Vale stared at the massive stone-like wyvern rising from behind the temple. Its colossal frame towered over the ancient structure, not by much, but enough that its enormous head loomed above the ruins, visible even from where they stood. Vale recognized it immediately: the desert guardian that had escorted them through the endless scorched sands. Yet, a flicker of unease passed through him. Why was it moving now?
Curiosity drew him forward. Step by step, Vale walked toward Drago, the heat of the stone beneath his boots radiating upward, warming his legs with every careful movement. His eyes remained fixed on the guardian, slightly wide with awe as he watched the wyvern's limbs push against the sand, lifting its massive body. After a few tense moments, he reached Drago and Eskar, both of whom were also staring at the emerging creature.
The wyvern's movements were deliberate, almost ceremonious. When it fully rose, its scales glinting faintly in the harsh desert sunlight, Vale finally broke the silence.
"So… why is it coming out?" His voice was measured, cautious, as he cast a glance at Drago.
Drago's gaze flicked to Vale, then returned to the guardian. "To escort us further," he said slowly, deliberately, as if weighing every word.
Vale raised a brow and surveyed the endless dunes that stretched to the horizon. The desert seemed the same in every direction, a golden, rolling sea without landmarks. Where did one even begin? His mind churned with questions.
'Where do we go from here?' he wondered, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him.
The wyvern lowered its massive head and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, sank back into the sand, disappearing almost as mysteriously as it had emerged. Vale hesitated, then asked, his voice quiet but firm: "What direction are we traveling?"
Drago let out a short, almost irritated sigh. "You're incompetent," he said flatly, then turned back toward the desert without another word.
Vale blinked, startled. "…Okay?" he murmured, unsure if he had misheard. Why would Drago say that? He glanced at Eskar, who merely shrugged and followed the old man. Vale exhaled slowly and began walking after them, the heat of the sand pressing up through his boots.
As they moved, the temple behind them slowly disappeared from view, swallowed by the desert. Vale's curiosity, however, would not let him rest. He stole glances at Drago as they walked, finally daring to speak again.
"So," Vale began, his tone careful, almost hesitant, "have you found any connection between the False Angels and the Father of Flaws?"
Drago shook his head slowly. "I have not. The Father of Flaws remains… a mystery. All we have are fragments of texts, two sentences, at most, and they are worshipful rather than informative. They tell us nothing of who, or what, he truly is."
Vale absorbed that in silence, letting out a long, measured sigh. He could feel the weight of unanswered questions settling on his shoulders.
Drago continued, shifting his gaze to Vale. "And you… have you figured out how to recover the remaining fragments of your soul?"
Vale froze, his eyes widening in shock. "When did I tell you about that?" His voice carried a hint of suspicion, though curiosity lingered beneath it.
Drago chuckled softly, a low sound that seemed to echo slightly in the empty desert. "The priestess told me, of course." He paused, then added carefully, "And before you ask, no. She did not reveal the locations. To be honest, I am not even certain she can track them. Your existence… even she cannot perceive it fully."
Vale's hand rose to his chin as he walked, deep in thought. "Then how did she know what I was up to?"
Drago remained silent for a long moment, then spoke slowly, his words deliberate. "She observes those around you, the way they respond to you. Since you are a missing part, she watches how others interact with that part to learn about you. That ended when you entered the temple. From that point, she could no longer see everything, no one can. That is the simple rule of that damn place."
Vale glanced at the old man's grey hair glinting in the sun, walking just ahead of him.
'So even a fragment of a god can't sense me?' he thought. The idea was unsettling, almost alien, but he continued moving forward, letting the thought linger at the edge of his mind.
Drago spoke again, cutting through Vale's wandering thoughts. "If you want my opinion, it is likely that you need to retrieve the fragments of your soul before you can attempt the next trial. You have two fragments currently, which might allow you to challenge the second trial, but without a third, the third trial will almost certainly be beyond your reach." He paused, letting the sun and the silence press against them. "That is, of course, only theory. It is based on how the trials themselves are structured."
Vale raised a brow, the explanation fitting snugly into the gaps of what he already knew. The theory made sense, plausible even, though much remained unknown. His mind continued to churn as they walked, processing fragments of knowledge, suspicion, and curiosity all at once.
Their journey's quiet tension was broken when Eskar's voice cut through the heat and stillness. "Do you have any idea how we're going to be permitted into Irea yet?"
Drago remained silent for a long stretch, his slow, deliberate steps stirring small clouds of sand with each movement. Vale glanced between him and Eskar, noting the subtle changes the desert winds brought: his own hair, now grown long enough to fall past the nape of his neck, whipped gently across his face, brushing against his cheeks and lips as he waited for some indication from the old man.
The silence stretched on, heavy and deliberate, until for a brief moment, Vale and Eskar exchanged glances, unsure how to read Drago. Neither of them knew whether to speak, to prod, or simply wait. Finally, Drago's voice cut through the wind, low and measured:
"I know what to do, but I'll only tell you once we are there," he said slowly, his tone deliberate, almost challenging.
Vale raised a brow, suspicion prickling at the edges of his mind. "Why are you so secretive about it?" he asked, curiosity edged with caution.
Drago turned slightly, his expression a careful mixture of annoyance and simmering anger. "I am not secretive," he said, his words deliberate and heavy. "I simply wish to remain silent… for now."
Vale's eyes widened slightly, and he raised his hands in a small, almost apologetic gesture.
"Alright… sorry for asking," he murmured, his voice low, but inside, suspicion still lingered. He continued to walk, thoughts churning, the desert stretching endlessly before them.
Hours passed in silence. Vale's boots sank slightly into the hot, yielding sand as his body adjusted again to the desert's oppressive heat. The sensation was unpleasant, but not nearly as punishing as the bruising, exhausting matches he had endured with Shade. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his legs and feet adapted, the pain dulling to a persistent reminder rather than an agony, and he let himself keep moving, thoughts shifting between the silence of Drago and the unknown trials ahead.
Eventually, Drago came to a halt at the base of a massive dune. Vale and Eskar stopped immediately, both of them looking at him with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. The desert sun blazed above them, casting long, angular shadows that danced across the sand as the wind shifted, lifting faint clouds into the air.
Vale's gaze traveled up the slope, and a slow understanding dawned in his eyes. His lips parted, voice quiet but deliberate. "A scorpion?" he asked, the question almost reverent in its caution.
Drago remained silent for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the dune, then finally gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Eskar let out a deep sigh, the sound carrying faintly over the shifting sands. His hand rested on the hilt of his onyx blade, fingers tightening around the grip. "Alright," he said, his voice steady and confident, "let's take care of it." He began moving toward the dune, boots sinking slightly with each step, every motion deliberate.
But Vale paused, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Wait," he said, his voice low but tinged with anticipation. He crouched slightly, drawing his spear with a practiced flourish, eyes glinting as he looked down at the weapon. A spark of mischief, and strategy, flashed across his features. "I want to test something first."