The first thing they did was walk. Walk and walk, down an endless walkway, decorated with torches lit with the sickly green fire of a lich's spells. The floor was draped over with a red carpet, and the passage to the phylactery would be quite nice if it wasn't so ominous.

They could even smell the faint scent of air freshener and of newly washed linens. It was clear that Darius still inhabited this cave, and made it quite, devilishly comfy. How he got here so easily was a question best left unanswered. Occasionally, the hallway broke off in forks, and ended in doors, implying that he made the installation into an entire mansion.

Jonathan took out his finger out of his cloak, and burned the carpet where they had been. The size of the facility worked to make it into a homely maze, which only an undead wouldn't mind. Pure evil.

So they walked, and time became hard to judge. They couldn't stop to rest, not this deep in the enemy territory. So they marched, at least for a few minutes, but without much light, it was an experiment in resilience. The King Alexander was never afraid of the dark, but now Al was far away from that persona. That toughness and bravery, though his feats were his own, never bested a magician before, especially not on the level of reanimation.

"Jonathan, let's stop."

Jonathan turned around and looked hard at Al. He moved his mouth but he couldn't sound a word. Annoyed and impossibly focused, he instead looked forward and kept on going. At the very least, Al didn't feel exhausted, so he trudged on. The cave protected them from the elements, so instead it was like a nice indoor stroll. Al wanted to have his own palace in a colder climate, and this would probably the closest he'd get.

Suddenly, Jonathan collapsed on the floor.

"Okay," he voiced.

"No, no, you were right to keep on moving for as long as you did," he reaffirmed his effort. They rested, until Jonathan sprang to his feet, and grabbed Celine's arm. Before, they had careful about their turns, but now, they ran carelessly, not even marking the floor. Hopefully, he pulled her into new direction, or else several minutes, or almost an hour's worth of progress would be lost until they slowed down.

"We are being pursued."

Al fell into tactician mode, "How many?"

"Three. Two..." it exceeded Jonathan's limit on his communication.

"Hey now, at least be more efficient next time."

Al and Jonathan stood their ground for a bit, but decided to sneak forward, and the halls became claustrophobic once they learned they had pursuers. They stress on their minds worsened and worsened until it became unbearable. Undead, lich, cave, magic fire, all of it.

Celine dropped to her knees, and Jonatan looked at her with angry eyes, but he couldn't muster enough magic to use telepathy. His look softened, and for once he became sympathetic.

He knew that she didn't probably learn enough of the alphabet, but he draw on her palm, "Done. Will relieve you."

Except, Al didn't let him finish, and powered through the near insanity-inducing levels of fear, and no doubt shrugged off much magical interference against his mind. Heph was also unreachable though he should have recharged by now. Convinced that their feelings what not their own, both marched forward.

A lost kingdom. The concept was stronger than any undead. It was with that determination, that they came across a golden door. Pure and lightweight. There was no evidence that it was a gilded iron door when Jonathan opened. Closing it behind them, Jonathan did something to it, so that it felt heavy to Al.

Now that the two were safe, they forgot about the phylactery, and collapsed without their sleeping gear on the floor, even though it was on hard stone. When they awoke, that's when they noticed something about their surroundings. Yes, in fact, outside the door, they heard moans and angry cries that felt very much like commands.

"Okay," Jonathan said. He believed that the door could hold. After all, something prevented the outsiders from beating down the door.

Jonathan wanted to say, "I wonder if you're really okay after falling asleep in the middle of a magic field," but he couldn't bring it down to few enough words to say with telepathy. Naturally, Celine passed out even though she just woke up.

Al found himself over a blue ocean, and he remembered the smell of saltwater. He looked down, and was briefly relieved at seeing his body in full health, but that was also how he learned he was in a dream. He also was floating just above the water's surface, as if standing on an invisible platform. He looked to his right, and to his left, and behind him, and they were all empty, because he did not want to see what was in front of him.

He was in fact, over the Mediterranean Sea. Particularly, right by the coast of Greece, which he united early on. He saw a burning town. He promised to himself and tried and tried so hard to keep troops in discipline, but it had been right after a long siege, and the soldiers had gotten impatient.

He remembered what he was doing too. This was when he was injured. He wanted to go to the town and stop the flames of war. Stop the dogs that had forgotten their orders, but he was hurt. That was Alexander's curse. He was sometimes not strong enough to win completely enough. He could always win, but sometimes it would be messy.

Towns, that would soon go off the maps. Being Celine was like a dream, and he'd forgotten that he did things like these too. For some of the victories he had, especially for the victories that brought happiness to even the noncombatants, there were plenty that ended with massacre.

He woke up, and wiped some of the dust out of Celine's longish hair. And faced Jonathan, who was hidden inside his cloak.