The red sand of the Dream Realm stretched endlessly in every direction, warm beneath Waynie's feet. He exhaled and turned to face his cohort as they staggered through the portal behind him, one by one. The air here was different. Dense with the quiet hum of something unseen, something watching. The bunker was gone, sealed away along with Merrin. But there was no time to dwell on that.
They needed a camp.
The first thing they did was gather what they could from their packs.
The gold miners, who had long since learned to work in sync, used their mining memories to carve out trenches in the sand, creating defensible lines. The first miner, a gruff man named Boros, kept watch with an unsettling glare that sent a few of the more skittish Awakened shifting away. The second, Joran, sat in eerie stillness, his form flickering between himself and a ragged, towering scarecrow-like figure. The third, Garek, seemed to melt into the background of the camp, making others feel strangely misplaced when they got too close. It was a subtle but effective talent. One that had helped them mine gold uncontested for so long.
Waynie sat off to the side, watching them work. His broken arm throbbed. His attempt at crafting a glass encasement had failed, and for now, all he could do was rest. He could not produce proper tears with one arm either. Florian sat nearby, absentmindedly flipping a shard between his fingers, then balancing two and finally juggling three. For a moment it was as if Waynie had an epiphany but then he lost track of the thought. Ouze meanwhile, who had helped to set up a large tent, grumbled about the discomfort of stretching his limbs beyond their normal range.
Then, from the dunes, a figure approached.
The man who had been outside the bunker finally rejoined them. The disappeareance of the bunker had been quite a suprise for him and he had spent the last hours alone in the desert with no clue what had happened. The news of the destruction of his clan and the appearance of now new army left him in foul spirits. However, he did not protest when Waynie recruited him as well. What could he have done alone in the desert a days travel away from any civilization?
His name was Rayne, a lean, sharp-featured man with tanned skin that gleamed like molten gold. He wore no shirt in the heat, just like Florian and approached the camp with a confident stride. After he had settled in and they had exchanged pleasantries, Raynie was looking around at the others before settling his gaze on the man with the cap. "Glad to see you made it out," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I kept watch. Didn't see anyone else escape."
The man with the cap smirked. "You didn't do anything stupid while we were gone, did you?"
Rayne scoffed. "Depends on what you call stupid." He lifted his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the air around him flared into a searing burst of light. The brightness was almost blinding, causing several Awakened to flinch and shield their eyes.
"That one of your abilities." Waynie muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Rayne grinned. "Maybe."
Waynie looked around. There were so many people here now that he didn't know. A woman who was tending to an injured miner caught his attention. A woman with dark, unkempt hair and an air of uncertainty. She wore tattered robes and carried herself with a quiet confidence, though her expression was tinged with doubt. "I'm Senna," she said hesitantly. "I… can heal, I think. It's not consistent. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."
Waynie studied her for a moment, then nodded. "If you can try my arm, I'd be still thankful." He knew the odds were low, but there was always a chance. Later it would not work out. But that was to be expected.
They sat around the campfire, discussing formations for future battles. The gold miners Boros, Joran, and Garek would form the vanguard. To Waynies surprise, their aspects weren't combat related. Instead they had eerie intimidation abilities. Nevertheless their physical might would still make them into a solid frontline.
Shortly after they had sat down, nightmare creatures emerged from the dunes. Sleek, feline beasts with eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian. They moved in eerie silence, padding forward in a coordinated assault. Just outside of Ki-Song's domain, their assaults had already become frequent. Waynie remained seated, watching as his cohort sprang into action.
The gold miners were the first to engage. Boros let out a guttural growl, his intimidating presence alone making one of the creatures hesitate before Joran's scarecrow-like visage flickered into view, causing another to recoil in confusion. Garek moved between them, subtly shifting positions so to the creatures seemed out of place, disoriented by their own attacks.
Rayne unleashed a blinding flare, stunning two of the beasts, while Ouze twisted his limbs to strike from unpredictable angles. Florian managed to dodge every attack that came his way with uncanny ease, landing precise blows whenever he struck. Vence, the guy with the cap, in a baffling move, actually managed to convince one of the creatures to hesitate. Perhaps sensing some kind of gamble it was unknowingly participating in.
The battle was swift. The nightmare creatures were driven back, limping into the dunes, their dark bodies blending once more into the shadows.
As the camp settled again, Waynie finally pushed himself up, his broken arm still hanging uselessly. "Not bad," he muttered. "We'll need to be sharper next time." A few of the creatures lay dead and some of the Awakened went about removing their soul shards. Waynie briefly considered to confiscate those shards but decided against it. He hadn't earned them himself and those awakened needed some hope to make an income. If each of them was supposed to even get just one shard, that would be a lot of work. Well, for a while, Waynie could just pay back the shards he had taken. But not yet. As of yet, they were still loyal enough.
The others nodded to his remark to be sharper, exhaustion settling in. One by one, they returned to their places, resting where they could.
But they were not alone. A very casual looking black haired man in a striped shirt and a NQC logo was approaching the campers.
Far in the distance, a different Awakened watched the young man walking towards the tents. Andalusia of the Mourning clan's crouched low with keen, calculating eyes. Her ears twitched as she picked up the faintest sounds of their conversation, filtering them with unnatural precision. She had been listening for a while now, learning everything she could. That new arrival, Waynie had broken the territorial souvereignity of the Mourning Clan and apparently lifted out troops for one of Ki Songs saints, lady Keishan. Troops that would've rightfully belonged to her master, the Mourning Saint.
She smiled to herself.
This was going to be interesting.