We’ve entered this vast desert chamber, and the air itself seems to shimmer with a coarse, gritty energy. The sands beneath our feet stir, rising in whorls and eddies, coalescing into threatening forms. The room comes alive with a swirling sandstorm, grains dancing to an unheard rhythm. My neckchain of the ever-breathing prevents it from being an issue for me, but it’s like the winds of this sandstorm spring to life with malicious intent, attempting to flood Lil’s and Teuila’s lungs with sand, to prevent them from breathing. They’re both clutching their throats and trying to plug their noses and mouths, but the damage is already done. I can sense the sand fluctuating about within them, as if it were still alive, trying to irritate and scour their lungs from the insides.

And that's when it hits me. The pun, the reference, the sheer audacity of it all. My brain stutters to a halt, a blue screen of disbelief flickering behind my eyes. The distraction slams into me with the force of a gale. I stand there, mouth agape, as the realization dawns on me. To myself, more than anyone else, I grumble, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

But as the animated sands continue to rise like serpents preparing to strike, I grit my teeth in the familiar focus of battle-readiness. Pleading over the chaos, I beg, "Come on guys, show this rude room you can handle a little breeze."

Despite the bravado of my plea, the joking nature with which I try to dismiss the danger, in the heart of the sandstorm, the world becomes a maelstrom of chaos and fear. Being here in the now's a vivid depiction of my worst fears come to life. The sandstorm rages with a fury I’ve never felt before, a living beast with a mind of its own. The grains whip around us, stinging my skin, blurring my vision. But it's not the physical pain that seizes me – it's the sight of Teuila, my Teuila, My-Wings, being torn away from me. The sand grips her like countless tiny hands, dragging her into its swirling heart. She's reaching out to me with her free hand, her eyes wide with fear as her other hand clutches at her throat, and there's nothing I can do.

My heart hammers against my chest, a frantic drumbeat in the cacophony of the storm. The terror is icy, paralyzing, as I struggle against the force pulling me in the opposite direction. My thoughts are a whirlwind as chaotic as the sand that ensnares us. I can barely breathe, each gasp a figurative battle against the sand that attempts to infiltrate my lungs, despite my necklace's protection, because each gasp is one of terror for the life of the one most beloved to me.

Tears mix with the grit in my eyes, rendering the world a hazy, nightmarish blur. All I can see is Teuila, her form spinning, helpless in the grip of the storm. She looks like a marionette in the hands of a cruel puppeteer, tossed about without mercy. The sight is gut-wrenching, a physical ache that joins the maelstrom of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Seeing the most powerful woman, person I know, tossed about like a ship on an ocean, or a ragdoll in a storm—. Sighing, I try to pull myself together, and fail.

In my mind, a dreadful prophecy replays, a haunting echo amidst the roar of the storm – the fear of losing Teuila, of seeing her derezzed, erased from existence. It's a possibility I've dreaded in the darkest corners of my mind, and now it feels terrifyingly close to reality. The world spins, a dizzying, disorienting dance of sand and wind. I can barely make out Teuila’s figure now, her body contorted and flung about by the merciless storm. The helplessness is suffocating, more so than the sand trying to invade my lungs. It's a nightmare come to life, my worst fears playing out before my eyes.

I want to scream, to call out to Te, but even if I could, the storm would swallow the sound. I’m being dragged further away, my telekinetic grips faltering, unable to anchor me. Every attempt to reach out, to pull her back, is thwarted by the relentless force of the sandstorm. In this moment, I’m not a sorcerer, not a hero. I’m just Reggie, raw and scared, faced with the potential loss of someone I can't bear to live without. The feeling is an eternity, an ageless life, threatening to swallow me whole, absent of everything I've ever fought for, every dream I've ever had. It's more than fear; it's a descent into despair, a fall, a plunge, with no bottom in sight.

Lil somehow remains motionless throughout the ordeal, or rather, hunkered, rooted to the spot, unwavering, taking his time with a massive lungful of air. Lil is planted like a boulder, standing his ground to weather the storm as he tries to think of his own solution. Of course Lil would be prepared to have to hold his breath for a long time, it’s his main weapon. There’s no reason he wouldn’t keep his lungs nearly full at all times, barring a few moments here and there to refresh it and swap out for newer, cleaner air. Plus, doing that all the time keeps increasing his lung capacity and breath skills from Can’Z’aas, so he just gets even better at doing it. Still, I can’t look to Lil to help me save, or even reach Teuila, even if he is weathering the storm better than either of us.

My eyes desperately trace Teuila's form, trying to etch every detail into my memory – as if by sheer will, I could anchor her to me. But the sand distorts everything, turning my world into a swirling, chaotic hellscape. I can see her struggling, fighting against the storm, but she's getting farther away, her figure smaller, more indistinct.

