The next two weeks passed in a blur of motion and discovery. Each day brought new lessons for Daglan, both in the art of survival and in the intricate dance of circus life. The caravan wound its way through the wasteland, a string of color threading through the desolation like a lifeline.
On this particular morning, Daglan found his usual training interrupted by Mortis. The circus performer's slightly green skin and cat-like eyes were striking as always.
"Mind if I join?" Mortis asked, already picking up one of the wooden practice swords lying nearby. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "You know, it's funny - your Lechi arts use energy kinda like we Serkans do, just... different."
Daglan paused his routine, curiosity piqued. "How so?"
"Well," Mortis said, turning the practice sword over in his hands, "the energy in your body from eating and sleeping, is the same the plants use to grow, and people give objects. Most Serkans connect their energy to plants and animals. They can see through them, control them even. Me? I never got the hang of that." He chuckled, a sound Daglan had come to associate with the man's near-constant good humor. "But a friend taught me a different way. Watch."
Mortis closed his eyes for a moment, and Daglan could feel a shift in the energy around them. Then Mortis began describing, in perfect detail, what was happening behind his back - how many people were walking past, what they were carrying, even their clothing.
"You're seeing through the sword?" Daglan guessed, fascinated.
"And the ground, and that cart over there," Mortis confirmed. "Can't make them move or anything - they're not alive like plants or animals. But I can connect my energy to them, see through them." He spun the sword casually. " Noticed you trying to do a similar thing earlier, and youre going about it wrong. Would you like some pointers?"
Daglan nodded eagerly. He'd been curious about the similarities he'd noticed between some of his Lechi movements and the various performers' techniques. "What should we start with?"
"Feel it flowing through you," Motis said, "extend it outward. Let it touch everything around you. Become one with it."
As the morning wore on, Daglan and Mortis were immersed in their similar fighting styles. Daglan lost track of time as he practiced extending his energy into the world around him. Eventually, the growling of his stomach and the enticing aromas wafting through the air signaled that it was time for breakfast. Wiping sweat from his brow, Daglan followed the scent of spices and roasting meat.
Vega stood over several makeshift grills, his movements a blur as he transformed the wasteland's meager offerings into something magical. Daglan watched, mesmerized, as the ringmaster's nimble fingers darted between pots and pans, wielding seasonings like a master painter with his palette.
"Breakfast is served!" Vega announced, his voice carrying the same showmanship it did on stage. The circus folk descended upon the food with practiced chaos. Daglan found himself swept along, a plate pressed into his hands as he was guided to a weathered table where Kento and Ingrid already sat.
"Sho how wesh trainin'?" Kento asked through a mouthful of what looked like roasted desert lizard, his white hair slightly singed at the ends from this morning's practice with flaming rocks.
Daglan couldn't help but smile at his friend's enthusiasm. "It was good. Mortis has taught me a lot already." His muscles ached pleasantly from the morning's exertion, a familiar comfort that reminded him of training with Koshu.
"You fit in really well here," Ingrid said softly, her brown eyes fixed on her plate as she pushed a piece of meat around with her fork. "Do you... do you think you'll stay?" There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Daglan's chest tighten.
He gripped his utensils harder, the weight of his mission suddenly heavy on his shoulders. "I don't think so... I really enjoy it here, and you're all so nice to me..." He glanced between Kento and Ingrid, his grey eyes conflicted. "But I have a mission. Once we reach Melstien, Vega said you're all going to start traveling west, and I'll need to keep going to the capital."
"I understand..." Ingrid's voice was barely above a whisper as she sank deeper into her seat, the sequins on her practice costume catching the morning light.
"Thash sho cool!" Kento exclaimed dreamily, bits of food spraying from his mouth. He gulped dramatically, adam's apple bobbing, before his eyes lit up with that familiar spark of excitement. "Did I ever tell you about the Black Sail Pirates?! What I wouldn't do to travel the world like them!"
