Conscious, Conscientious

Gibblezgorv swooped beneath a thin sheet of clouds. The chill of the moisture immediately yielded to the pounding sunlight.

Deon couldn't feel all of the warmth just yet, but it was still enough to make him dismiss his imagined cloak. A familiar dryness in the air flooded his breath.

He and Skrili peered below to find Crooked Plateau nearly beneath them. Deon couldn't help but try and pick out the Registration Center where their worlds changed–where Skrili decided she'd fight with Pang one last time, and where they learned she'd probably have to face Hiroko and Kotono.

Despite his efforts, the oddly-angled buildings were all as bare and unassuming as Deon remembered–too much to pinpoint the Registration Center from this height.

But before they flew past, they were low enough to spot a noticeable difference between the city's walls: the side streets and alleys were clear. Hiroko's people, and the other clan, were nowhere to be found.

Then they really did it, Deon observed. Hiroko really saved her homeland.

Not to mention saving Phillip while they were at it.

…And now Layla, too.

Hiroko and Kotono…they're something else. It's like they're a blessing, he contemplated.

His heart twisted harder.

Were, he corrected himself.

By now they glided above nothing but the plains of sand that followed the city, entering the Mainland Desert. With the heat increasing, Deon de-imagined Skrili's cloak as well, revealing her blue and black fighting attire.

After having spent days with the championship duo, the similarity in its design to Hiroko's fighting clothes had only grown more uncanny.

"Hey," Deon uttered over her shoulder. "I'm…I'm sorry. I know you really looked up to her."

He'd almost decided to keep quiet, but he figured that couldn't do any good for this pain. He tried not to fret when Skrili didn't reply.

But then Deon felt her hand fill his. It grasped both firmly and fragilely.

Deon returned the motion, and he too, fell silent.

"Kotono…" Skrili finally said. "We have to make sure we look after her. We have to…she'll need it…"

Deon was all too aware he was listening to a voice that spoke from experience.

"Yeah. We will."

Gibblezgorv sped along, with his three companions carrying the others not far behind. An hour passed and still not a soul appeared down on the desert hills.

Atop the burly Fabinwaf, Lammy shifted his weight to avoid stiffening too much.

"If we're to trust Gibblezgorv's memory–which is certainly more reliable than mine," came the dragon's croak, "we should arrive shortly."

"Thank you, sir," replied Layla.

Sure enough, the first sign of life came into view as they passed over a sandy slope. A single man sat atop it staring up at them all. Judging by his purple hair and deep complexion, it was clear he came from Hidakala.

When the man shot to his bare feet, Lammy braced himself and brainstormed some sort of defense to protect Layla as he'd promised.

But the man turned his back to them, and as they passed over, he brought some sort of cone-shaped tube to his mouth. A droning, woody note rang out when he blew into it, loud enough to hear even from the sky.

The land flattened out from this point forward, and only moments later, Lammy noticed ten more men standing in a perfect file. They were spread out many paces apart, spanning much of the terrain, and all wielded tall, pointed staffs.

These men were all towering, each at least Phillip's height. And though their skin was mostly covered underneath thin black and purple clothing, their sturdy forms indicated they were likely just as built as Hiroko.

"We should land," Layla insisted.

It seemed Gibblezgorv and Horblezgorz had already derived the same notion, swerving gracefully to begin their descent. The three elder dragons made their way towards the sand, and Dylan followed suit behind them.

The four central patrols hurried forward to meet them as the dragons' feet sent tremors through the ground.

Layla released from Lammy and started her climb. Remembering his role, Lammy did his best to watch her step as he followed.

They touched down into the sand, and Lammy instinctually tried to lift his feet at first–the heat felt like it might burn through his shoes.

He stepped forward to follow Layla, but she raised a hand to him.

"Wait here, Noble Lammy."

As the little Queen approached the men, Lammy noticed Kotono and Zayza stepping forward as well.

The guards' stoic expressions seemed to soften a bit with familiarity when their watch shifted from Layla to Kotono and Zayza. Lowering their rods to the ground, they stepped closer and met their visitors midway.

Kotono took the forefront. As she began to speak, eyes to the ground and hands clasped together uneasily, the men lowered themselves to listen more intently.

Lammy couldn't hear her words from here, but it was clear she was struggling to let them out. Color began dimming in the space around her.

One of the men reached forward and tenderly clasped her hands in his. He nodded and his icy blue eyes widened.

Lammy didn't have to hear to know she'd finally managed to tell them.

After the hue around her shifted blue and her elaboration continued, the men's eyes fell to Zayza. The lead patrol nodded, and one of his companions stepped forward to stand by her side, rod in hand.

Her expression was oddly distant as she allowed him to take her hand and begin escorting her.