In the relentless grip of the storm, my mind races, flipping through every ability, every spell, every item I possess. But each thought is quickly dismissed, no match for the storm's fury. My staff? It’s got what, walls of fire, wind, stone, none of which provide an option for even buying time, let alone making it through this mess. The sand just flies wherever it wants, it’d avoid elemental walls, or fill in through the cracks in stone. If only I had my Can’Z’aasian—. I do, but does Teuila have eight minutes? I don’t think she really does, worse, it would take sixteen to twenty-four minutes to do what I want to do.

Ugh, next. Telekinesis? Already failing against the storm’s might. What about a use of my Honoris Causa? There’d be no sand within the voidspace, but no air either. Not much of an improvement, if one at all. Plus, it’d cost me hundreds, if not thousands of days of dragonforce to engage it to do something like that. Each option, once a beacon of hope in past battles, now feels like a flickering candle in a hurricane.

The desperation builds, a crescendo of helplessness. I can't stop my mind from spiraling – what if I use Frostburn’s Slashblast to, to I dunno, freeze enough air to keep the sand out for a minute? No, worthless, the same problem with the wall spells. The sand would just go around. The fireburst blast? I could glass a bunch of sand, but not the entire room. Even if I -were- powerful enough to glass the entire desert at once, anything I created large enough to glass the whole of it would kill us, or at the very least, bring the horde, and citadel, down on top of us.

Raven-porting? Can I leverage it, transferring the coat to Teuila temporarily? Maybe if she were still within arms reach, but I can’t even get to her at the moment. I could use it myself to move ten feet closer, but the raven forms would instantly dissipate under the onslaught of sand. The litany of discarded ideas is a weight, dragging me deeper into despair. It's a stark realization – for all my power, for all my knowledge, I'm just a spectator in this chaotic event of untold horror unfolding before me.

The realization hits me like a physical blow – I might lose her, lose her to this beast of sand and wind. The thought is unbearable, a gnawing, gnashing, soul-tearing, rending within my chest. I've faced down dragons, defied odds, bent the fabric of reality to my will, but in this moment, I'm powerless, a leaf in a tempest. And then, there's a moment of eerie silence in my mind, a lull in the storm of my thoughts. It's a moment of clarity, terrifying in its simplicity. This could be it – the end of a journey, the loss of a part of my soul I'll never recover. The sandstorm could tear what amounts to nearly everything I love away from me. Te and Lil both. How would Luni react? How would Kinzul react, if I returned, a failure, my inner circle perished? Or even if I went on to succeed on my own?

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I strain against the pull, every muscle tensed, every spell at my disposal racing through my mind, but none are right, none can save her. It's a helplessness that eats at me, a bitter pill of reality in the fantastical world we've inhabited. In the swirling sands, Teuila's figure is now just a shadow, a ghost being consumed by the storm. My heart feels like it's being torn out, each grain of sand another piece of me being stripped away.

And then, amidst the despair, a glimmer of hope – not from my magic, not from my abilities, but from Teuila herself. Her resilience, her strength, her refusal to be defeated. It's a reminder that she's more than just a force in her own right, she transcends force, literal fundamental forces of reality. Maybe, just maybe, she'll find her way through this, through sheer strength of will. And if she can fight, then so can I. For her, for us, I have to believe there's a way out of this storm. She somehow made it to ground, and got one leap off in my direction, her own tremendous force hurtling her against the winds and sands dragging her away, inching her closer back to me.

Te's doing something gutsy, her waterskin uncapped, she’s pouring its contents straight down her throat. She’s gasping, water replacing air in her lungs. There’s a wild, almost reckless look in her eyes, one that screams she’s making this up as she goes. But it’s working, buying her precious time. I can't help but admire her quick wit in the face of suffocating sand. She’s got that runic clip that allows her to breathe and manipulate water. I made sure she had that clip. The tears of gratitude in both of our eyes signify both of us recall my frantic search through the box of runic clips, me shoving them into Teuila’s bangle, her armband. I might have given it to her, but she remembered it, and she figured out how to use it to her advantage while I was a panicky mess.

Lil’s chest swells, puffed up like a giant balloon, each breath measured, each exhale calculated. His eyes are narrowed, focused, counting down the minutes, no, seconds of safe air he has left. He’s like a ticking time bomb, only instead of exploding, he's fighting to keep from imploding.

The storm feels alive, almost sentient. I squint, trying to sense any magical aura, any pattern in its wild dance. But it's a maelstrom of confusion, a blur of gritty particles. There's a rhythm here, I'm sure of it, hidden beneath the chaos. If only I could see it, understand it. The room pulses, vibrating with an energy that feels both alien and menacing. The sound of the storm grows, a crescendo of howling winds and hissing sands. It’s as if the room itself is feeding on our fear, our uncertainty, growing stronger, more ferocious.