Daglan shook his head, confused but intrigued, as Ingrid let out a deep sigh. "Not this again," she groaned, but Daglan caught the hint of a fond smile tugging at her lips.
"Oh come on!" Kento sprang up from his seat, nearly upending his plate. His skinny frame vibrated with energy as he struck a theatrical pose. "How could that not set your heart aflutter! A Marisian pirate group so infamous they became Ascendants!"
As Kento launched into his tale, his voice took on the rhythmic cadence of a practiced storyteller. His hands painted pictures in the air, describing sea monsters and storms with the vivid imagination of someone who'd never seen the ocean but dreamed of it constantly.
"The Black Sail Pirates, led by the cunning Captain Kaelin, were promised the greatest treasure in the world by a beautiful Sea Witch!" He pitched his voice higher for the witch's dialogue, earning a snort from Ingrid. "Following her map, they fought fierce sea monsters and powerful storms to finally arrive at their destined treasure! But as they reached for it, the Sea Witch revealed her true form! A monstrous creature with tentacles and razor-sharp teeth!"
Kento's voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. "Despite fighting valiantly, the Black Sail Pirates were no match for the Sea Witch!" He began mumbling something about retreating, never to be seen again, before collapsing back into his seat, chest heaving slightly.
"There's more to it, but I don't have it memorized," he admitted, a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Did you like it?!"
"I did, it was amazing," Daglan laughed, genuinely intrigued. The story had awakened something in him - a reminder of why he'd always dreamed of becoming an Ascendant, of having adventures worth telling stories about. "I've never heard of Marisi though."
"They're sea people," Kento explained, already loading more food onto his plate. "Not many come to land. They tend to stay on ships their whole lives." His eyes gleamed with that familiar hunger for knowledge. "Can you imagine living your whole life on the water? Never setting foot on solid ground?"
The last morsels of breakfast barely settled in Daglan's stomach before the familiar bustle of packing consumed the camp. Golden sunlight spilled across the wasteland, casting long shadows as the circus prepared for another day's journey.
Daglan found himself swept up in the rhythm, his lean muscles working in tandem with Goliath's titanic frame. The giant's hands engulfed entire tent poles, lowering them to the ground with surprising gentleness. Daglan darted between the cascading fabric, fingers flying as he secured knots and tightened ropes. The rough hemp bit into his palms, a sensation both foreign and oddly comforting.
"Good," Goliath rumbled, his voice a low tremor that Daglan felt in his chest. A massive hand ruffled his grey hair, nearly knocking him off balance.
As the last tent collapsed into a neatly bound package, Goliath lumbered towards the tied up horses. Daglan watched in awe as the giant cradled each animal, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he effortlessly lifted the horses. Their whinnies of protest quickly gave way to contented nickering as Goliath murmured soothing words, his touch impossibly delicate for hands that could crush boulders. Goliath grunted, gesturing to the pile of saddles and harnesses.
Daglan's nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of leather and horse sweat, but he attacked the task with gusto. His nimble fingers worked buckles and straps with ease. Each secured saddle brought a nod of approval from Goliath, pride swelling in Daglan's chest at the giant's wordless praise.
As the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, the Wandering Menagerie Circus stirred to life. Wagons creaked, animals snorted, and anticipation filled the air as Bolgue loomed ever closer on the horizon.
The hours blended together as the caravan snaked its way through Shodun's unforgiving expanse. Inside their wagon, a microcosm of circus life unfolded. Kento's daggers flashed in the filtered sunlight, his white hair a blur as he contorted himself into increasingly improbable juggling positions. Mortis remained a statue of green-tinged serenity, his meditation broken only by the occasional twitch of his pointed ears at some distant sound.
Daglan found himself drawn to the window, grey eyes wide as he absorbed the ever-shifting panorama of desolation. Hel's Peaks loomed on the horizon, their twisted rock formations warped by shimmering heat mirages. Skittering creatures darted between patches of scraggly vegetation, always wary, always hungry.
