The moon’s perch in the night sky was low as Joran woke up in the midst of a desert that was clearly frozen over. The crystal-clear ice was starkly alien compared to the sands that spanned out from it. Even below the ice, Joran could see the faint orange hue of the landscape as he sat up. He numbly looked at Rulm as it was stabbed into the ground beside him. Shuddering, he grabbed his weapon, still in its sheath.
He could only feel numb as he stood there, straightening himself absent-mindedly and out of habit. He scanned the surroundings, seeing the Dune Runners whisked up in swirls of ice, completely frozen over. Joran scoffed as he brought Rulm over the closest one to him. He grunted. The ice shattered, their horrified face dissolving into mist.
And then the next Dune Runner. He grunted louder, the ice shattered more violently. He vented his stress more and more violently with each prison he broke. By the fifth Dune Runner, he started screaming. The last one, Atani, stood in smug defiance. Even in his death, his smirk gave Joran haunting shivers. He screamed at the top of his lungs, swiping back and forth on Atani, even after Atani had long since been blown into the night breeze as dust.
Joran fell to his knees, his scream transforming into a sob he couldn’t shake away. He shivered as Rulm impaled the ground again, and he clutched himself, realizing killing them couldn’t rid him of what happened. His wails echoed through the night sky, until the moon had touched the horizon.
Eyes burning with sand stuck to his dried tears, Joran had calmed down, but not without wearing himself out. He fell back onto the ice, staring blankly into the night sky. He laid like this for a time he couldn’t gauge, nor cared to. It wasn’t until the orange tinge of the sun in the east beginning to glow that he finally blinked himself out of his numb stupor.
As if it was the first time, Joran sat up and took a deep breath, looking around to see that he had no idea where the Dune Runners had taken him. It was more likely than anything that he would never be able to find his way back through the desert; especially since, with the Siren’s help, he had frozen over the camp that the Dune Runners were in. Nestled underneath a large butte that had a shadow cast over him, he could see varying, beige tents the Dune Runners had set up, and turning around, Joran could see a series of varying caves that littered the base of the butte, just like his cave.
Joran shook his head and looked away, and turned his eyes towards the north, where he could see the mountain range looming, the forest merging into it, and spanning across his entire vision.
He coughed, clearing his throat and spoke aloud, “I was told about the clans of the Borderlands. Do you know any of them I could go to?”
After a few moments, Joran thought maybe he had been completely left alone, until he could hear the familiar ethereal voice, sighing in relief when he heard her, “As I said before, I am only vaguely aware of your whereabouts. As far as other humans go, I do not bother to know of them.”
Joran coldly shook his head, “Fine. I’ll go North then.”
“Why North?”
“I heard Mizore is there. Atani assumed I had spent time with this ‘Frozen Mistress’ so I will see her myself.”
“Joran…?”
Joran closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, before clenching his fists, “Let’s go,” and he started walking away from the field, before he heard the Siren’s voice again, now stiffer than before.
“Joran.”
Stopping, he threw his hands out, frustration seething out, “What?!”
Silence emanated throughout the desert, the sun now finally breaking across the horizon, lighting up the greenery that he could barely see from here, as well as already heating up the sands.
Finally the Siren asked Joran, “Are you not going back for your friend?”
Joran rolled his eyes, scoffing, “As if I could make my way back through this desert. I barely knew where we were, and now you think I could make it all the way back to him? And then what? I find him after how long? Will he be alive?”
Joran shifted his eyes back towards his destination and began walking as straight as an arrow, “Drekor is dead. And as far as I’m concerned, so is the Joker.”
Departing from the shadow of the butte, he could see in front of him various other formations that jutted from the ground, reaching for the sky. He could also see a straight line through them all that could lead him to the temperate steppe that separated Virriben Forest from the desert. And that was where he was headed directly.
“So you’re done with the Joker title?” The Siren almost sounded pleased with Joran’s choice, with only a hint of regret that had come from what she could only consider a tragedy, “So what do you plan to d-“
“I’m going to kill the Dune Runners. I’m going to kill them all. And then I’m going to kill the bastards who sent them to the caravan.”
The Siren hummed lightly to herself, “What do you mean? These Dune Runners clearly ransack for their own benefit.”