Shifting all of my focus to Teuila and Lil, and their predicament adds an additional edge of urgency towards finding a solution. Removing my circlet with a hesitant touch, I expose my mind to the storm, both literal and psychic. It's a risk, but necessary. "Te, Lil, can you hear me?" I think, hoping the telepathic link cuts through the chaos. Their mental avatars’ nods, amidst the howling sands, are tiny islands of relief in a sea of panic. But I'm faltering, the storm's ferocity overwhelming even my telekinesis. Desperation creeps in, a cold hand around my heart. This time, I might not be the one with the answers.

Teuila's coughing, the mud in her lungs barely breathable with her runic clip, her silhouette blurred by the sand. Then, she stops, goes still. Is she...? No, she's thinking, planning. She's gotten through everything until now, she’s been through so much. This can’t defeat her, it just can’t. And there it is - a sudden, forceful clap of her hands. The shockwave it creates pushes back the sand, carving a momentary bubble of clarity. It's not a solution, but it's a start, a statement: We're not done yet.

Lil, too, seems to find his resolve, his wings unfurling with a newfound purpose. With a powerful flap, he sends waves of air cutting through the storm. It's an echo of Teuila's defiance, a dragon's roar without sound. They're fighting back, in their own way, not waiting for me to save them. It's a sobering, yet oddly uplifting realization. My friends, my family, they're heroes, warriors, survivors, through and through.

Teuila's struggles are heart-wrenching to witness. Each cough, each spasm as she tries to expel the mud from her lungs, is a stab to my heart. The water from her waterskin mixes with the sand, creating a sludge that she chokes on, retching with a ferocity that speaks of her iron will to survive. Her body convulses with the effort, each heave a battle against the suffocating mixture. The sight is one of raw survival, of her indomitable spirit, yet so harrowing that it's etched into my memory, a nightmarish tableau of struggle and resilience.

The sandstorm's intensity doesn't let up, but we push through, a trio united against the odds. Each step is a battle, each breath a victory. But the real challenge awaits outside this room - how to rid their lungs and ears of the intrusive sand. I rack my brain, but it's not me who finds the answer this time. It's each of the pair of them, Teuila, her runic clip of water elemental command glowing with purpose. With a concentrated effort, she summons a persistent flow of water, a cleansing tide that begins to flush the sand and mud from her system as she carefully, willfully controls it. The whole time, she’s horfing mud and salty-looking water from her innards, gasping for breaths around each retch and heave.

Lil's next, his innate fire offering a solution as unique as it is drastic. A controlled, focused breath, just hot enough to melt the sand, and turn only the tiniest particles to glass, but not harm his insides. It's a delicate balance, one that requires all his concentration. As the tiny glass particles form, he coughs them out, a dragon ridding himself of a foreign invader. That’s an amazing show of Lil’s ingenuity, his strength, his adaptability.

Lil, in his own battle, is a study in controlled fury. The heat from his breath, usually a weapon, is now a delicate tool. He breathes with precision, a dragon taming his own nature to save himself. Each cough brings out small crystalline flickers, or molten dewdrops, glinting in the dim light, remnants of the sandstorm turned weapon. His eyes are focused, intense, a dragon’s resolve. The effort leaves him gasping, his great chest heaving in a rhythm of exertion and relief.

After we’d staggered out of the sandstorm room, the air felt like a balm, a gentle caress compared to the abrasive assault we’d just endured. Lil’s and Teuila’s labored breaths are the sweetest symphony to my ears, a sign of life, of victory against impossible odds. It’s a moment of triumph, over our own fears, my fears.

And there I am, watching in awe as my friends save themselves. A humbling reminder that I don't always have to be the one with the plan, the magic solution. Sometimes, all I need to do is stand by them, support them as they find their own way. We're a team, not because of what I can do, but because of what we can do together. Now that we’ve emerged from the room, the air clear and our lungs free of sand, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. It's not just the relief of survival, but the gratitude I feel towards both of them for being able to take care of themselves when I couldn’t take care of them.

I want to be there, for everyone, at all times, and I can’t be. Knowing that is an icy dagger twisting in my guts every moment of every day. But at least for right now, this very moment, I can trust that Te and Lil will be okay. My belief in them overriding any of my own doubts. It's okay to rely on others, on them, to share the burdens. We're stronger together, and sometimes, the best thing I can do is let them shine.

In the aftermath, as we catch our breaths, the reality of what just happened sinks in. I’ve always, always said my strongest power has been having the friends that I have, loving the people that I love, and having their love in return. But having it hit home like this, how all of my power was for naught, as my friends struggled for their lives, it’s friggin’ humbling, I’ll tell you that much. The strength of my friends, my SAP, my inner circle saw us through. Let’s hurry up and finish this already.

Nodding resolutely, Teuila and Lil agree with the last of my inner monologue that they can overhear as I slip my psychic-aegis circlet back on. I motion forward, telekinetically levitating us onwards so that we can return to our quest, our journey into the bowels of this mountain.