"Too bad we can't test it," Sasrir murmured from his bunk.
"We'll have plenty of opportunities when we return to the Waking World. Who knows, you might just get to play as Mongrel once we get back."
With everything I could acquire in the short-term now complete, the next target was clear. Its location had been revealed to me by an Artisan, who had used its parts before: a gnarled, ancient grove in the deepest part of the eastern ruins, almost at the edge of the City and into the Labyrinth, where a Corrupted known as the Sap-Spirit was said to guard a Memory that could knit flesh back together. It was time to hunt for my regeneration.
Our first step was intelligence. While Sasrir used his shadow form to eavesdrop on the conversations of returning Pathfinders and veteran Hunters, I took a more direct approach. I spent my "pastoral" hours in the Artisan's quarter, offering help and listening. I asked careful questions, always framed as academic curiosity about the nature of life and healing.
"Charr," I asked an older Artisan who was the one specialized in making paper, "I've been thinking about what you told me last time, about those Spirit-Sappers, Can you tell me more?"
The older man, pleased by the interest, nodded sagely. "Aye, sure. Rare, though. Viciously territorial. You'll find them in the oldest parts of the ruins, where the City meets the Labyrinth. The eastern grove, some say. But it's a death sentence. Their bark is tougher than steel, and they drain the life from you if you get too close. Not to mention their roots are viciously fast."
Sasrir's own findings corroborated it; he'd overheard a Hunter complaining about a patrol being forced to reroute due to "those damned animated trees." Apparently they had also moved into the City following the turf war that we inadvertently caused.
The night before our planned expedition, we laid our tools out. The Starlight Cloak was for defense. The Unshadowed Crucifix, our ultimate weapon, rested heavily on the table between us. Its fire attacks would be both important and also a preview of its effectiveness against the Soul Devourer.
"Our advantage is that we know what we're looking for," I said, tracing a rough map of the eastern sector on the floor with a piece of charcoal. "The Sap-Spirit is the guardian. They travel in groups but still spread out once they've rooted themselves. If we target the one on the dge, we should be able to avoid drawing in the others.
"And if we cannot avoid it?" Sasrir asked, his voice calm.
"Then we run and come back another day," I replied. "Just stick them with your shadows as much as possible while I try to burn them. Don't forget, the more degenerate you make them, the stronger my own Purification."
It was a risk. The eastern grove was deeper into uncontrolled territory than we had ever ventured. But the reward was a cornerstone of my long-term survival. Without a way to mitigate the Crucifix's cost, my most powerful tool would remain a last resort. With it, I could use it strategically, turning the tide of battles before they were lost.
As we extinguished the light and settled in to wait for dawn, the atmosphere was different from any night before a hunt. There was no nervous tension, only a cold, patient readiness. We had been here long enough, hunted long enough, survived for long enough. At this point, I didn't think anything the Dream Realm could throw would break us.
We left Bright Castle before dawn, slipping out through the eastern gate under a veil of fog. The guards barely looked up — two more Hunters heading toward the ruins was nothing new. The City devoured people daily; it was almost boring.
The road that wound through the lower tiers was cracked and uneven, cobblestones slick with moss and old blood. Towering arches loomed above us, their spires leaning inward as if gossiping about our chances. The lamps along the path still burned with pale dreamlight, but their glow grew weaker the further we went.
"Cheerful morning," Sasrir muttered, tightening the straps on his pack.
"It's the City's version of a sunrise," I joked. "Soft light, faint despair."
We moved fast while the mists were thick, following what was once a pilgrim's route. The frescoes carved into the walls were almost gone now — faces worn smooth, halos turned to stains. The air carried the faint tang of rust and resin, a scent that clung to everything near the ruins.
After an hour, the ground began to slope downward. Buildings became smaller and stranger — once-grand mansions reduced to skeletal outlines, their marble eaten by pink coral growths that pulsed faintly in the shadows. This was the outer boundary of the Dark City proper, where stone gave way to coral and decay to mutation. The closer we came to the Coral Labyrinth, the more the architecture seemed to breathe.
"It's growing," Sasrir said, crouching to prod a coral outcrop with his knife. It pulsed once, slow and deliberate, like a sleeping heart. "This wasn't here last time."
"Maybe the Labyrinth is expanding," I said. "The Dream Realm boundaries shift. The City isn't stable, and the Crimson Sun can't burn forever. Sooner or later, everything alive here will die to either it or the Dark Sea, and then the Sun will have no fuel left."
He straightened, his eyes glinting in the pale light. "I wonder if the Sleeping God would destroy the Dream Realm when He wakes up."
"Would you?"
He grinned. "Maybe."