Joran gritted his teeth as he came to terms with his choice, increasing his pace as he wiped away sorrowful tears, “They knew I was on the caravan. That Drekor was on it. It’s my fault for getting us into this mess. But that’s the past. The least I can do is avenge my friend…
“… My brother.”
Joran hiked in silence, the sun now moderately in the sky, the desert beginning to broil. He could feel his gait waver slightly, his legs becoming heavier with each passing hour, but his determination strove him forward. The waves of heat distorting the ground not even 100 feet away from him. He stopped only in between the stone formations to catch a breath for a moment, wiping his brow, and continuing on.
The sun baked the ground around him, which now radiated heat that barraged his body. He could feel each distinct moment he passed under a shadow, the cool mask it bestowed on him a temptation to stop and linger for a little longer. But he trekked forward, his hands as heavy as his heart. He could feel the tinge of despair rise with each breath he took in his chest, feeling his body almost heave what little of its energy it had in revolt. Joran brought a hand up to his face at one point, feeling the sand caked on it, that he hadn’t even realized was there. Trying to wipe it off, his eyes became blurred, and he could swear he could see a wisp of his friend waving to him off in the distance.
A trick of the light, as it vanished much to his chagrin. A trick of the desert as it insulted him, mocked him each step he took. As he felt his own person fail to reconcile with what happened. As he could only feel a heavier weight wedge deeper in his heart. As he questioned why he even did what he did. Why he had sought to offer an open hand to those in need, to only wound up in the middle of an unforgiving desert that couldn’t care less about his ardor.
But neither did he now. Only the wedge in his heart remained to keep him grappled to his resolve. To push forward to the next moment, and then the next. With one step, to the next. He finally reached the next stone formation, one strikingly similar to the one him and Drekor had holed in, but there was no one in the caves as Joran looked, cursing himself for wasting so much time. He went on to the next formation, his thoughts paralyzed in the same loop, feeling the sun baking the ground. His heart heavier than his hands.
He repeated this at least a dozen times, until finally, the heat began to subside faintly, as the landscape slowly morphed from the sandy flatlands to shrubs and dull grass that opened up into the steppe. Here, Joran could see the path they had been on the night of the ambush meandering far to the south, disappearing into a thick wall of trees and vegetation. Virriben Forest was in front of him, and he slowed his pace, feeling the sun no longer beating down on his body, although it was still sweltering.
Traversing this narrow strip of grassland, Joran took a deep breath, closing his brittle eyes shut, feeling the dirt and dust of his surrounding region assault his nose. He dryly licked his lips, which were now broken and chapped, and he could barely see in front of him. Coughing faintly, his vision blurred even more, but he forced himself forward.
For his sake. For the sake of those he cared about. He held firmly to his glowering willpower, forcing himself forward. Eventually, he could faintly smell a freshness of water, and he could hear rustling of water. A river.
Of course, Joran thought to himself as he scuffled into the tree line, navigating clumsily through the now lush brush.
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He tripped along a root that was rent up from the ground, and he fell face-first, his senses engorged in the cool, soft forest floor. He inhaled sharply, almost wishing he could drink from the ground itself.
He realized by this point he hadn’t heard from the Siren this entire time, realizing he couldn’t even think to himself now. He dragged himself across the ground, hearing the bristling water grow louder and louder, until he found himself on a small bank of the river. He shakily pulled himself up to the waterline, barely with enough energy to cup his hands together to pool water in them.
An elixir of soothing, ice-cold water ran through him, and he instantly could feel his body suffuse a breath that expunged all of its tiredness. He forced himself awake as he slowly gulped down a cup of water after another. Once he had downed a few drinks, he rolled himself over, laying his back on the bank, his feet drifting in the river as he gasped for air, licking his lips feverishly. The sunlight was scattered through the tree canopy, and he could hear a cool breeze gust through the branches and leaves, offering him a lullaby to let himself finally go.
He didn’t drift into the open field that was supposedly “his place”, as the Siren called it. Instead, he found himself in the frozen wasteland that he could barely remember embracing the Siren in. Joran sat himself up, looking around skittishly, before he could see the tree not too far away from him resting on top of the hill he had been on every time he came here.
As he looked at the dead, blackened tree, it was then he realized it was the same field, and his face cracked in confusion.
“It’s a result of… Of what happened.”
The Siren appeared from behind the trunk of the tree, her hand drifting along its surface as she grimly explained to him, farther down the hill.