Sun-bleached bones poked through windswept dunes, silent testaments to the wasteland's unforgiving nature. Occasionally, they'd pass the desiccated remains of less fortunate travelers – mummified by the arid air, frozen in their final, desperate moments. Vultures and other scavengers circled these sites ceaselessly, nature's cleanup crew in this harsh realm.
The caravan pressed on until dusk descended, bringing with it the familiar chaos of camp preparation - tents snapping in the wind and tables wobbling into place. From his makeshift stage atop a wooden table, Kento's voice boomed across the camp, weaving tales with such infectious energy that Daglan felt the storyteller's joy ripple through his own bones. Off in the shadows, Azreal perched alone, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel marking his endless work on twin katanas, his bandaged visage hidden deeper within his hood's dark embrace. Near the edge of camp, Goliath tended to the horses with surprising gentleness, his massive palm nearly matching their heads in size, while further out, Motis and Vega stalked through the wastes, hunter and companion searching for the telltale movements of small prey in the gathering darkness.
"Hey...Daglan?" The soft utterance of his name cut through the ambient noise of the camp, startling Daglan from his reverie. He whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat.
There stood Ingrid, her presence both sudden and magnetic. The fading daylight caught in her vibrant red hair, setting it ablaze with an otherworldly glow. Her dark brown eyes seemed to pierce right through him, reading the unspoken thoughts that churned beneath his surface. Daglan felt a curious sensation - a warmth that started in his chest and spread outward, leaving him momentarily breathless. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat, acutely aware of the quickening tempo of his pulse.
"Oh, Ingrid... you snuck up on me." Daglan felt his heart race, unsure if it was from the surprise or Ingrid's presence.
Ingrid fidgeted with the hem of her costume, her eyes darting between Daglan and the ground. "I... I was wondering if you wanted to practice together? I mean, if you're not too tired from all the unpacking and stuff."
Daglan nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Sure! I'd love to. What did you have in mind?"
"Well," Ingrid started, her voice gaining confidence, "I thought maybe you could show me some of those Lechi moves, and I could teach you some acrobatics? It might be fun to combine them."
They moved to a clear space just outside the circle of wagons. The night air was cool on their skin, a welcome relief from the day's heat. Stars twinkled overhead, impossibly bright in the wasteland's clear sky.
As they began to practice, Daglan felt the initial awkwardness melt away. He took a deep breath, centering himself as Koshu had taught him. With practiced ease, he moved into a simple Lechi stance, his movements fluid and natural.
"This is the Rooted Oak Stance," Daglan explained, feeling the familiar grounding sensation. "It's a defensive posture that helps you connect with your surroundings."
He watched as Ingrid observed him intently. Her dark brown eyes seemed to catch every detail of his posture. When she began to mirror him, Daglan noticed her struggle to find the right balance.
Ingrid wobbled slightly, her acrobat's instincts seemingly at odds with the grounded nature of the stance. "Like this?" she asked, uncertainty clear in her voice.
Daglan shook his head gently. "Not quite. Here, let me show you." He stepped closer, suddenly aware of their proximity. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards her arms.
Ingrid nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
Daglan gently adjusted her posture, his hands carefully guiding her arms and shoulders into the correct position. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the slight tension in her muscles. "The key is to imagine you're a tree," he explained softly. "Your feet are the roots, spreading deep into the ground."
He moved to adjust her stance, using his foot to gently nudge her feet slightly farther apart. "Feel the earth beneath you," he continued. "Let that connection steady you."
As Ingrid followed his guidance, Daglan could see the change in her posture. Her balance improved, and the wobbling ceased. "There," he said, stepping back to observe. "Now you're rooted like a mountain."
Ingrid held the pose for a moment, a look of concentration on her face. Then she relaxed, a smile spreading across her features. "I think I get it now," she said. "It's so different from what I'm used to in acrobatics."
