BOOOOMMM
BOOOM! BOOM! BOOOOOM!
The sound was unreal. Iskar crouched behind his sand walls, but the heat hit him like a physical blow.
He'd hoped his barriers would hold, but they didn't stand a chance. The first wall vanished into dust. The second one cracked and blew apart. He watched the third one glow, then turn to glass before it shattered.
He braced for the end, but then something strange happened. A dark, shadowy energy erupted from his own body, wrapping around him like a shield. He had no idea where it came from. He squeezed his eyes shut, certain this was it.
But the pain never came.
When he opened his eyes, he was stunned. He was standing right in the middle of the explosion, completely unharmed. The fire raged around him, but the dark shield held it all back. 'What the hell is this?' he thought.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the dark shield faded. The explosion was finally dying down, the magical fire burning itself out and leaving behind a thick, heavy smoke.
He waved his hand to clear the air and see. And that's when he saw it.
A tall, dark silhouette stood motionless in the center of the room where Galen had been.
'You've got to be kidding me,' Iskar thought, his mind reeling. 'Did that guy actually survive blowing himself up? How is that even possible?'
The silhouette began to move, stepping slowly through the swirling smoke, coming right toward him.
Iskar prepared, not wanting to be caught off guard. A sand blade formed solidly in his hand. He muttered, "You're a stubborn cockroach... I'll admit that."
But his eyes narrowed when a different voice answered.
"I've been called many things, but a cockroach..."
The voice was very different from Sir Galen's crazed roar. This one was calm, confident, and most of all, completely sane.
Suddenly, all the smoke began to turn into a whirlwind. He saw the silhouette's hand stretch out, and the smoke simply vanished, leaving the chamber clearer by the second.
Now he could finally see who—or what—it was.
...
...
'What the hell!?'
It was an old man. He was bald, with sharp grey eyes, and he wore pristine, impossibly clean robes that looked out of place in the ruined hall.
"Who are you?" Iskar's voice came out. He didn't shift his stance or lower his guard.
"I helped you survive the explosion," the old man said. "Is that enough to vouch for my trustworthiness?" The tone was more of a demand than a question.
"No," Iskar answered flatly.
"A cautious man, I see. You can lay your fight to rest, Galen is dead. And if I'm not wrong, you desire a way out, no?"
"I can help you do that."
Iskar kept watching, his gut screaming not to trust this man. Having been a mercenary back on Earth, he'd met plenty of dangerous men, selfish and manipulative. This old man… he had those same eyes. And Iskar knew those eyes so well, they were the same eyes he'd always seen staring back at him in the mirror.
They stood facing each other, the silence stretching between them. The old man finally let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"What must I do?" he asked, his voice softer now. "I did save your life."
Iskar's eyes narrowed behind his bandages. "Who. Are. You?" Each word was deliberate and sharp.
The old man's lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "I am Theodore, once chosen by the Moon Goddess. My sister..." He paused, and his gaze drifted downward as if remembering something painful. "My twin sister, Althea, chosen by the Sun God... she is the one who needs saving now." He looked back at Iskar, his grey eyes earnest. "I understand your hesitation. But I am asking you, for her sake. I need your help."
Iskar studied him. The man's tone seemed sincere, his expression lined with genuine worry. But the phantom had said nothing about a brother, only a priestess. The inconsistency was glaring.
'Fine,' Iskar thought. 'I'll play along for now.'
He straightened up, allowing the sand blade to dissolve into a cascade of grains that scattered at his feet. But his stance remained ready, his attention fixed on Theodore, watching for any sudden movement.
"Thank you," Theodore said, a note of relief in his voice. He gestured with one hand. "Please, follow me."
Iskar followed, his eyes scanning their surroundings. He immediately noticed a new archway in the far wall, one that had definitely not been there before.
They approached the archway. Beyond it, a staircase spiraled upward into shadow.
Iskar stopped at the base of the steps. "Now," he said, his voice flat. "How am I supposed to help your sister?"
Theodore offered a small, patient smile. "Well, I saw your abilities, and I—"
"Saw?" Iskar cut in.
"Yes," Theodore replied, his smile not faltering. "I awoke in the chamber with my sister at the very top of this spire. From there, you can observe every floor, every room. Unfortunately, I could not interfere directly. So I began my descent. I was fortunate to reach you just as Galen was about to destroy himself."
Iskar stared at the back of the old man's shiny bald head. 'How convenient,' he thought. 'He shows up right when I'm about to die. And what really happened to the phantom?' He kept the questions to himself, his expression hidden.
"You still haven't answered the question," Iskar pressed. "How do I help her?"
"That..." Theodore began, pausing on a step to glance back. "I think it is better if I take you to her and you see for yourself. It is a complicated situation to explain with words alone."
Iskar gave a noncommittal grunt. "Mmmh." He followed, his silence a heavy weight in the stairwell.
Theodore was the one to break it. "Our climb is quite long. Do you mind if I tell you how all of this happened? It will make more sense once you see my sister."
Iskar contemplated the offer. It was a good opportunity. He could learn the history of this place and see if Theodore's story matched the fragmented story the phantom had told him. The phantom's recollections were scattered, but they were a starting point. If the old man kept talking, he might also slip up and contradict himself.
"Sure," Iskar said, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm curious. What happened?"