Chapter 117 ‒ Mirage Horizons
Chapter 117 ‒ Mirage Horizons
Yandeon’s yellow eyes glimmered beneath the brim of his worn wizard hat, sharp and unwavering as they pinned Tyler in place.
“I guided that desperate creature to Ivory Glen,” he continued, voice smooth as oil over cold stone. “Legends persist that certain elders and hidden practitioners there possess knowledge older than many kingdoms. It is said they harbour methods to restore what even time has taken — secrets of life energy so pure it can breathe vitality back into dying roots.”
Tyler swallowed hard. Ivory Glen… The word alone felt like a heavy iron bell ringing deep inside his ribs.
Yandeon tilted his head, studying him. “Of course,” he murmured, almost idly, “I have not seen that human again. Perhaps he perished, perhaps he succeeded. Or perhaps… he learned truths too heavy for weak shoulders.”
Tyler’s hands twitched at his sides. The image of the twisted, ashen branches of Ashborough’s World Tree flared behind his eyes, the black liquid oozing like a malignant wound.
He’s right… Ivory Glen did have the Chrysopteryxiella Umbrosynth… Maybe if I ask the village elders, they could perhaps know…
A beat passed.
Wait—did I just say that name correctly?!
Tyler almost felt a laugh bubble up at the absurdity of it. The one word he’d stumbled over so many times, now rolling out naturally in his thoughts at the strangest moment.
But the amusement was short-lived. His mind replayed the day he ravaged Ivory Glen, stealing every bloom of the divine flower, trampling their sanctity beneath his boots. He remembered Miho’s tearful eyes, the horror in the elders’ faces.
Could I really step back into that place? After everything I did? Even if it meant uncovering the truth… do I even deserve to face them?
His gaze drifted downward. The wooden medallion Anne had carved pressed faintly against his chest — clumsy, sharp-edged, but genuine.
Yandeon’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts like a blade. “You scatter yourself too thin, [Player]. If your purpose is to return home, then focus. Your path is not one of endless apologies and attachments. Your next objective is clear: gather the divine keys. That alone will decide your fate.”
Tyler looked up sharply.
Yandeon’s eyes were half-lidded, his tone eerily gentle yet carrying the force of an ocean tide. “I see you hesitate. Your guilt binds you tighter than any chain forged by iron. But guilt is a luxury for those who can afford to stop moving.”
A deep silence pooled between them, thick as pitch.
I… I wanted to make things right… But… he’s right. I can’t let this stop me now. The keys… I need to finish this. I can’t afford to drown in the past, not when there’s still a chance to return home… to Milo… to Mom… Dad…
Yandeon turned slightly, his voice echoing lightly off the cave walls. “The final sanctuary lies in the heart of the Ardun Desert. Be wary… in that land, what the eyes reveal may be nothing but dust and illusion. Mirage and truth are like twin serpents, winding together until even the gods cannot tell them apart.”
Tyler bowed slightly, a heavy exhale slipping through his teeth. “Thank you… for the guidance.”
Yandeon simply tilted his hat lower, yellow eyes glinting with unreadable depths. “Move forward, [Player]. Hesitation is the greatest poison of all.”
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Dustville’s teleportation circle hummed beneath Tyler’s feet, the light dissolving to reveal a bustling town layered in golden dust. Sunlight scattered across rooftops, painting jagged shadows down the crooked alleys.
Tyler stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the dry earth. A sudden gust of warm air caught in the gaps of his armour, carrying the scents of roasted grains and tangy spices from open market stalls.
A wide, freshly painted sign came into view: [Farnak’s Fearless Fighters].
The childish letters were uneven, each stroke thick as if a giant paw had wielded the brush.
Tyler couldn’t help but huff a small laugh. Farnak never did aim for subtlety…
He ducked inside. The interior was an organized chaos: crates stacked high against the walls, maps pinned haphazardly onto boards, parchment scrolls and ink pots littering every flat surface.
Farnak sat behind a low counter, shoulders hunched like a bear forced into human paperwork. His massive fingers fumbled with a quill, smudges of ink staining his fur.
