Dust, Loss, and the Living

“There’s no space for stillness in Clivilius—not when every breath carries grief, and every footstep is a choice.”

As we neared the camp, the sense of anticipation tightened around us like a taut wire, vibrating with invisible tension. I could feel it humming beneath my skin, an unspoken anxiety that grew with each step closer to whatever awaited us. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, crackling with subdued energy, as though Clivilius was holding another secret just out of reach.

Lois broke away from our group, bounding eagerly ahead. Her tail wagged in wild, sweeping arcs, flinging fine droplets of water as she raced toward the familiar. She reached Glenda within seconds, leaping up with jubilant abandon. Glenda knelt to greet her, arms wide and welcoming, her face softening with a smile that, for a fleeting moment, seemed to banish the shadows from around us. Watching them, I felt a fragile thread of normality weaving its way through the dire circumstances—a brief reminder of something tender and grounding amid the unknown.

But the warmth of the moment quickly gave way to the solemnity that awaited us. Standing nearby were Paul and a woman I had only heard about through hushed mentions—Charity. Kain had spoken her name earlier, and now that I saw her up close, I understood the way it lingered. She was unlike anyone else in our group. Tall and composed, she stood like a sentinel, her expression unreadable but fiercely aware. Her sharp eyes swept the perimeter with deliberate calculation, missing nothing. She wore her strength with quiet confidence, an air of calm authority emanating from her like heat from sunbaked stone. There was a mystery in her presence, a suggestion of deeper knowledge, of skills honed in a world far less forgiving than ours.

As we stepped into the clearing, the silence between us all was broken by Kain’s voice. “The feeling has returned in my good leg,” he announced, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first true note of relief I’d heard from him all morning.

Glenda rose quickly, her medical instincts snapping to the fore. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said as she approached, her eyes scanning his face with sharp focus. She crouched slightly, her expression intent. “And the other leg?” Her gaze dropped to the wounded limb with the precision of a surgeon and the concern of someone who had come to care deeply for her patients.

“Seems to be quite the miracle,” I interjected, casting a glance at the rolling dusty hills, where the lagoon’s distant shimmer continued beyond. The memory of the whirlpools flickered in my mind, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if it truly had been some kind of miracle—or something else entirely.

Kain nodded solemnly. “I’ll be sure to give it plenty of rest,” he said, and I could tell the gratitude was genuine, even if his tone remained composed.

Chris stepped forward already thinking in terms of materials and tools. “We can make you some crutches,” he offered, his eyes bright with purpose.

But I raised a hand almost reflexively, turning to Paul with a firm shake of my head. "Forget making crutches," I said, my voice carrying more edge than I’d intended. "Just have Luke bring us some real ones." There was no time to waste on improvised solutions—not with Joel missing, not with the strange energies we’d just left behind at the lagoon.

Glenda nodded quickly in agreement. “That’s a much better idea,” she said, before her attention suddenly shifted, drawn towards the tents. Her brow creased, and I followed her gaze instinctively, the hairs on the back of my neck rising in response to the change in her expression.

Something had caught her attention.

And just like that, the sense of normality was gone again—swept away like a footprint in the sand.

Curious, I followed Glenda’s gaze, my eyes narrowing as two figures rounded the canvas walls of the camp. Jamie—his walk slow and laboured, as if the weight he carried extended far beyond the bundle in his arms—was flanked by an unfamiliar young woman with long silvery hair that glinted strangely under the morning sun. Her features were taut with apprehension, her steps hesitant yet purposeful. Though I didn’t know it at that moment, I would soon come to learn her name: Beatrix Cramer. A friend of Jamie and Luke’s, and—more astonishingly still—our newest Guardian.

So it had been her screams that had sliced through the darkness last night, the ones I had heard while everything unravelled. The cries that had haunted the fringes of my dreams. The thought stirred a cold ripple across my skin.

But my attention quickly shifted to Jamie. My breath caught in my throat as I took in his expression—grief carved into every line of his face, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. In his arms he cradled a bloodied bundle, something precious and terrible all at once. My chest tightened, a visceral ache taking root beneath my ribs. The full weight of our circumstances slammed into me again with merciless clarity. Clivilius held no space for reprieve. Its dangers were unrelenting, its losses permanent.

Paul, who had been standing silently nearby, suddenly straightened. There was a shift in his bearing—his shoulders squared, his gaze sharpened. He spoke not as a friend or fellow castaway now, but with the quiet command of a leader shaped by necessity.

“Jamie,” he said, and though his voice wavered at the edges, it held a strength born of urgency. “I know things are painful right now, but we need to know when you last saw Joel.”

Jamie froze mid-step. The bundle in his arms adjusted slightly as he turned toward us, and for a moment, I thought he might collapse under the weight of it—under the weight of everything. His eyes dropped to the sand. A hush settled over the camp, stifling and taut. The wind, which had carried distant murmurs and flapping tent walls only moments before, now seemed to still in reverence or dread.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible, each syllable dredged up from some cavern of sorrow. “It was just before the attack last night,” he murmured. “He was in bed in the tent when I took off after Duke.”

