Tristan, carrying all three bags, walked toward Garfield as he comforted Amelia. He dropped the bags onto the ground, then looked at Amelia; he understood all too well why she was grieving, for in many ways the fate of that worm mirrored the tragedy of her mother—taken by forces far beyond their control. Life could truly be merciless.
"I was able to retrieve the bags, but the food within is not edible, and the tents were completely destroyed as well as our bottles, so we have no water," Tristan said, informing their shaken leader.
She remained silent, her mind seemingly fractured beneath the weight of what she had done. She had never slain a creature before, let alone a mother protecting its young. Tristan had not either, yet after witnessing so many of Killington's hunts, he had grown unsettlingly accustomed to the sight of death.
Tristan knew their leader was broken, but he also knew that if they hoped to reach their objective—and survive long enough to do so—they would require her full concentration.
"Amelia!" he called out, but there was no response. "Amelia! If we don't get moving, we will lose a lot of time; it is almost nightfall, so if we remain here, something else might come hunting us."
Amelia looked at Tristan, tears welling within her eyes, moments away from spilling down her porcelain skin.
"What I have done cannot be forgiven," she said.
Tristan inhaled slowly, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly while resting a steadying hand atop her head.
"You do not have to bear this burden alone, because we are your partners; you do not have to bear the pain alone, because we are your partners. Everything you endure, we endure as well. Everything you feel, we feel it alongside you. So you are not alone in this."
Amelia's tears halted, and her breathing gradually steadied. She then pushed Tristan away and pinched her nose.
"What is that smell?" she asked, a grimace twisting her face.
Tristan grabbed his new wolf cloak, then said, "It must be this."
Garfield, a few steps away, had been curious about the cloak since Tristan arrived but had waited for the moment their emotional turmoil subsided.
"I was wondering—where did you get that cloak from?"
"It was within the belly of the sand worm I almost didn't see. I think it's a type of special item," Tristan said.
During their time at the Academy, they had learned about Special Items, relics that granted unique abilities. Their potency varied, and they were ranked according to Star classifications used to determine the strength of a person.
"What rank do you suppose it is?" Garfield wondered as he tilted his head, inspecting the cloak from a distance.
Amelia, unable to endure the smell, rose and distanced herself even farther before saying, "I don't care for the rank if it reeks that badly. Please put it away, Tristan."
Tristan sighed, removed the cloak, then placed it within his bag.
"Happy now?"
"It is better." She took a breath, then turned. "I suppose we should continue onward if we wish to make up for the time we lost fighting the beast. I forgot to ask—were you able to collect a Remnant?"
Tristan reached into his bag and took out a piece of the sand worm's hide; it was rough and bore a color similar to the desert surrounding them.
With the sun now set, they proceeded onward through the desert. It became easier for them to traverse the terrain without the scorching sun roasting them, yet it remained a grueling march, for without water it was only a matter of time before dehydration claimed them. They made good progress, traveling for about four hours despite taking occasional breaks to catch their breath.
They walked for eight hours, and it was at this point that dehydration began to settle in; their lips and throats were dry, and they found themselves slowing, fatigue gnawing at them far faster than before. Matters would soon worsen, for within an hour or so the sun would rise, draining whatever scraps of strength remained.
Garfield collapsed to the ground, exhaustion overtaking him.
"We need to find water," he said in a rasped whisper.
"It's not like we can simply find a pool of water in the middle of a desert," Tristan said.
Garfield turned his sand-caked face to the side and squinted, as if questioning the reliability of his own senses.
"I could be crazy, or maybe hallucinating, or maybe both—but isn't that water?"
Tristan and Amelia were prepared to dismiss Garfield as a heat-stricken madman, until they turned and saw it too: a pool of water surrounded by tropical trees.
"I see it too," Tristan said, his voice almost disbelieving.
A smile crept across all their faces as they staggered toward the water, dragging their feet across the sand. Garfield crawled, yet he was nearly as fast as those still upright.
After hours without water, they finally tasted it. It felt as though heaven itself had descended upon their tongues.
They paused to breathe, then drank again.
"Maybe we can set up camp here, then start moving again in a couple of hours," Tristan said.
"I second that," Garfield said, wiping his lips and scratching his neck.
Amelia agreed, though without tents they would have to sleep outside; the tropical trees at least offered some shelter from the sun.
"I think it would be best if someone stayed awake for two hours, then we rotate shifts," Amelia suggested.
Garfield, now seated with some strength restored, said, "I'm fine with that; I'll take first watch."
Tristan raised an eyebrow, looked at Amelia, then back at Garfield with a puzzled expression.
"Are you sure? You were crawling through the sand a few moments ago," Tristan said jokingly.
"That is true, but I'm fine now—I was only thirsty, but now I am back to my strongest. Anyway, when I sleep, I want to sleep in peace without the lingering dread of my shift approaching," Garfield replied.
Tristan and Amelia exchanged a glance. Their concern was not Garfield's strength, but rather how long Garfield could maintain it. Of the three, the only one who had exhausted himself the least was Tristan, so he had expected to take the first watch. Yet Garfield's stubborn insistence was something they could not talk him out of.
"Okay then—you'll take first watch. Tristan will take the second, and I'll take the third. We should all at least get four hours of sleep," Amelia said.
Tristan and Garfield nodded. Tristan found a place beneath a cluster of tropical trees, and Amelia followed. Garfield sat near the pool of water in a meditative stance, summoned his axe, and rested it across his lap.
Tristan and Amelia drifted into sleep with unsettling ease; the endless march through the sand had drained them, and the speed with which unconsciousness claimed them was proof enough of their exhaustion.
After fifty minutes of fragile rest, Tristan—half asleep—began to hear footsteps shifting across the sand. He assumed it was Garfield making his rounds, but then the steps grew closer, far closer, until they stopped beside him. Confused, Tristan opened a single eye, only slightly, vision blurred by drowsiness—and even through that hazy sliver of sight, he saw Garfield lift his axe toward the sky and begin to swing it downward like an executioner preparing to behead his prisoner.