Kuval honestly wasn’t sure how he’d gotten talked into this. Truth be told, despite his adventurous heart, the desert wasn’t really a place he wished to traverse again. After all, his short journey through the last time had nearly cost him his life.

He still remembered the way his skin had blistered and cracked, the tightness that had tried to collapse his skin in on itself, the blood at his broken lips. Even the thought made his tongue feel like sandpaper, rough and thick and suffocating. If he hadn’t been trying to be entirely focused on the gate, he might have checked his many water supplies for the millionth time.

It’ll be fine, he reminded himself, an unusual sensation lingering heavy like stones in the pit of his stomach. He’ll help me.

It was a funny thought, even to him. After all, the witch was evil, wasn’t he? So what made the situation so different? What made it so easy for him to agree…? Or, well, perhaps easy wasn’t the right word. After all, even as they stepped together into the circle for transportation he couldn’t shake the sensation, but underneath that was a surprising amount of… trust? Did he really trust the witch that much? How had that happened, exactly?

No time to think about that now. The cold washed over him, as though he’d dropped off a cliff side into the deepest ocean and somehow come out dry on the other side. In a flash, they were there…

Just as quickly as the cold had come, it was stripped away. The dry heat stabbed like a knife in his lungs at the very first intake of breath. The second came in shakier, with an almost rasp, but Kuval couldn’t figure out if it was fear or actual dryness that caused the sensation.

His fingers tightened around the neck of his canteen. Unmistakably though, his skin was already tighter. This, he knew, was his Syreni blood reacting. So much quicker than a human’s. Painfully fast and abrupt. After all, the first time he came through he had walked and the sensation of heat had almost been a gradual thing. Moving from the cool, damp, inviting home of his lover into the fires of his own personal hell was a completely different sensation.

Without thought, his free hand moved out and clamped down on the witch’s upper arm, “Dorian.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly, but more of a reassurance. The man had come with him, as promised, but together they stood where Kuval saw only death. The weight in his stomach pulled deeper and he realized then what it was: fear. It wasn’t exactly a sensation he was accustomed to feeling. After all, he was the kind to run head first into anything that seemed potentially fun or even simply interesting. Still, he found himself swallowing down against any further words that might betray such a feeling to his companion.

It’s fine, he told himself again, finally turning his head to look at Dorian. He calmed a bit from seeing the presence before him, a confidence pulling back at the sight. And though any fear in his eyes had become more minimal, the affects of the heat were already forming. It showed itself there at his lips first, where the full red softness had already faded to a pale pink.

But they were here, and Dorian wanted this… whatever it was, and he wanted it with Kuval. Even so much as to go ahead and scout and come back for his Syreni. For what that meant, he would stick around. If only to see where it took them. Besides… how could he really have turned back?

And here he was again. The second time around wasn’t much better, but at least they wouldn’t be stuck in this damned heat for too long. Well, not the dryness of it was more accurate, though the water usually was cool. Like the first time, the vein like markings on his skin pulsed in their glow angrily, but this time he ignored the ocean’s frustration since he knew it would be soothed shortly anyhow.

He felt the quick grasp of Kuval’s hand on his arm just as he turned his head to look at him. In the brief seconds they had been here it was already obvious that being in such a place was damaging to him. He didn’t like it, but showed none of that concern on his face as he sighed and lifted his hands up to tie the dark tresses of his salt crystalled hair up into a messy bun on the back of his head. They were still slightly damp from the first trip here, but the sun was trying its best to practically bake them into drying.

When he was finished he moved his hands down and unbuckled the pockets of his pants, taking out the right points of crystals and kneeling down in the sand. He spoke up to him as he drew out the proper sigils and alignments with them with both hands, all exactly as he had done the first time, “I wouldn’t bring you to a place that would flash fry you with no resolve to it.” Once the tracing was done he stood back up and moved the points back into their appropriate pockets.

Before he’d only needed one, but now he pulled out two dead and sun-bleached sand dollars which he slowly crushed over the markings. His lips moved silently as he did so, watching the doves as they dropped down into the sand. As he did so he re-buckled the many pockets that had been used for retrieval.

“So just be quiet and still. That isn’t an exaggeration: don’t move.” His tone was firm but not unkind as he reached back and unlatched the locks of the violin case strapped to his back. His eyes closed, already tired of this heat, and brought the weathered wood up to his chin. The air slowly grew thicker, humid, but still unforgivingly hot.

The glow on his marks pulsed so rapidly in anticipation it was likened more to flickering as he pulled the bow along the strings. With each shift in tone and pace of the musical incantation the humidity thickened to droplets which quickly turned to trails, then streams, rushing currents, until a swirling orb of wind and rain encircled the pair. It had gone much quicker this time than before, not wanting the syreni to suffer in the dry heat any longer than was necessary, even if he’d never admit it.

