Yvet experienced the following emotions in this order.

First, triumph. She had beaten the annoying bastard – cooked him alive even. What was he supposed to nag her about now?

Next, panic. Holy Qui! She had just charred her partner and the only other person she knew to exist in the entire world!

Shortly followed by confusion.

Because - as the swirling flames died down - Bo had refused to die with them. As a matter of fact, he was standing, considerably alive, with both his hands splayed out before him – they shook from either adrenaline or terror, maybe both.

He looked up sluggishly, blinking a couple of times just to make sure he could - just to make sure he still has eyes to blink.

"I'm-" he started to say.

"ALIVE!" Yvet squealed, jumping on top of him and rubbing her snout against his chest. She pressed her head close, listening for the steady drum of his heartbeat.

Bo froze for a moment, still catching up to the fact he hadn't died. When the news finally made it from his body to his brain, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and had to stop himself from shoving Yvet off his chest.

Honestly, he was working really hard not to scream at her – but he knew that if he did – all the effort he had gone to would be for nought. The whole point of fighting her was to get her mind off Thuran, and if he went and upset her again, she would likely back-slide.

Still… almost dying made such selfless thinking hard to stomach.

"I'm so sorry," Yvet whimpered, "I- I just wanted to win… I was so angry, and you just kept tapping and tapping and…."

Bo stroked her head, feeling the cool scales beneath his trembling fingers. "It's okay, it's okay," he kept repeating, lulling her softly.

"Bo," Yvet whispered.

"Hm," he grunted, perhaps a little terser than he would have liked.

"Don't leave me."

"… never."

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After Yvet had gone to sleep - courtesy of Bo rocking her like a baby - he busied himself examining the cavern.

Something rankled him about their fight, something Yvet hadn't seemed to notice. First of all, there was the fact that he very nearly died just to cheer someone up.

However, the way in which he had nearly died confused him, mainly because of the fact that when she was scratching him – Yvet had not been trying to hurt him, not seriously anyway.

So what changed? Why had she suddenly lost her mind when it came to fire breathing? Going so far as to engulf him in flame.

Bo had a theory about this.

He had noticed that the cavern had a rather ridiculous density of elemental energies.

"I need to think of a better name for them," he muttered.

Compared to the outside, Thuran's tomb was practically overflowing with the unnatural. Every pebble, every stray grain of sand, every whisp of air, every echo that bounced off of every wall. They all seemed saturated with the ether, as it were.

Bo himself doubted that he would have been capable of diverting such an insane volume of fire - if not for the help of the environment. And he was fairly certain Yvet had not been planning to breathe as much flame as she did. She may be impulsive, but not insane... or at least, he hoped so.

He thought of it like this: If the energy he added was the spark, and the swirling ether was the tinder - then he was currently standing inside a mountain of wood soaked in oil. Any tiny little spark would cause a vastly disproportionate explosion.

To test his theory, he channelled a little energy to his fingertip and reached out, brushing against the ether. With the vast abundance of the flame element, he found it a simple task to grasp it, and when he did…

A plume of orange flame burst from his fingertip, soaring almost ten metres from where he stood. This starkly contrasted with the mere metre he had managed before passing out.

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Clearly, there was something different about this tomb. And this made him confident that Yvet had not intended to do what she did.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Bo sat down and rested a little. He found that while inside the cavern – brimming with ether as it was – the elements presented themselves to him eagerly.

All around, he could sense vague twisting tendrils of the immaterial as they flowed past, and if he looked hard enough, he could almost see them undulating just beyond his point of view.

He licked his lips and stretched out, trying to understand, to learn more about these energies.

Time passed quickly while he did this, and soon, a little scaly head popped into view.

Yvet nudged him nervously, nipping at the edges of his frayed robe. Her eyes glowed a vibrant amber, and she walked a little steadier than she had even a few hours previously. Beyond that, her body had grown considerably, making him doubt whether she would still fit on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Bo?" She asked, an anxious note to her voice. "If I hurt you in any way, I do apologise."

"No, no," Bo waved her off. "I'm fine, really."

"Oh good, I had worried that you were hurt by my careless attacks," she tutted to herself. And then she paused, words teetering on the tip of her metaphorical tongue. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, she continued the thought.