The pain in his voice was like a fresh wound, raw and open. His gaze didn’t meet ours—it remained fixed somewhere far beyond, trapped in the moment everything had changed.

Paul took a step closer, his tone softening but remaining steady. “And when you returned?” he asked, gently, though the question cut deep. We all leaned forward slightly, hoping for some fragment of reassurance.

But Jamie didn’t answer. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken. His jaw clenched, and his grip on the bundle in his arms tightened. The unspoken truth lay bare on his face: he had never returned to his tent.

Glenda’s voice cut cleanly through the silence. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, her expression cold and resolute—not cruel, but clear-eyed. “Then it’s settled,” she said, her voice steely with finality. “Joel is missing.”

I glanced at Chris, then at Kain, then back at Jamie and the girl with the silver hair, who stood like a ghost at his side. My heart beat faster, the knot of dread pulling tighter.

Clivilius had claimed someone else. And it wasn’t finished yet.

At that moment, Charity stepped away from the campfire. There was an unmistakable command in her bearing—each step purposeful, each movement measured with a warrior’s grace that didn’t need to shout to be heard. Her presence radiated quiet authority, the kind that came not from title or bravado, but from a life shaped by conflict and survival.

“I am certain that Joel has been taken by a Portal Pirate,” she declared, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet—calm, unwavering, and irrefutable. “I will hunt him down and bring Joel back.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Portal Pirate—the term was unknown to me, unfamiliar and terrifying, yet it evoked an immediate and visceral fear. I had never heard it spoken before, but the way Charity said it—with certainty and dread—left no room for doubt. My stomach twisted, my breath catching in my throat as the full weight of what she meant began to settle.

Was this what Clivilius truly held for us? Not just creatures of tooth and claw, but beings capable of stealing us away? The reality of our situation was mutating before my eyes, growing more surreal, more dangerous. We weren’t just surviving in a strange land anymore. We were part of something far bigger, something far darker.

Jamie’s voice broke through my spiralling thoughts. “I’m coming with you,” he said, with a rawness that spoke of a soul already scraped bare. His eyes, reddened with sleepless grief, burned with a newfound resolve. Whatever fear stirred within him was buried beneath a deeper, more urgent need—to not lose someone else.

Charity nodded once, sharp and solemn. There was no condescension in her gesture, no doubt in her eyes. Only recognition—a warrior acknowledging another’s pain and resolve. “Prepare your things. We leave immediately.”

Jamie swallowed hard, and in that brief, flickering second, I caught the look in his eyes. Not just fear—terror. The wide-eyed terror of someone teetering on the edge, barely holding together, clutching desperately to the hope that they might undo a loss not yet carved in stone. My heart clenched for him. For all he had already endured, and all he would now face.

Charity stepped closer to him, and with a kind of fierce tenderness, placed her hand beneath his chin, raising his face until their eyes locked. There was nothing sentimental in her voice, only urgency and truth. “If you want any chance of finding Joel alive, we must leave immediately.”

I felt the air shift, thick with the storm of emotion swirling between them. It was all too much—the mounting tension, the relentless unknowns, the way grief and fear pulled at us from all directions. I turned my eyes away from their exchange, seeking refuge in the familiar outlines of the camp, hoping for something—anything—that might ground me again.

But what I saw instead rooted me to the spot.

Just beyond the firelight, where the flickering shadows grew long and strange, lay the body of the panther-like creature—the one that had haunted our night, the one whose savagery had nearly shattered us. Its sleek black fur was now streaked and clotted with dried blood, its body twisted in death. Lifeless eyes stared into the void, glassy and fixed, as if still watching.

The sight chilled me to my core.

There was no mistaking it now—Clivilius was not a place that tested only our endurance. It tested our understanding, our sanity. Its beauty cloaked horrors. Its silence carried threats. And its stillness—this momentary pause—was just the breath before the next storm.

Jamie's voice broke through my shock, thin and trembling, barely holding itself together. "I need to say farewell to Duke first."

The words clutched at something deep in my chest. I turned away from the still form of the panther, forcing myself to focus on Jamie and Charity, though the sight of him standing there—shoulders hunched under the unbearable weight of loss—was no less painful to witness. The air around us felt thick with anticipation, grief and urgency mixing in a suffocating brew that wrapped itself around my lungs.

Charity didn’t hesitate. Her voice rang out, firm and unyielding, cutting through the emotional haze like a blade. "Life is full of decisions and consequences. You need to make a choice, Joel or Duke."

I flinched inwardly at the starkness of her words. There was no softness, no room for sentiment. Just the brutal reality of our situation. My mind echoed the impossibility of the choice she’d laid bare—grieve or act, the past or the present. I could feel the anguish radiating from Jamie, saw the way his grip tightened around Duke's swaddled form. The pressure was unbearable, and yet it was a decision that had to be made.