With a slow exhale he finished the arrangement and opened his eyes, more prepared for the cold fresh water that lapped towards them as the gentle storm continued on. The water was fresh and he parted his lips, letting a trail move between them which he instantly swallowed down as he locked his violin and bow in the case on his back, “There, see? Better?” he said, arching an eyebrow at him as his head turned in his direction.

“Tasty as I may be fried, I’d prefer not to experience that,” Kuval said in response. Already the tension from such dry lips forced a crack drown the center of the bottom on. A red split, more vivid upon the pale lips, threatened to leak blood, but withheld. Perhaps in anticipation of Dorian’s promise.

It felt almost faster this time, the drying out. Maybe it was because the trip had come on so suddenly or maybe it was because he hadn’t been in his proper form recently enough to have retained water, but whatever the cause he knew he wouldn’t last long here. He’d dry out, the salt water in his veins screaming out of him like steam from a kettle. Sea creatures like himself weren’t meant for this part of the world, that was painfully clear.

In response to the witch’s command, Kuval could only grunt in affirmation. He wanted to lift his canteen to his lips, but he’d wait a moment longer. It was clear that Dorian was working quickly, in fact the Syreni could almost swear the witch was moving urgently… It was interesting, really. Like a tell in a card game; there was a secret there.

Kuval didn’t ask. That wasn’t really the nature of their relationship. It surely hadn’t been founded on words, but rather actions, and Dorian’s were telling a story all their own. Truthfully though, if he really thought about it, it could just have easily been his own survival, couldn’t it? After all, the marks on the witch’s skin that linked him to the ocean were ablaze even more so than normal. Had it been dark out, he could have followed them for miles.

It was another thing, he realized, that made him feel linked. Their love of the ocean might have been enough, but their mutual need? Comradery at its finest. He felt a softness under his skin at seeing the visual representation of that connection for a moment, and it distracted him enough to survive while the preparations happened.

Be quiet and still, he repeated internally. That wasn’t so hard. The very idea of stepping forward in this earth seemed uncomfortable. The shoes he wore themselves were already hard to handle, but he needed to avoid the blisters that would have formed otherwise. He wasn’t sure there was any place for him to change here… He had to be extra careful.

Kuval listened as the music started, allowing his eyes to close with it and to focus on the sound. The energy was building around them, he could feel it even before the humidity. There was a spark to it that he had come to recognize, like electricity trying to prickle his hair on end.

Then came the first drop. Then another. The hit his skin and were lost there, absorbed greedily by desperate pores. Though he didn’t move, his breathing began to deepen with anticipation of more. As the rain began to fall he felt a small sound of relief hug the back of his throat and his shoulders let down their guard.

He heard Dorian speak, a sign that it was okay to do the same. He turned his head in the direction of the voice and opened his eyes. Water swam down through the channels of his hair, across his parched and pleading skin, and dripped from long pale eyelashes. His gaze was full of relief as he looked at the man and, as the confidence in his companion found itself well placed, he smiled in response.

His eyes quickly surveyed him: his lips were growing pinker, back to their soft fullness, and the water had washed away the blood that had pearled at the surface; his skin had better color to it, all around the man seemed healthier in general. Well that was fast. Relief flooded him, but the second he saw Kuval smile his own eyes halved, “Hm. Come on, and feel free to take your shoes off.” As he said it, he bent down and removed his own, tying their laces and letting them hang over one shoulder as he started to walk.

The sand was shockingly hot, but instantly cooled as they walked forward, bringing the storm with them which included the cold water to chase away the burn of the grains underfoot. So far, he hadn’t been able to go too deep into the pyramid, but hoped to collect some things from it. Who knew when they’d come in use later? Ingredients like this were rare, and it wasn’t every day a lich was present, especially one as powerful as this.

The deities had their own quarrels with the primordial that was causing this ‘catastrophe’ as some called it, but for all of their struggles he was just irritated that they made it more difficult for him to get through. Even now as they neared the outpost, he could see as well a sense the holy blasts in the distance where the pyramid proudly stood. Dalanesca and Naota had been working side by side when he’d come here before, and hopefully the pair hadn’t ruined anything further.

“Be cautious while we’re here, the place is filled with deities right now.” His nose wrinkled distastefully just from having to mention it. Now, if Xunatar had been there then perhaps things would have been more interesting. Not that he respected him, as he held no true regard for any of the conclave, but at least that man had a good head on his shoulders and knew which way the wind was blowing. “Aside from vampires, how much experience have you had around the undead?” Kurayo had been filed with plenty, but nothing so like what they’d find here.

Kuval only smiled more when he saw those eyes halve. Something about pulling light irritation from his companion always amused him. He wasn’t sure why exactly. Maybe it was seeing emotion he caused so readily portrayed, or maybe it was the fact that he could do so without being harmed. Either way, it amused him.

Gratefully, he did take off his shoes and, much like Dorian, let the tied laces rest over his shoulder as he moved to keep pace with him. The very last thing he wanted was to be left outside of their personal rainstorm.