"I really must remember to hold back when I'm fighting a weakling…." She looked up nervously, gauging Bo's reaction.

His mouth split into a grin, and he shoved her away, standing up. "I knew I shouldn't have let you win," he retorted. "You'll never learn without some tough love."

"Let me win?" Yvet scoffed, her tone containing more than a little relief. "Seriously, Bo, have some self-respect."

Bo shook his head and reached down, flicking her on the nose. "Anyway," he said. "I'm not sure if you remember what I said before our fight, but I'm going to repeat it just in case. I would like to find a way to get to fox mountain before the solstice. My tribe should be there around that time, and I would love for you to meet them before we head off in search of a way to cross the salt flats."

"Hm, is this tribe of yours full of people like you?"

Bo rubbed his nose indignantly, "No, the opposite, actually."

Yvet flashed pointed teeth in what Bo had learned was a smile, "Brilliant," she exclaimed. "Then I'm sure I'll love them."

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The tribe in question was bustling with activity at that moment. Tens of Karak rushed to and fro, fussing over injured hunters and spooked children.

Fran pushed her way to the front of the throng and took a sharp intake of breath when she saw it. Despite being as experienced as she was, she just couldn't help herself.

Gale hurried close behind her, although he didn't have to push. For the most part, people gave him a wide birth, steering clear of the strange old man with hook for an arm.

"Holy…" he trailed off, failing to find the appropriate word. "It's been years since I saw one during the day."

"Bo…" Fran stuttered, pointing at the enormous corpse. "Bo fought one of these?" Her voice rose in pitch slightly, trembling.

Gale glanced at her, scratching his chin. "That he did, although I doubt if it was nearly half as big as this one." He shook his head, "I swear, this must be the mother of all Vespers."

In the day, the Vesper looked much different from its nightly appearance. Not in that its body changed, but rather, the mystery was gone.

It was similar to how Fran often heard ghoulish rumours about the Racten. Some said they ate babies, and others claimed they had six arms and eyes on the back of their heads. But when she actually saw one, or rather, the corpse of a Racten (As nobody left any of them alive long enough for her to get a good look at one), it was always sobering. They were just human - in a disgusting, unsettling sort of way.

And similarly, the Vesper – without the cover of dark or mighty beat of its wings – was just an animal. And this animal was dead.

Some lucky hunter had thrown a spear right through its wing joint, snapping the rather fragile bone and grounding the creature. From there, it was a matter of attrition.

And the Karak had more men.

It was splayed out on the sand, its black leathery body laid bare for all to see. Bathed in the pale light of the morning sun, the Vesper looked distinctly real. Maybe, uncomfortably so.

Every little brown hair on its body, every drop of dried blood – human or otherwise – every blood vessel that stood out on its membranous wings. It was all there for anyone to see, and felt like it shouldn't have been.

The Vespers belonged in the dark, where no one could see them. The nightmares kids had about them were merely of passing shadows and beating wings. Not grotesque, twisted corpses. Somehow, knowing exactly what the creatures looked like - exactly what they were hiding from - only made them scarier.

Fran shook her head and decided she would take the luck-giving ritual seriously. If they had already run into two Sarpa and a Vesper a few days after the storm, there was no telling what dangers Bo was up against on his own.

Leo ran up beside her, having jostled his way through the crowd.

"You're back?" Fran quickly put an arm around his shoulder, leaning in closely, "what took you so long?"

She heard no reply as Leo was too preoccupied with staring vacantly at the corpse, unable to tear his gaze away.

"Leo!"

"Oh," he snapped out of it, shaking his head. "Sorry, I just... I've just never seen one up close before."

"That's quite alright," Fran said, patting his shoulder gently. "Why don't you tell me about the results of your journey back at my tent?"

Leo nodded dumbly. "Sure, Tor is bringing the stuff back to your tent right now."

"Then why didn't you say so!?" Fran snapped, abandoning Leo and marching back through the crowd.

Gale looked at him apologetically. "She's just stressed," he croaked. "Losing Bo has been hard on her."

"DON'T say that!" Leo shouted suddenly, surprising even himself.

"Say what?" Gale asked, taken aback.

"Don't… don't talk like he's already gone." Leo gazed up at the cloudless morning sky wistfully. "Because he isn't. Bo's still alive out there. I can feel it."