Kotono turned and signaled to Layla, and the patrolmen all bowed her way. The lead whistled off to the others, and another man hurried over to guide her.

Finally, both sorrow and purpose in his gaze, the lead man seemed to check if Kotono was injured. She shook her head, so with a tender arm around her, he began leading her with the others.

Layla turned back to Lammy briefly and sent a single, hard nod as she stepped away.

He shifted uneasily while the group departed deeper into the desert.

Now what do we do? he wondered.

Lammy caught Fabinwaf's comforting smile. Just past him, Deon and Skrili climbed down to join Lammy in the sand.

A shadow cast upon the ground to his side while Deon and Skrili approached.

"We'll hear from Kotono," said Phillip behind him.

The grim Illusionist came closer to stand with the group, a rectangular device with a screen in his hand.

"For now, we'll wait."

~

Though the sun's rays were beginning to weaken, the sky's blue growing pale with a hint of yellow, the sand remained just as hot in the couple hours that passed.

Deon stood just to stretch his legs, and then with nothing else to do, simply sat back down with his quiet companions.

A while ago, they'd migrated to the deepening shadows the dragons casted on the ground. The shade alone made an immense difference.

And though Skrili had apologized multiple times, Gibblezgorv and his friends made it clear they would continue waiting.

'Human lives are so fleeting and fragile.' Horblezgorz's earlier words returned to Deon's mind. He couldn't fully comprehend the wisdom gained from hundreds of years, but he valued their commitment, nonetheless.

Besides, he was beginning to feel just how true that statement was.

Lammy, Skrili, and Phillip remained largely wordless. Knowing each of them, he could sense they needed things to stay that way for now.

When Phillip checked his TeamTrack again, Deon decided he'd do the same.

He still hadn't turned it back on since Hiroko instructed them all to deactivate them. So when the initial greeting message switched to the home screen, he nearly dropped the device into the sand with a jump.

It began vibrating like crazy. By the time it settled, Deon noticed dozens of missed messages, and dozens upon dozens of missed calls.

Several messages were from Alex:

"Hey man, I heard Pang's missing. I'm so sorry. If I can help, let me know."

"Haven't heard from you or Skrili…Everything okay?"

"Hey…Deon? Getting a little worried…"

It continued on twice more, with the earliest one from Ving instead:

"The wind feels very strange today…are you well?"

The majority of the messages and calls, however, were an onslaught of increasingly uneasy attempts from Skip.

The last one was a group message to him, Skrili, Pang, and Phillip.

"GUYS. SOMEONE CALL ME. I'M WORRIED SICK OVER HERE."

Crap…sorry, Skip, Deon thought, flinching as if the scolding was happening in real time.

Now that he thought of it, multiple days had passed since they silenced all of their TeamTracks, and they did it immediately after Pang vanished. It was no wonder their friends were freaking out.

Still, it warmed his heart to see just how desperately they cared.

But Deon remembered Skip's story about his former teammate. She'd disappeared just as mysteriously as Pang, and the people who took her were obsessed with her unusual abilities.

Wei's fascination with Deon came to mind.

He knew there was a direct connection. They'd fought the very people Skip urged them to avoid at all costs.

And now, though he was using his TeamTrack again, though he was reconnected with the incredible world of Conscious fighting once more, a new weight pressed down on him.

They could never go back to how things were before.

Hiroko…

He shook his head. He knew their friends were awaiting a call, but the very thought was overwhelming. So much happened. Everything changed. There was so much to explain.

Too much.

Deciding a call would have to wait, and regretting his inability to do so, Deon mustered the strength to at least send a couple quick replies.

"Hey. Skrili and I are okay."

And to Skip, he added:

"I'll call you soon. We really need to talk."

Deon took a long sigh. He was about to tuck his TeamTrack away, but it rattled in his hand as a new message appeared.

Had he not already been looking at the screen, he would have assumed it was Skip or Alex and put it off until he had the energy for it. But instead, it was the update they'd been waiting for:

"Patrols are on their way to bring you here. The clan is holding a mourning ritual, and they want us all to participate."

Phillip looked up from his TeamTrack and nodded to Deon. He'd also received Kotono's message.

The waiting resumed, but at least now they had confirmation. Deon struggled to distract his mind in the meantime; his usual solutions of physical activity or joking around had no place right now.

At least he would get to thank Hiroko's family directly.

…or apologize.

If I had been faster…as strong as her…

An hour had passed, and these were his final contemplations before he finally saw their Hidakalan escorts approach. He welcomed the end to this spiraling introspection.

But he knew where they were headed now would only remind him more deeply.

I have to get better. To honor Hiroko.

And so that never happens again.

~

The terrain under Lammy's shuffling feet was beginning to feel different. He looked down as he traveled amongst the group between two rows of quiet escorts.