Joran shook his head, looking away as he rubbed his forehead, “Because of you, no doubt.”
The Siren shook her head, “I didn’t do anything. This was entirely your doing. I merely guided you.”
Joran gritted his teeth as he instantly appeared next to her, his hand firmly slammed onto the tree trunk, shaking it slightly, “So why can’t I do it again?! I don’t remember anything about the ‘Ice Tempest’ Arts, or whatever it was the Dune Runner called it. Yet my ‘sanctuary’ is a reflection of what happened, how I was violated?!”
The Siren sighed with a heavy tinge of lament as she looked up at Joran, running her hand along his face, for the first time a sorrowful expression openly on her face, “It’s a reflection of who you are, Joran.”
Joran scoffed, pulling himself away from her and the tree, his brows furrowed as he glared at her, “A reflection of me, huh? Of how desolate and helpless I feel? Of how I gave up on Drekor? How I gave up on myself?
“… Of how much of a monster I’m becoming?”
“No,” Joran woke up to the sky darkening, and the wildlife of the forest chirping and brimming all around him as he heard a wisp of her voice, “Of how you’re becoming me.”
Joran grunted to himself as he could feel his body ache and complain at any movement he made. He forced himself up, and made his way over to the water, gulping down another bout, refreshing himself slowly. Once he had his fill, he glanced around in the darkening forest, noticing a deer that had locked eyes with him, before darting away.
He sighed, feeling his stomach rumbling. Joran hardened his eyes as he looked back in the direction of where the deer had disappeared, his eyes now shimmering with a golden hue, footprints and tracks now glowing like spotlights along the entire forest floor. He straightened out the sandy, tattered robes he had on, and made his way through the vegetation as silently as he could.
His mind wandered to the Siren’s words. He knew the entire time that in the end, she only cared about him because they were joined somehow. Or at least, she believed they were. But hearing her “correct” him left him wanting. The lack of compassion she held while still lamenting over what had happened felt more like a slap to the face than any consolation.
“What’s the difference?” He grumbled to himself silently, unsure if the Siren and him were somehow still linked like that night.
When he heard nothing, he breathed in relief, and collected himself slowly, focusing on his search for the deer. As he made his way along, he grabbed some wood that he figured could be good kindling, slowly gaining his bearing that he was making his way towards the north, against the runoff water from the river. Perfect was all he could think to himself before he lurked, trying to gain ground on the deer.
With the time, he realized he had been out likely for an entire day, as the sun was almost exactly where it was when he first crawled his way to the river. Or at least, he was somewhat certain that it was. His confidence faltered when he thought back to how little awareness he possessed. Compared to now, and how he seemed to almost be fine, aside from the aching of his body, it almost seemed strange to him. He slowly got used to the area, and although his chest burned from him just hiking through the forest, Joran felt his gait lighten. But never did he gain a spring to his step, as he could only take in the surrounding beauty with bitter numbness.
The trees that surrounded him were even more lush than what Inven used to be. In fact it seemed to be parallel to his garden, the viridian leaves and bushes fluttering in an even gentler breeze than when he first arrived. The clamor of the wildlife only added to the cacophony of serenity. Insects buzzing, the birds chirping. The almost damp, cool air embracing his body, attempting to serenade him.
But it fell on dead senses. They were dulled out as he focused on finding the deer, but it was moreso because he simply didn’t cherish the beauty like before. The breath he’d have stopped countless times to take in, absorbing his surroundings in, were breaths he exhaled, drowning out his thoughts. Drowning out the blurred visualization that replayed over and over in his mind. Of Drekor being kicked back out of the cave. Of the sickening grins and hurrahs he could hear from the Dune Runners. Of Atani’s lifeless, smug smirk in the ice. Joran failed time and time again to ignore his own thoughts, denying that they existed at all in futility. He didn’t even realize at one point when he had crossed through the river, completely focused on his search while engulfed in his sorrow.
His sorrow for his brother. Even with what happened to him, his greatest grief was for Drekor. To recall that he had so energetically joined him on this journey, expectant of them smoothly going on through the Borderlands. A spectacle that Joran was sure to remember fondly had it not fragmented into a nightmare. All Joran could do was make it towards Mizore, to discover what he could. To gain power to crush those that had committed such atrocities. The Metropolis might not have the power to change anything, but he would gain it. He had to. His soul only burned for this sole reason now, the resolve he felt for a better tomorrow now its fuel instead.
