Six days have passed since the Mirage Market.
The landscape has changed again.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Today we arrived at Vault Shadow Outpost.
The final stop before Vaultreach.
The final stop before the Heartspike Catacombs.
After weeks of red dunes, sandstorms, dry wind, and endless horizons, the outpost felt strangely familiar.
Not comforting.
Just familiar.
It sat atop a low ridge of dark red sand.
A small ring of stone walls.
A few watchtowers.
Several tired buildings.
Smoke rising from cookfires.
People repairing wagons.
Animals resting beneath shade cloths.
From a distance it looked like a shadow.
A black stain upon the red desert.
The atmosphere felt different from previous camps.
Less exhausted.
More nervous.
Everyone here was heading toward something.
And everyone knew it.
Treasure hunters.
Merchants.
Guards.
Scouts.
Explorers.
Dreamers.
Idiots.
Many of them were probably all five at once.
Every conversation eventually returned to the same topic.
Vaultreach.
Heartspike Catacombs.
Artifacts.
Fortunes.
Deaths.
The desert behind us felt old.
The place ahead felt hungry.
I spent most of the afternoon wandering near the outer tents.
Mostly because Ryn was busy negotiating.
And because Spathian had become distracted by something involving maps.
Which is surprisingly normal behavior for him.
It was during one of these walks that I encountered a very strange old man.
Admittedly.
That description narrows things down very little.
He appeared suddenly beside a weathered tent.
Long gray beard.
Layered robes.
Too many necklaces.
Too many rings.
Eyes that seemed permanently narrowed in dramatic suspicion.
The sort of person who looks exactly like someone who claims to possess forbidden knowledge.
He looked directly at me.
Then pointed.
"You."
I pointed at myself.
"Yes, you."
Which unfortunately confirmed the situation.
The old man studied me for several seconds.
Then asked:
"Have you recently experienced a nightmare?"
I froze.
A very specific nightmare immediately came to mind.
The cave.
The roots.
The woman.
The rope.
The punching.
Ryn's face.
Especially Ryn's face.
I stared at him.
"...Yes."
The old man's expression immediately became serious.
Very serious.
Theatrically serious.
"I knew it."
That was not reassuring.
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"A darkness follows you."
I did not like where this conversation was going.
"A lingering presence."
Worse.
"An aura."
Much worse.
"Something old."
Absolutely terrible.
The old man nodded gravely.
"I can see it."
At this point my anxiety had increased considerably.
He informed me that he possessed the ability to read dreams.
Not ordinary dreams.
Dark dreams.
Dangerous dreams.
Prophetic dreams.
Naturally.
He explained that if allowed, he could interpret my nightmare.
Perhaps even remove whatever dark influence haunted me.
Unfortunately such rituals required preparation.
And preparation required materials.
And materials required money.
Remarkably.
The conversation had arrived at money very quickly.
Still.
I was concerned enough that I almost agreed.
Almost.
Then a familiar voice appeared behind me.
"No."
Ryn.
The old man visibly flinched.
I have begun noticing that many questionable people react this way around her.
Ryn looked at me.
Then looked at the old man.
Then back at me.
"No."
The second no sounded even more final.
The old man attempted to protest.
Ryn did not allow him to finish.
Several moments later he had somehow retreated thirty meters away.
I still do not understand how she accomplishes this.
Once he was gone, I turned toward her immediately.
"But he knew about the dream."
Ryn sighed.
The exhausted sigh of someone who has explained something many times before.
Then she pointed toward a nearby crate.
"Sit."
I sat.
Ryn crossed her arms.
Studied me.
Then said:
"Five days ago."
I blinked.
"You had a nightmare."
"...Yes."
"You were fighting something."
I stared.
"Something dark."
I stared harder.
"You released some terrible beast inside yourself."
My mouth slowly opened.
"You beat the darkness unconscious."
I continued staring.
"You punched it."
My heartbeat increased.
"Possibly kicked it."
I felt cold.
"You were laughing like a complete maniac."
I stopped breathing.
For several seconds.
Then I whispered:
"How do you know that?"
Ryn rubbed her cheek.
Very slowly.
The same cheek.
The cheek.
The specific cheek.
The horrifyingly familiar cheek.
Then she gave me a look.
A look containing disappointment.
Exhaustion.
Judgment.
And perhaps mild resentment.
"Because," she said.
"My face still hurts."
Silence.
My soul left my body briefly.
I remembered waking up.
I remembered her staring.
I remembered the suspicious redness.
Oh.
Oh no.
Ryn continued.
"That's how these people work."
She gestured vaguely toward where the old man had disappeared.
"They start broad."
"Nightmares."
"Bad feelings."
"Something following you."
"Darkness."
"Regret."
"Dead relatives."
"Financial opportunities."
I nodded slowly.
"The moment you react, they know which direction to push."
I nodded again.
"The dream part was easy."
Then she rubbed her cheek once more.
"Your combat demonstration helped."
I wanted the desert to swallow me.
Instead Ryn stood.
Brushed sand from her clothes.
And immediately turned toward the marketplace.
"Where are you going?"
I asked.
She pointed into the distance.
I followed her finger.
There was Spathian.
Standing beside a merchant.
Holding a map.
Smiling.
Oh no.
Ryn began walking faster.
Then jogging.
Then running.
I watched her disappear into the crowd.
A few seconds later I heard shouting.
I did not investigate.
Some lessons are best observed from a safe distance.
Particularly when they involve Ryn.
And Spathian.
Together.
I am beginning to suspect the true danger of Vaultreach is not ancient catacombs.
It is arriving there with enough money for Spathian to spend.
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