His steps weren't sinking in nearly as much as where they first arrived, and the ground's shade was darkening.

Just the same, the air itself was transforming. By the time they'd reached this point, dusk was beginning to fall over the desert. The retreating heat, swift as it was, gave him just enough relief to keep powering forward.

The thuds behind them increased in volume a bit as they reached the start of a long slope. Gibblezgorv and the other dragons were close behind, traveling on foot seemingly out of respect for the region.

When the slope grew even steeper, Skrili turned back to Lammy in one of Deon's cloaks again, and gently took his hand. Apparently he'd been slowing down more than he thought he was letting off.

They climbed together the rest of the way up, his balance much more secure. And as they reached the top, his muscles relaxed at the sight.

Their journey was nearly over: a village rested at the base of the hill, partially blanketed in shade from another slope diagonal to where Lammy stood.

Considering Hiroko, he'd unconsciously been expecting her home to reflect the same might as her–something fortified and undeniable, much like Azvaylen's castle. Instead, he observed something quite the opposite.

Hidakala was mostly a collection of humble tan tents. The dozens he counted were spaced out neatly yet without pattern, and though the layout was pleasant, he couldn't decide if it was intentional or a result of their recent return to this land. Small clusters of thin sticks for campfires accompanied most of the tents.

The largest stack, however, was growing in the very center of the village. Men, women, and children were walking back and forth between tents and this soon-to-be massive campfire, adding sticks and brush in a rehearsed order. The burliest men worked together to build a fence of stones on the outer corners.

Gradually, the structure took the shape of a triangle.

"Whoa…" Deon admired beside his cousin.

The village's land reached out to the edge of this pocket between the hills, and at the end it met a quiet shore: the source of Deon's fascination.

A glistening lake broke up the leagues of endless sand they'd seen up until this point. The slowly departing sun's glow reflected against its waves, illuminating it with an orange tint that shone against the village in specs.

It was the most beautiful part of Hidakala, yet Lammy understood it wasn't natural. But that was why he and Deon found themselves so impressed.

Imaginers created this…an entire lake, he thought. Amazing.

He spotted a few individuals kneeling close to the water by the shore, and others rowing a boat towards land as they watched every drop of water along the way. All dressed in the same white outfit, these workers for the Imagine Change Foundation appeared to be winding down their day of intricate tweaks to their work.

So they're near the end of the whole process, Lammy figured.

Something about the sight brought tears to his eyes as the group resumed the final leg of their travels. He'd been using and witnessing imagining for battle for so long. But these imaginers were using their mastery to rebuild…create…heal.

As it refreshed his heart, his mother's voice came to mind.

'That's what our powers are for.'

They reached the bottom within minutes, the downhill angle increasing their pace. A small group of Hidakalan women met them where the land flattened out, but Zayza, Kotono, and Layla were out of sight.

With the triangular fire pit nearly complete, Lammy noticed a quiet crowd beginning to gather at its nearest tip. He assumed his friends were there.

The women greeted them with a wordless tenderness. One caught the escorts' eyes, and tears finally escaped their stoic faces.

"Hirokyauta's friends," the woman uttered, her dark accent long and beautiful. A sad smile grew. "There are so many of you."

She signaled them to follow and turned around, her plain purple dress dragging across the sand.

Hirokyauta? Lammy wondered.

As they walked, Lammy realized the woman had no triangular tattoos on her skin like Hiroko or the Hidakalan men. In fact, none of the women with her did, either.

They passed by empty tents, the dragons shuffling into a single file to fit, and neared the gathering in silence.

In front of Lammy, Deon pulled out his rectangular device and read a message on it. He drew closer to Skrili.

"Hey, who's Credo Covewalk?" he asked lowly to avoid disrupting the quiet. "Kotono's warning us that someone named Credo Covewalk is–"

He and Skriki bumped into Phillip, who had come to a full stop just before them. He was staring off to the side, so they followed his gaze.

Lammy noticed his frown deepen and his face go pale. Skrili froze.

When Lammy looked as well, he found a man standing off away from the crowd, his arms crossed and his pensive eyes studying the fire pit. While he was dressed in Hidakalan clothing, and barefoot just as them, he certainly wasn't native: his long, bright green beard and light skin gave that away. And despite his wrinkles and wise focus, his full head of hair was combed up to the side for a very modern look.

Lammy couldn't pinpoint it: his stature was lofty, but perhaps not intentionally so. And his stare was hard, but not cold. This man understood precisely what was unfolding before him, who it was for, and the loss that came with it.

"He's here…?" Phillip muttered.

"That's who she's talking about?" Deon whispered. "Who is he?"

"Credo Covewalk…" Skrili let out, "...is the head of the entire Consciousness League."