Isolation and Rescue


    Much to Wanderer’s surprise, the experience of being safe inside the skull with the howling wind outside was rather comforting. They knew that if they went outside for even ten seconds they would be ripped to shreds, and somehow that made being inside their shelter feel so… cozy.


    Unfortunately, they were a little alone up here, their Spirit still gone and Emio who knows where. There was the bird of course, the funny little creature it was, but it simply didn''t have the intellect to be any real consolation. The bird however, was rather angry, chirping so loud it could be heard through the roaring of the wind and sand and occasionally coming to peck the Golem.


    This caused Wanderer to discover that the bird did, in fact, have legs, but these legs were only used when walking and were otherwise folded into the creature''s feathers, causing it to lie in direct contact with the ground.


    “Why is it so angry?” The Vessel wondered.


    Surely such a creature didn''t think it could kill the Golem, so why didn''t it try to get away? A closer inspection of the nest revealed the cause, as all around the sides were little, round eggs, mauve in colour, the obvious spawn of the odd bird.


    Wanderer was wowed, there were so many reasons for creatures to fight, protecting those you loved one of them. Even the swarmlings did the same.


    “I wonder what he is fighting for…”


    Wanderer’s mind harkened back to the glimpse of the man with the eyeless mask they had got just before the sandstorm hit. The Golem had only seen him for a second, but it was enough, their memories were resolute, the tracker was here in the graveyard. Wanderer had no idea what to do about it.


    For the moment they were safe, no being of flesh and blood could make their way to them in the storm, but once the winds settled there was no telling what would happen. If the tracker took too long to attack then Emio would simply return to the Golem, barring any attempt at violence by a threat of retribution far too great. But there was a window, from the time the storm ended to the time Emio returned, that the Golem was helpless.


    The thought drew a bucket of anxiety from the well that was Wanderer’s soul, leaving it there to fester and stagnate under their relentless thoughts. Suddenly the skull was no longer a cozy refuge in the storm, but a prison preventing them from taking from those that would want them dead.


    Yet for one of the first times in Wanderer’s life, they recognised this thought for what it was, useless. What use would building circling anxieties around the issue serve? Was it not just a waste of energy? These thoughts alone did not calm the Vessel, but it served as a beginning by which the Golem gradually reduced their anxiety, not eliminated by any means, but its power had been robbed of it, the Vessel’s own control reigning through.


    It was only due to this triumph that Wanderer heard the most silent of cries whispering above the roaring wind. At first, the Golem believed that they imagined it, so faint that even their perfect memory failed to properly recall. But it drew their interest and they listened for it again. Again, struggling to be heard above the wind, a cry, a human cry could be heard.


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    Instantly, any other focus but the cry was lost to Wanderer, their whole attention turned to listening. The next time the shout came, they learned three things. The first was that the crier was situated somewhere beneath them and to the left, as indicated by their voice. The second was that the shout was not just a shout, but a cry of a single word, “Help”.


    The last, the person in danger was a child.


    Wanderer almost jumped out right there and then, ready to brave the storm to save a life, yet even with their full intention some smarter part of their mind stopped them. They would be surprised if they lasted even five seconds in the storm, they could do nothing to help the child if they were dead. No matter how quick and efficient they were, even if they found the child instantly and moved with perfect precision to escape back into the skull, they simply wouldn''t have the physical power to make it.


    The Golem heard the cry echo out again, but despite the screaming of their soul, they did nothing. Second by second, the cries got weaker, and Wanderer’s mind grew more and more desperate to find a solution. They just needed something to make them quicker, something that could help them whether the sand. And in that little alcove, in that little skull, their mind grew so desperate that they found a solution.


    In a fit of inspiration they plundged their hand into their satchel and drew out a coin of brilliant blue, forcing it into their soft chest, right next to their soul.


    The world ignited.


    Colours surged, their flesh hardened, their limbs felt as if they could shatter trees with a single punch. Everything felt sharper, everything felt slower, their mind felt as if it were flying high above the earth. Then the pain hit.


    The Vessel’s whole body screamed at them, every vein and capillary withering under the speed and power of the magic within it. It was a raw, fundamental sort of pain, the likes of which could never fade or lessen with time and boredom. By instinct Wanderer reached for the coin but stopped themself as another cry faded in, now loud and clear to their enhanced senses. This was the power they needed to rescue the child, they had to push through the pain, they had to go.


    One second had passed. With their hardened flesh the storm would be no issue, pain and wounds but nothing that could kill them. The issue was the magic. By their best estimation they had exactly nine seconds before their channels drew so thin they burst, killing Wanderer with certainty. If they were going to move they had to do it now.


    Two seconds had passed. With no more hesitation, they stowed the satchel and lept out into the storm. Instantly it felt like a trillion arts were gnawing at their skin, eager to rip it away piece by piece. But their flesh, their coin-toughened flesh, held, glassy sand sticking into their body by a millimetre or two, but doing very little damage otherwise. That was good, they just had to find the child now.


    Four seconds had passed. The fall had felt excruciatingly long, the ground never seeming to arrive, but now two hooved feet planted firmly on violently shifting ground and in the same instant the Golem was off. They ran in the direction they knew the child was, dodging bone structures that appeared without warning from the darkness and leaping over sudden pits in the sand.


    Five seconds had passed. Another call echoed from the darkness, this one weaker than any other. The timing was perfect, allowing Wanderer to pinpoint their target in the darkness.


    The child, a small girl less than half of Wanderers height, was hiding directly behind a particularly large rib, just large enough to bear the brunt of the disaster, not enough to stop a few stray shards of death from ripping away at the gentle flesh of the girl, little by little. Already her arms and legs were smothered in cuts, and by the look of her shaking legs, storm and blood loss both were taking their toll.


    Six seconds had passed. Wanderer didn''t have time to analyse the girl any further, like a specter in the night they wrapped the child in two arms and turned so their back was to the wind, protecting her from the worst of the storm. The child froze like a board in their arms, a good thing by any account, they were not sure if they could have stopped their squirming and climbed back up at the same time.


    Seven seconds had passed. With impossible speed slowed only a little by the extra burden, the Golem clambered their way back up the spine of the giant, at first attempting to balance and run up the center but soon being forced to crawl at speed in order to avoid being thrown off by the wind. Wanderer was beginning to feel their channel walls wearing thin, soon to be destroyed and release all the potential within. They pushed themselves just a tiny bit harder.


    Eight seconds had passed. The skull was in sight, even in the pitch blackness, a sight to Wanderer as beautiful as the well within the mine or the exit in the ruins. They had to slow a bit, forcing the magic in their veins to slow as much as they could will it, so that they could survive for just a second more.


    Nine seconds had passed. In the final moment they swung in through the eye socket opposing the wind, throwing the girl into a safe corner of the skull with more force than intended, but the pang of guilt they felt was covered by the pain.  They ripped the coin out from their chest and threw it in desperation, where it bounced off the wall and fell into the storm below, forever lost.


    Ten seconds had passed, and the world faded into a roaring silence of pain, blood, sand and tears.