The cooled sand felt familiar and welcome underfoot and he found himself more stable than he had been mere moments ago. It was easier to find his balance like this, both mentally and physically, and he couldn’t truly express how happy he really was to have this sanctuary with Dorian.

Walking side by side, Kuval let his eyes move out across the sand. Shimmering lines of heat waved at him in the distance and he looked at them accusingly, as if they taunted him. On the other side, nearer to the outpost, he saw the sparks and bangs like fireworks much too low to the earth. The battle, he assumed. So bright and inviting, especially to his witch.

Before he could say anything about it, Dorian spoke up again about the deities. Kuval knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but still a rush raced through him at the realization that there were many nearby. Of course, there was on in particular he was most interested in…

“Deities?” He asked, curling his toes in the wet sand. For a moment he glanced behind them, watching the sun gobble the moisture from their trail as if it had never been there. “Which deities? Do you think Naota is there?”

Still, there was a question posed that needed answered. He thought about that for a moment, as if a run in with the undead would have been easily forgotten, and finally shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve had any, really. Is that bad?”

His nose wrinkled in disapproval from the mention of that name, and he slid that gaze over to Kuval. “Naota? Yes, he is. No doubt ruining everything even more with the goddess of the dead. Keep a wide berth.” So long as luck was on their side they wouldn’t have too many run ins with the members of the conclave. Although, the question of that particular god did not go unnoticed.

As they entered the outpost he occasionally would reach out and take anything they may need from a stand; easy work when a storm hid most of your movements. He shrugged lightly but in no way dismissively, “It isn’t bad exactly,” he responded, “If anything it’ll make it all the more interesting for you to see them like this as your first time.”

He turned towards him to look at his face as they walked and gently smeared a balm along Kuval’s lips, being sure to get it over every inch. There wasn’t much he cared for when it came to The Mother, but her healing was second to none, and the cuts on his lips from his previous dryness were now healed completely.

His touch lingered there for a half second longer than it should have before removing his hands completely. The pyramid was still a bit of a good walk ahead of them, and he continued to take things they should need as they went. More of this was for his syreni’s protection and aid than his own, and each thing was placed gingerly in a pocket or pouch on his own person as they walked.

When a soft envelope of powder was quickly tucked away into a waterproof pocket, he pulled an aqua aura quartz out to give it room and tucked it into Kuval’s pocket to stretch his magick towards the other. However, his eyes stayed forward as he spoke, “Interesting…that you should ask about that specific deity. Why?” As if on cue there was an insufferable ray of light that lit up the south face of the pyramid. Even from this distance and within a moving storm it could be made out and he nearly rolled his eyes.

Kuval’s heart jumped in his chest at the knowledge that Naota was nearby. This moment, this place, which he had considered his hell, was the closest to his favorite god that he’d ever been. A nervousness tried to pump its way out of his heart and through his veins, to fill him up with useless anxiety for a moment that may not even come today.

Those eager eyes turned back to Dorian though at hearing the distaste in his tone. He wasn’t surprised. After all, his witch followed the darkness and Naota was the god of light. It was only logical that the two would be on opposing sides. Still, it made him entirely too sad that his two favorite people on land could dislike each other so strongly.

He let the subject fall for a moment, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. If he saw Naota, if they were there, together, on the sand and the moment presented itself… He tried not to think about that. Surely the god was busy. They were fighting a war of some kind. This wasn’t the time for someone like him to go out and get all excitable.

It was easy to let go too as his focus went to Dorian’s theft. He watched as the man expertly picked things from counters and booths and put them into his pockets or pouches. It was easier still when his face was taken.

He didn’t wince as the balm was applied to his tender lips, but simply parted them in response as if that’s what was meant to be done with Dorian touched them. The soft warmth of his fingers and the medicine soothed him, halving his eyes as the pain faded to nothing.

Quite an item, he thought to himself as he watched the container slip away into Dorian’s pants as if it had always been his. He wanted to arch an eyebrow, but instead allowed only the softest of smirks as they continued walking. He didn’t even blink when he felt something shift into his own, but accepted it casually. You always surprise me.

But then the question was back. Although he didn’t feel prejudged exactly, he found himself surprisingly prickled to answer the question honestly. He’d never been anything but honest with Dorian, except perhaps an omission or two or three, but the idea of upsetting him seemed unpleasant. Especially when their visit to the desert so far had been surprisingly nice.

The blast of light, somehow brighter than the daylight itself, pulled his eyes back to the horizon. They lit up there, a child in awe of the magick on display. The eagerness tried to edge its way back into his body, urging him to move forward toward the light… but he held his ground, here with Dorian. The moment would come, he told himself, and he wouldn’t betray his current happiness for a scene that might not even happen how he wanted.

Still, he decided to continue with being honest. He wasn’t one to hide himself, and the idea of starting now seemed foolish. He enjoyed the company of the witch despite some of the things he didn’t care for from him. He liked to imagine at the man would do the same for him…

“Well, I like Naota,” he said, in his most casually calculated tone, “If we worshiped a god regularly, it would likely be him.”