Joran shook his head, realizing his thoughts wandered more than he had wanted to allow them to, and steeled himself onward again.
A few hours passed on by, and he almost fumbled into an open clearing inside the forest. A meadow of flowers, with the river coursing through it. In the middle of it, the deer grazing on the undulate grass. Joran steadied his breath as he watched the animal, its brown fur smooth and glistening no doubt from the river it probably treaded earlier.
Joran steeled himself as he instantly appeared by the deer, bringing Rulm down on it, killing it instantly with a clean strike to the neck. Its body fell flat onto the grass, blood staining the earth as he panted to himself heavily.
Gulping breaths in, Joran quietly sheathed his weapon away and looked down at his kill, getting ready to lug it away from the open clearing before he felt a tug at his foot. Looking down, he realized it was a root that was wrapping itself along his leg.
Almost instinctively, he soundlessly chopped the root at the ground with his Rulm, and he scanned the area around him, “I’m… I’m not a threat!”
A soft chuckle filled out the meadow, like a warm blanket as he could hear a calming, soft alto voice ring out from somewhere behind him, “Even if you aren’t, you can’t come along and kill life of the forest like that.”
Turning around, he couldn’t see anyone, and he grimaced to himself, “I’m sorry… I was desperate.”
“As if that wasn’t a reason we’ve heard before,” Although Joran could tell the voice was displeased, it still held a playful, almost carefree tone, “I’m surprised you killed it so fast. You seemed like you weren’t going to last very long when you passed out at the river.”
Startled by the fact he was seen so openly, his eyes went wide as his rage went frigid once more, “Where are you?!”
“Shhh,” With that, Joran’s mouth was wrapped gently but firmly by a root that had come out of seemingly nowhere, “After taking care of you for a while, do you really think I’d let you wake up, or that I’d follow you all the way here if I meant harm?”
“…” Joran was silent, even if he wasn’t gagged, dropping his sword to the ground as he closed his eyes.
“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” He could feel a soft, plump finger poke his nose, causing him to open his eyes again to a stout girl dressed in robes of leaves and vines, curled blonde hair bobbing as she looked up at him with a blithe smile, “Though now I have to do something to you since you killed the deer!”
“…” Joran’s brows furrowed, and he felt himself get constricted by the roots that now seemingly encased him, increasingly alarming him, to the point where he began to struggle against them.
“Ah ah!” The girl flicked Joran’s forehead, “I’ll have none of that. I’d take you to my abode, but I don’t think Master would be pleased that I helped an intruder, don’t you think?”
Joran settled down as he quickly realized it was futile, cocking an eyebrow at the girl as he struggled to shrug. The girl giggled and ungagged his mouth, and he took a deep breath, his senses basked in a tranquil, aroma of roses and lilacs. He focused his eyes, and looked at the girl’s brown eyes flitting back at him, expectant of an answer.
“Uhm… I guess?” Joran was completely thrown off by the chain of events that had happened, and only now realized that the girl had mentioned having a Master.
He was already entwined by her, so what of the other person…?
She clasped her hands and nodded, “Exactly! So how about you stay at the river, and since you killed the deer, it’d be a waste to let it rot here… Hm, we’ll have you atone by eating it!”
“Uhhh….” Again, he was flabbergasted, craning his head sideways as he couldn’t process the girl’s logic, “Well… I don’t want to stay very long…”
The girl frowned, shaking her head as if disappointed, “I could’ve just left you, you know. And then what?” Almost instantly, her carefree demeanor disappeared, and she grew serious, her face filled with concern, “At least let me take care of you, you’ve had a hard few days, right?”
Joran couldn’t help but feel he was in front of Reigan for the very first time and closed his eyes, almost nauseous now from the rapid change of pace she was barraging him with. The sudden change to her seemingly caring for him sent his head spinning as he wasn’t sure if he could trust her.
With a deep breath, he lolled back his head in defeat, “Thank you for helping me… Um, I’m the Jo-… I’m Joran.”
“Ooo!” Her eyes lit up once more as she nodded one last time before fully encasing Joran in roots and branches, as well as the deer’s corpse, and began to move towards the opposite side of the meadow, her footing confident as if she’d been here countless times before, “I’m glad to help! My name is Emilie Ray!”