Two exhausting days had elapsed since Dante departed from the bustling town of East Jagged Port in the Teih Continent. His journey had been arduous, devoid of sleep, sustenance, and respite, pushing him to the brink of exhaustion. Finally, unable to endure any longer, Dante succumbed to his weariness and collapsed.
Sir Lysander, who had dutifully trailed behind Dante, maintaining a watchful eye over him, swiftly caught his falling body. Dante's disheveled appearance told a tale of his relentless trek. His sandals were nowhere to be found, his feet were riddled with wounds, and his clothing bore the remnants of dried sweat, evidence of enduring the alternating torment of scorching daytime heat and chilling nighttime cold.
Ravka Grimshaw, another companion who had been silently shadowing Dante, hastened to tend to his battered feet, while Lysander busied himself with cooking a catch of game he had acquired, preparing it over a crackling bonfire.
Concern etched on his face, Sir Lysander turned to Ravka and inquired, "Is he going to be alright?"
"This is a classic case of Melancholia," replied the Holy Archivist, her blue hair providing a stark contrast against her somber countenance. "No invocation or holy rune can mend this fully. It is a matter that resides within the depths of his soul."
Ravka knelt beside the slumbering Dante, clutching her Scriptures tightly. The weathered, brown leather binding of her sacred book bore embossed motifs of scrolls and keys, symbolizing the preservation and unlocking of knowledge—a testament to her role as an Archivist.
And she hoped that the Holy Rune she would invoke would do something for Dante.
"Holy System, I beseech thee, cleanse what's defiled, By this purifying rune, let darkness be exiled. Remove curses and taint, restore purity anew, Through divine grace, may the sacred shine through," she prayed.
In response, the pages of her Scriptures emanated a gentle glow, briefly encircling Dante with a Holy Rune of Purification. The rune possessed the power to carve a sacred sigil, purifying and sanctifying objects tainted by darkness, eradicating curses and impurities, and restoring them to their sacred state.
However, the flash of the Holy Rune was fleeting, for it failed to alleviate Dante's condition. There was no demonic curse, possession, or dark arts afflicting him. It was a predicament that lay beyond their control.
Undeterred, Ravka released her Scriptures, grasping Dante's hands instead. She beheld his youthful face, marred by a layer of dust, with traces of tears forming rivulets on his dirt-streaked cheeks. His breathing mimicked the rhythmic vibrations of a toddler after a tantrum.
Clutching his hands tightly to her chest, Ravka abandoned formal invocations and Holy Runes, offering a simple, heartfelt prayer.
"Oh Holy System," she pleaded, "watch over this child. I have sensed greatness within him, a potential capable of altering the course of history. I entrust him to your Systematic Providence, for I believe there is goodness within him."
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A rustling noise emanated from the surrounding darkness, shattering the tranquility of their prayers. Sir Lysander and Ravka swiftly rose to their feet, instinctively assuming defensive stances. They could sense the presence of lurking adversaries closing in on them with remarkable swiftness.
In the oppressive silence, the faint growling and scratching of claws reached their ears, originating from the concealed depths of the forest.
The Chaplain Knight and the Archivist prepared to open their Scriptures, poised to unleash defensive spells capable of providing immediate protection, should their foes decide to strike.
Dante wakes up. He stands. Picks up his belongings and Trela's rusty sword. And walks in the same direction he was walking before. Toward the deepend of the Teih Continent.
Sir Lysander moved swiftly, yearning to halt Dante's departure. Yet, his instincts warned him against it, for the slightest moment of vulnerability could present an opportunity for their enemies to launch a deadly assault.
"Dante!" the Holy Chaplain Knight bellowed. "Come back here! Now!"
Unaware of the cries that went unheard in his lucid but vacant state of mind, Dante pressed onward into the darkness. His progress abruptly ceased as his foot encountered an immovable obstacle. Undeterred, he persisted, delivering repeated kicks to dislodge the obstruction. However, the colossal obstruction remained steadfast.
"Dante!" Ravka and Lysander shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the night. Regret gnawed at them for neglecting to restore Dante's faculties before such a perilous situation could manifest.
The colossal entity that barred Dante's path possessed massive, muscular arms adorned with fur. It extended a massive finger, forcefully halting Dante's advance. Yet, Dante, caught in a perpetual walking state, continued his motion, dragging his leather bag and the rusty sword along.
With a thunderous stomp, the colossal figure—a Jagged Equinix—shook the ground, causing dust to rise in the air. Unfazed, Dante pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a single stomp could have reduced him to a mere puddle of blood.
A gust of wind, generated by the creature's exhalation, buffeted Dante, heralding its presence. Lowering its head, the beast revealed its colossal horse-like visage, fixating its gaze upon Dante's deep black eyes, which shimmered with the reflection of the bonfire's flames.
The Jagged Equinix belonged to a lineage of Jagged Beastmen, boasting equine features—heads and limbs resembling those of horses—and bodies enveloped in impenetrable fur.
As a final display of its dwindling patience, the Jagged Equinix let out a resounding roar, forcefully propelling Dante backward. Unperturbed, Dante continued his unyielding march, akin to a broken toy.
Lysander and Ravka stood rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend the spectacle unfolding before them. Nevertheless, they remained prepared, invoking defensive spells to shield Dante in case the situation devolved into hostility.
Astounded beyond measure, the Jagged Equinix sniffed Dante, searching for traces of demonic incantations or dark curses but found none. The behemoth then communicated with its companions, who encircled the small camp, conversing in the ancient beastman language known as Faireenic—a tongue incomprehensible and unattainable to Marialians.
With three resounding hoof stomps, the creature signaled its kin, commanding them to retreat into the darkness of the forest. Fixing its furious gaze upon the Holy Chaplain Knight and Archivist, it seemed to warn them that any indication of aggression would swiftly be met with a horde of savage retribution.
He let the young boy go.
Dante moved forward like nothing happened.
The Jagged Equinix trailed behind Dante, assuming the role of his silent guardian, intent on witnessing the events that would unfold.