Epim looked forward to the golden light, and marched forward through the sands. He heard again the comforting crunch against his feet, and the winds that he had grown accustomed to sang to him once more.

He estimated it wouldn’t take long. And he did not reminisce, for he had reached the conclusion of that story. He had carried on the memories he could, and brought the mementos he could.

So he thought of that golden light. He wondered what the starlight meant? To go beyond the clouds, would it be twilight there as well? Would it be like the light in the underground from before, so bright and suffocating?

He could only imagine, and he walked through the black sands with a smile.

The difference in his cloak was quite noticeable, the weight on the right side wore with weight heavier than even the distance between the desert and the bottom of the cave. But it did not bother him, for even with a slight lean he loved the coat still.

What helped, of course, was the ring on his finger. It had transformed from a burden on his head, to a comforting lift on his hand. He could not explain the feeling, but he was being pulled forward now by the gentlest of currents. It was a remembrance, and he understood well why it was upon his finger.

And he marched forward, in good spirits still.

And then he thought of Carus, and his proud wings. He thought of his eyes full of life. And then he had a quite dangerous thought, but one he most likely could not have avoided.

He thought for a moment, that he was presumptuous. He had assumed the proud dragon hadn’t wanted a goodbye, and he left with his gifts. But he gave nothing in return, and said not a word as he left. Could he not say he was the height of arrogance, at that moment?

The Dragon, he needed to return to it and give him his apologies. For he had made a mistake. He had stepped a step too far, and trusted his instincts a tad too much. And with that he stopped, and for the first time, turned back. All the while, unaware of the fog that had steadily begun to creep up.

And before he got very far at all, a woman’s voice cut through the air, and the scythe was around his neck once more. “Why… are you here…” The same question as last time.

But the man had changed, and again he looked into the eyes of the Reaper, honesty forthcoming from his gaze. He could again see the depths that made its eyes, and he could swear he had begun to see the faintest walls of its skull, finally seeing the thing for all it was worth.

His mouth rose to a smile, and he prepared to meet her with the truth. His lack of companionship hurt him, and he wished to remedy it immediately. He’d wanted to tell her of the Dragon that lay in the sand, of the cave that offered him light. He wished to understand the Reaper, and thus he prepared to offer his journey to her, all too unaware of the scythe approaching the neck again. He looked at a sight, a smile as the scythe had curled in on him around his neck, snagging him and preparing to snap his head the moment he answered.

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And then the dim light that still followed him came to his side, slowly and without care to the Reaper. And it dispelled just enough of the shadow to show the man a bracelet of gold around the Reaper’s arm. And too, a shine of gold from his own finger.

Epim understood then, he had lost himself once more. The dragon had been a dragon, not Carus the usurper of time. His experience in the sands was not what the Reaper cared about, and he understood that he was taken along to his goal, drunk on the idea of fulfillment.

And the Reaper’s eyes again became deep, and unfathomable.

Epim broke his gaze, the Scythe on his neck now acutely aware to him, but he did not panic. He turned his head and looked behind, seeing the pillar of gold in the distance. His own hubris had betrayed him, and his footsteps had already disappeared in the sand.

And he thought of Carus, who told him to go. And he knew, he must step forward again. And he did speak to the Reaper of the truth, but not of his journey. He spoke of what he wished.

“I hope to reach the golden light. I want to see if the starlight is as beautiful as I’ve been told. I yearn to see another beautiful sight of the bountiful sands, and… I wish to know if I would have an answer, were I to see it. Would I be able to speak back, with pride when asked what I saw?”

And the scythe slipped away again. The Reaper took a moment, and it moved its arm, returning the golden bracelet and part of its arm to the shadow. It too looked to the golden glow in the distance, and spoke in its cold voice that cut through the air, with the voice of what he now understood to be the wisp of a mother.

“Journey well, revere of the sands. And carry us well.” The Reaper’s bony finger reached out and touched the black part of his cloak, removing any and all weight that had dragged him down. “Do well not to ignore your burden’s, even if you don’t understand them.”

The fog disappeared, and Epim was again in the desert alone. He looked to the golden glow, and marched forward without another thought of returning. For he knew, his respect for Carus would never wane.

The man walked in the black sands, a purpose in his heart.

There were dunes in his way, and he climbed them, not for a moment thinking of them being easier or harder than the one before. He took his time and climbed, knowing that it existed for him just further beyond his reach.

But he did not grow wild and unrestrained in his journey, he took this moment to examine the sands. While he thought to himself alone, they had been his companions all this time. And maybe it was strange, but it did sadden him that he’d never be able to converse with them.

So he spoke out loud, recounting his journey. Capturing the length it took without really saying the time, and he spoke of the faces he saw, one’s he was sure he would never forget. He spoke of his doubts from before, and of the times he felt so sure of himself. He spoke of the Shade, only wishing the best.

His words bounded against the sand, aimless and truly to nobody. But he spoke all the same, and the man walked amongst the sands still, more aware of himself then he’d ever been.

The light followed him still, ever loyal.