, pressing against him with a weight that seemed to bend the air, to twist reality itself. It was as if the man's voice had not only commanded his tongue, but had also commanded the world—altering the laws of nature for that single, stifling moment.

Astoria stood paralyzed, unable to speak or think, the foreign power of the command lingering like a shadow in the air, its invisible grip tightening with each passing second. Suddenly, the humid air was no longer bothersome.

"You must go." The pressure around Astoria lessened and he was able to breathe again.

Astoria's chest heaved as the weight lifted. He stared at the man, his vision blurry with a mixture of awe and fear. This was no ordinary man, not even close. Whatever power he commanded, it was far beyond mortal comprehension. Astoria felt the unmistakable chill of the unnatural still lingering in the air. He was grateful, at that moment, that this man was not his enemy.

"Time is short," the man added, and for a fleeting instant, a strange glint of amusement flickered in his eyes—something akin to the dark humor of a man trapped in an impossible game. It was gone before Astoria could make sense of it, and the man continued, his voice turning more serious. "This is no ordinary desert. I can't explain it fully, for even I do not understand its nature. But you must venture through it. Seek out the remnants of war, gather them, and return them to me."

A feeling of dread swept over Astoria, though he tried to push it down. He knew the man's words were not to be questioned lightly, but something about the task felt wrong. The very gravity of the situation made the air of the sun heavier. And yet, despite the oppressive weight, Astoria's mind couldn't help but ask the question that had been gnawing at him.

"You're more than capable of this," he said, voice trembling slightly but filled with the challenge that only desperation can breed.

"Why not travel the Desert yourself? And why me? There must be others who are better suited for this."

Lowering his head, the man looked at Astoria, but strangely, it was as if he was looking through him, something beyond himself, beyond Astoria. Finally, when he looked up, his expression was almost pained, his voice a low murmur, "I have been... blocked from entering the Desert." He paused, as if the admission itself stung. "And yes, there are those far more capable than you—more skilled, more powerful. But they are rare. So rare, in fact, that they are little more than legends."

For a moment, the man's lips twisted, his eyes narrowing. It was as though some deep frustration struggled to surface. Slowly, he raised one hand and placed it on Astoria's chest. The gesture was oddly intimate, as if the man were looking inside his soul.

"Oh, how unfair the gods are," he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. "For someone like you, to be blessed with such... potential." His fingers tightened slightly, though not enough to harm. "And yet, someone like me—I am cursed to stand on the outside, grasping at things just out of reach."

Astoria's mind churned with conflicting thoughts. The man was strong, clearly capable of taking anything he wanted—so why didn't he? What was it about Astoria that seemed to elude him? The answer hovered just out of reach, like a shadow barely seen in the corner of his eye.

The man's expression shifted then, something almost desperate flickering behind his cold demeanor. It was fleeting, but it was there. The emotion was raw—an undercurrent of something darker. Greed? Envy? Or was it something else entirely?

Astoria couldn't say for certain. But one thing was clear: whatever the man's true desires were, they were tangled up with Astoria's fate in ways he didn't yet understand.

Still, there was something else that was bothering Astoria, and now knowing that he was incredibly important to this man he wasn't scared of coming under harm if he were to be upset at his questions. And so, he asked, "Those materials... you don't actually need them, do you?" He took a cautious step forward. "It's not the remnants of war you need. It's something in the Desert, isn't it? Something else."

The man let out a slight chuckle, but still, there was no mirth within the tone. He turned his gaze toward the horizon, as though the answer lay beyond the dunes of sand, "No, I do not need those things. Such things are for barbarians after all. But what I need will be acquired among them, so it is in your best interest to pursue the same goal that has been provided to you."

Astoria nodded, but doubt still lingered in his mind. He wasn't foolish. Raised on the outskirts, surrounded by the underworld's lies and backstabbing, he had learned early how to navigate the world of deceit. He had learned how to recognize when someone was hiding something, and this man was no exception.

The man looked back down towards Astoria and his jovial side was once again revealed, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes he said, "Of course, I can't send you off without some gifts. I'd be a bad teacher then wouldn't I?"

With a flick of his wrist, the man's hands erupted in sparks. Two items materialized in the air before Astoria. One was a robe, its fabric rich with intricate designs of clouds against a backdrop of deep blue. The other, a simple satchel, its leather worn but sturdy. But there was something strange about it, something old.

[You have received a Memory: Mantle of Reproval.]

[You have received a Memory: Rapacious Satchel.]

Astoria widened his eyes slightly upon seeing the message suddenly appear

"There," the man said with a glimmer of satisfaction, "Those have served me well. Take care of them, for they are not easily replaced. The Mantle will help with the heat, while the Satchel will allow you to collect the various materials that you find throughout your journey. It's virtually endless so don't worry about over-saturating it"

The man looked at the horizon one last time before he uttered his last words to Astoria, "Continue forward, the Supremes are in the center of the Desert. Good luck my apprentice."

Before Astoria could respond, the man was gone. Not with a gust of wind or a swirl of sand—he simply vanished, as if he had never been there at all.

Astoria blinked. He was alone.

His goodbye was short but there was true sentiment in his words. At least that's what Astoria thought, but nevertheless, he knew not to trust something as basic as sentiment. Especially from a strange man he had met not even but a few moments ago.

Astoria turned to face the vast, desolate plains before him. The sun beat down on the empty landscape, the sand stretching endlessly in every direction. It was all so… lonely. He was the only organic being in sight for who knows how long of a distance. Just how long would he have to trek? And what exactly about this Desert should he be wary of? His so-called teacher left him with many questions, which was quite ironic considering his title as a "teacher". What even was his name for starters?

Now with a space to breathe something occurred to him. There was something that required his attention. His Aspect. The officer had specifically told him that it was the foremost task. Astoria was a bit preoccupied so it made sense he forgot to check.

'A utility Aspect would be much more preferable in this situation, preferably one that would help with this hellish landscape.'

It even made sense for him to receive a utility Aspect, after all the policeman said that the Spell was as much about challenge as it was about balance, "it created trials, not executions." these were the exact words of the policeman, or at least something similar, Astoria was suffering from intense drowsiness so things were a little bit of a blur.

It was worldwide information on how to access, or at least attempt to access the information screen that the Spell would display, after all, there were cases where the unfortunate person succumbed to the Nightmare before they could get to a safe place in which they could be debriefed, so the knowledge of accessing the information screen was widespread in case of moments such as those.

Focusing on words such as "status", "myself" and "information". Shimmering runes appeared in the air in front of him. Although he did not understand this ancient alphabet, the meaning behind it was somehow clear.

Glancing at the runes he found the one highlighted Aspect… He morbidly remembered the words he had uttered to the officer, "My luck's never been much on my side anyways." Oh how he wished these words weren't true, but the shimmering runes in front of him said otherwise.

Glancing at them again it read…