“Gah! Stupid forms! Stupid supply lists!” Farnak bellowed, slamming a paw-shaped stamp onto a sheet. He scowled up at Tyler. “Oh, look who it is — the hero! Come to help me do paperwork, have you?”
Tyler laughed lightly, shaking his head. “No thanks… I’ve already fought enough monsters lately.”
Farnak snorted, flinging a paper aside. “Hah! None of these muscleheads can even read! Next time, remind me to open a school instead of a mercenary guild.”
As Farnak huffed, the door creaked open again. Morik stepped inside, one arm full of groceries, the other carefully guiding a small tiger-chinchilla hybrid. The child’s oversized ears twitched anxiously, eyes wide as marbles.
Morik beamed when he saw Tyler. “Ah! Reeko, come on. Say hello to Mister [Player]. He’s the one who had helped your father.”
The little hybrid, Reeko shuffled forward, clutching Morik’s leg for a moment before bowing deeply. “Thank you, Mister [Player]… thank you for helping my father.”
Tyler’s heart tightened unexpectedly. He crouched down and patted Reeko’s soft fur gently. “Take good care of your dad, okay? Grow strong for him.”
Reeko’s eyes sparkled, his ears flicking back and forth in delight. “Yes, sir!”
Tyler stood, watching Morik gently usher Reeko toward the back rooms.
In the far corner, Grugmar and Ralgar were sparring, their weapons clashing in ringing arcs. They paused mid-swing when they noticed Tyler, grinning wide enough to show every sharp tooth. Both hybrids lifted a clawed hand in greeting before lunging back into their mock battle, roars echoing through the hall.
Tyler moved outside, stepping into the sharp brightness. Beyond the guild’s yard, near a makeshift warehouse, Kragg hefted a massive wooden crate onto one shoulder with a single smooth motion. His huge frame gleamed with sweat, muscles rippling like steel cables.
Tyler approached slowly, hesitant. “Kragg…”
Kragg turned, his heavy brow lifting in surprise. “Ah… [Player]! Come to help lift crates, or a rematch?”
Tyler managed a half-smile. “I… wanted to apologize. I still haven’t found ‘Sunshine’. I’ve looked everywhere, town after town. But I haven’t given up, and I won’t. I promise you that.”
Kragg’s massive hand settled on Tyler’s shoulder, warm and impossibly steady.
“Listen,” Kragg rumbled, voice low and calm as a mountain stream, “I’ve waited years… decades even. A few more months mean nothing to me now. You kept your promise so far. That’s enough for me.”
Kragg looked out toward the horizon, a soft gleam in his eyes. “When this guild is finally stable… maybe I’ll go looking for her myself. But for now, I know she’s somewhere out there… and I know you’re still trying. That’s all I need.”
Tyler’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you… Kragg.”
Kragg squeezed his shoulder once, then hoisted another crate as though it weighed no more than a loaf of bread.
Tyler turned away, each footstep slow and heavy. He paused near the edge of town, glancing back at the noisy, half-built guild hall — the clattering training weapons, Farnak’s cursing echoing from inside, the soft laughter of children weaving through the dusty alleys.
This world… even after everything, it keeps moving forward. Even the scars don’t stop the laughter forever.
His eyes drifted down to his hands, fingers curling slightly.
Milo… I’m almost there. One last sanctuary. One last step… and then I can come home. But… will I even be the same person you remember? Will you still smile at me?
The desert wind brushed against his armour, carrying tiny grains that tapped softly against the metal. Ahead, the horizon shimmered in the heat, endless and unknowable.
Tyler inhaled deeply. The scent of old parchment from Farnak’s guild, the sweat of sparring warriors, the warm dust swirling off the sunbaked streets, all seemed to collapse into one moment — one fragile, trembling heartbeat.
“I can’t let it end here. I have to keep moving, for their sake… and for mine.”
He took a step forward, then another. Each footfall felt like a silent promise echoing through the sun-scorched dust.
“Even if the desert swallows me whole, even if mirages twist my path… I will walk forward. Until the end.”
The sun sank lower behind him, a bleeding disc turning the sky into molten gold and deep purple streaks. Tyler’s silhouette cut through the evening haze, one lone figure marching toward the horizon where illusions danced and truths waited in silence.