Then, quietly, a different presence stepped in—soothing, steady. Beatrix. With a gentleness that seemed to still the charged air around us, she approached Jamie, her silvery hair catching the light like a banner of peace. Without a word, she extended her arms and took Duke’s lifeless form from him, cradling the bundle with a reverence that moved me to my core.

"Duke knows you love him, Jamie. He won’t ever forget that," she said softly, her voice a balm to the raw edges of grief.

Jamie leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to the top of Duke’s covered head. "I’m so sorry, Duke," he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. It wasn’t just sorrow—it was apology, regret, love, and goodbye, all wrapped into one fragile utterance.

And then, something shifted. Jamie drew a breath, deep and shaky, and straightened his back. His shoulders squared, the lines of his grief still etched into his face, but steadied by resolve. “I'll grab my things,” he said. The strength in his voice didn’t hide the pain, but it carried a new purpose.

I blinked hard, the sting behind my eyes growing sharper. It wasn’t fair—none of it was. That any of us had to make these kinds of decisions. That we had to keep moving through this relentless landscape of loss and danger.

As Jamie turned to leave, he paused briefly, casting one last look over his shoulder. His voice caught as he made a small but heartfelt request. “Take good care of Henri for me.”

Paul was already moving before the words had even fully landed. He bent down, scooping up the little dog with care, holding Henri close against his chest. “We’ll keep him safe, Jamie. You have my word,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice rang clear as a promise carved in stone.

Jamie nodded once and disappeared into his tent without another word, his steps leaden. Charity followed close behind, silent and watchful, like a shadow stitched to his resolve.

And just like that, the moment passed—but its weight lingered in the air, a heavy imprint on all of us left behind.

Suddenly, Glenda’s scream ripped through the camp like a bolt of lightning, shattering the fragile silence. It was a sound not born of fear alone, but of something far more visceral—grief colliding with revelation. “Clivilius!” she cried, her voice raw with anguish, trembling with some deep, uncontainable knowledge.

The name rang out with eerie clarity, as if the very land itself were echoing her pain. I felt the sound reverberate through my bones, and for a moment, time seemed to still.

Glenda collapsed to her knees, her fists striking the parched earth with a desperation that made my heart seize. She wasn’t just mourning—she was awakening. Her entire body trembled with a force that looked too big for one person to carry. When she finally looked up, her face was transformed—streaked with dust and tears, yes, but her eyes... her eyes were wild with something terrible and beautiful. Knowledge. Understanding. Revelation.

Paul stepped forward cautiously, as though approaching a live wire. “Glenda? Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft but strained.

She barely seemed to hear him. Her hands shot into the air, her posture shifting from devastation to a kind of ecstatic trance. “My father is alive!” she declared, the words crashing into us like a tidal wave.

We all froze. The air thickened. For a heartbeat, none of us could move or breathe. Her voice, so full of unshaken conviction, sent ripples through the group. I glanced quickly around—Chris was already at her side, trying to coax her back to coherence, but she didn’t seem to see him. She was somewhere else entirely, locked in a vision we couldn’t follow.

Then, just as we were still trying to make sense of Glenda’s outburst, another disturbance unfolded. Beatrix stepped away from the huddled group, her expression distant, eyes fixed on a point far beyond the camp. Her arms cradled Duke’s body as though shielding something sacred.

“Beatrix, where are you going?” Paul called after her, his voice rising in confusion, breaking the stunned silence that had settled over us.

“Home!” she answered with a sudden, ringing clarity, her voice resolute and final.

The word hit me like a cold splash of water. Home? What did she mean? Was that even possible anymore?

Before I could ask, Kain’s voice cut in, sharp and unexpected. “I’m going with Beatrix.”

I stared at him, stunned. Without thinking, I stepped towards him, hand outstretched, heart pounding. “You need to rest,” I said firmly, gripping his arm. He had barely recovered. The thought of him venturing out again—injured, vulnerable—was unthinkable.

But Kain was already shaking me off, his jaw set with stubborn resolve. “I need crutches. If Beatrix brings me some crutches, I can go with my uncle.”

My chest tightened. He believed in her, utterly and without question. But belief wasn’t enough—not when he could barely walk.

“Don’t be so foolish,” I snapped, the practicality in my voice cutting through my frustration.

But Kain wasn’t listening. He had already turned, hobbling away from the camp on bare feet, each step slow and agonising as the soft dust swallowed his footprints.

I stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching him. Watching his resolve. Watching his pain.

And then I moved.

If he was going to go, injured or not, then he wasn’t going alone. I caught up with him, my strides brisk and determined. My protective instinct surged to the surface, fierce and immovable. He could be as stubborn as he liked—but he was going to do it with me at his side. Come what may.