Daglan nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "It takes some getting used to, but it's a great foundation for everything else in Lechi."
"Now, let's try another basic technique," Daglan continued, shifting his weight. "This is called the Flowing River Strike. It's a series of quick, fluid punches."
He demonstrated the technique, feeling the familiar flow of energy as his arms moved in circular motions. As he completed the sequence, he turned his attention back to Ingrid, curious to see how she would perform the move.
Daglan's eyes widened in surprise as he watched Ingrid mimic the sequence. Her acrobatic training allowed her to execute the moves with a unique grace that he hadn't seen before.
"Wow, that's really good!" he exclaimed, genuinely impressed. "You've got a natural talent for this."
Ingrid held the pose for a moment before relaxing. "Your turn," she said with a grin. "Let's see how flexible you are."
She guided Daglan through a series of stretches, each one pushing his limits a little further. He couldn't help but marvel at her strength and control.
"You're actually pretty good at this," Ingrid said, sounding impressed.
Daglan beamed at the compliment. "Thanks! But I don't think I'll be joining your act anytime soon."
They both laughed, the sound carrying across the quiet camp. As their laughter faded, a comfortable silence fell between them.
"Daglan," Ingrid said after a moment, her voice serious. "I... I'm really glad you joined us. Even if it's just for a little while."
Daglan felt a lump form in his throat. "Me too," he managed to say. "I've never met anyone quite like you before."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Ingrid took a small step closer, and Daglan felt his breath catch.
The moment was shattered by a loud crash from the direction of the cooking area, followed by Kento's voice shouting, "I'm okay! Everything's fine!"
Ingrid and Daglan jumped apart, both laughing nervously.
"We should probably go help," Ingrid said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yeah," Daglan agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "But maybe... maybe we could practice again tomorrow?"
Ingrid's smile lit up her face. "I'd like that," she said softly before turning to head back to camp.
Daglan watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm his racing heart, before following her back to the warmth and chaos of the circus.
Daglan watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm his racing heart. As he prepared to follow her back to the warmth and chaos of the circus, his gaze was drawn to the horizon. There, a dark smudge marred the star-studded sky - Bolgue.
Even from this distance, the city's silhouette seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. No welcoming lights twinkled in the darkness; instead, an ominous red glow throbbed faintly, like the heartbeat of some vast, slumbering beast.
The sight of it sent chills down Daglan's spine, a stark reminder of his true purpose. Tomorrow, he would begin his search for Vilrux and Rozeree. The thought of his sister made his heart ache fiercely.
As much as he had come to care for his new friends, as much as the vibrant life of the circus had begun to feel like home, Daglan couldn't forget his mission. He wouldn't forget. Rozeree was out there, somewhere beyond that smoky sprawl.
With a deep sigh, Daglan turned back towards camp. The sounds of laughter and music drifted on the night air, and for a moment, he hesitated.
Then, squaring his shoulders, Daglan strode purposefully back to the warm glow of the campfire. He would savor this night with the Wandering Menagerie, committing every detail to memory. Come morning, he would face whatever Bolgue had in store for them.
As he approached the circle of wagons, Kento's animated voice rose above the general chatter, weaving another fantastical tale. Ingrid caught Daglan's eyes and smiled, patting the empty space beside her. Daglan felt a bittersweet pang in his chest as he took a seat.
Tomorrow would bring what it would. For tonight, there were friends, and stories, and the comforting illusion of belonging. Daglan allowed himself to be drawn into the warmth of the moment, even as a part of him remained acutely aware of the challenges that lay ahead.
The firelight cast flickering shadows that danced across the faces of his companions. As Daglan listened to Kento's story, he couldn't help but wonder what tales would be told of his own journey.
With Bolgue looming on the horizon and the weight of his quest heavy on his shoulders, Daglan faced an uncertain future. But for now, surrounded by the laughter and camaraderie of the circus, he found an oasis in this wasteland.