Conscious, Conscientious

For a moment, the crisp crackles of wood were the only sounds in the field.

The humble fire between the five fighters was strong enough to at least illuminate their faces. Everyone’s eyes bounced around to each other a bit awkwardly, mostly lingering on Hiroko. For some reason, she insisted that Deon and Kotono create this flame.

The process was easy enough: Deon imagined a circle of rocks, and a heap of wooden sticks between it. Then Kotono—after insisting everybody take many steps back—summoned a quick, startling spark of energy to combust the campfire to life.

She seemed to be the only one familiar with whatever Hiroko was about to unveil, leaning against her teammate and allowing her eyes to meditate on the flames.

“Skrili, Deon, Phillip: you’re just as much my teammates as Kotono, now,” Hiroko began, her voice lingering in the smoke. “So I’d like to let you in on our little pre-fight ritual. Welcome to your first ever Dauflofla.”

While the word was clearly unfamiliar to the newly initiated—and even a bit silly-sounding—Deon noticed Skrili and Phillip watching on intensely, their expressions stoic and their reverence obvious.

“Uh…anyone got a Koz on them? Or what did Miranda call it…a guitar?” Deon asked playfully. “Feels like we’re about to break into a campfire song.”

“You’re close,” Hiroko said.

“Wait—what?”

Immediately, Hiroko’s sandy voice opened up into a slow, bouncing melody. Kotono provided accompaniment, tapping on her lap to keep rhythm while Hiroko sang the words from perfect memory:

“Gods below, to whom Sand Dragons bow

Surround us in your mercy now

Our darkness harbors crippling weight

From days of past to days of late

So burn up all remaining hate

And light tomorrow’s fate for…”

Hiroko’s icy, and usually stoic eyes now fell to Deon with a sly sparkle.

“Deon!”

“Huh?!” Deon stammered as all four consciousnesses turned to him.

A smirk grew on Hiroko’s face. “Tell us something you hate. Be honest.”

Deon’s eyebrows furrowed. What the heck is this? he wondered. Some sort of training? This is Hiroko we’re talking about: she probably wouldn’t waste our time…Does she have magic on her that’s supposed to get rid of hate or something?

He tried to think of an answer. “Wei,” he replied grimly. “Because he took Lammy and almost killed—”

“Hold up, hold up,” Hiroko interrupted. “Keep it light.”

“Light?”

“Light.”

Her face was more relaxed than Deon had ever seen. Clearly this was some sort of game.

But why? Tomorrow, they would risk their very lives to save those most precious to them. Why was now, of all times, the time for Hiroko to stop taking it all seriously?

Deon shrugged. “Uh…I don’t know,” he said. “Milking cows. I’m sorry, that stuff’s just nasty.”

“Milking cows?” Hiroko repeated in puzzlement. “That’s the first thing on your mind? How many times have you had to do that?”

“More than I want to think about,” Deon shared, shaking his head.

Skrili chuckled beside him. “You look so haunted right now.”

The rest let out a laugh at the expense of his cow-based trauma.

“Hey! It’s gross!” Deon defended, waving his arms. “And Savannah—my ex—knew I hated it. So every time she milked a cow, she would try to get all handsy with me. She had me booking it across the entire village!”

“Alright guys: no cow-milking around Deon. Got that?” Hiroko instructed with the wave of a finger. “Okay Deon, now sing it with me…”

“Gods below, to whom Sand Dragons bow,

Surround us in your mercy now

Deon hates milking cows…”

She continued into the rest of the chorus, insisting Deon join with the raise of an eyebrow.

Seriously…what’s gotten into her? he wondered. But nonetheless, with everyone’s smirking attention on him, he felt the pressure to do his best keeping up.

“And light tomorrow’s fate for…” they sang slightly out of sync.

“Pick someone,” Hiroko guided Deon.

“Uh…You’re up, Phil. Phillip, I mean.”

The brooding, shadowy young man gazed thoughtfully at the fire, as if deciding what to cast away into it. He nodded.

“Chewing,” he decided flatly.

“Huh? Oh, like, people chewing with their mouth open, right?” Deon figured.

“No. Chewing in general,” Phillip clarified. “This world would be more pleasant if every chewing species just swallowed things whole instead. If I could, I would.”

Everyone burst into laughter, this time even louder.

“Bro, WHAT?!” Deon bellowed. “What are you even saying?!”

“That’s so particular!” Kotono giggled.

“AND!” Hiroko guided Deon and Phillip, leading them back into the song as a trio this time:

“Gods below, to whom Sand Dragons bow,

Surround us in your mercy now

Deon hates milking cows

Phillip hates…chewing…?”

Deon watched on, forgetting his confusion for a moment—or at least, dismissing it—as this little game persisted. It was Phillip’s turn to pick, and he chose Kotono to go next.

Laughter and playful judgment persisted with the following fighter’s takes: Kotono hated the word ‘partake,’ and Skrili hated cloudiness unless it was raining.

The energy had shifted entirely from before Deon and Kotono casted the flame. Sheer minutes after Deon was stuck in a cycle wondering if they’d even live beyond tomorrow, they were filling the night with laughter.

They were alive, present, at peace.

They were out of their own heads.

Deon fell over in a howling fit as he witnessed everyone gain up in a shouting match against Hiroko: she had just admitted she hated peanut butter. Even Kotono’s mouth dropped.

Phillip stood defiantly, his fists shaking. “I’ll have no more of this foolishness,” he announced. “Hiroko, I challenge you. I will stand to defend the most supreme delicacy this Multiverse has to offer.”

“Skrili, stop him! That’s your hero!” Deon laughed.

But Skrili stood to join him, her bad acting obvious as she tried not to smile through her improvised antics. They stepped forward.

Deon dove and tugged at their arms. “NO YOU GUYS!! DON’T LET PEANUT BUTTER TEAR US APART!!”

“DON’T HOLD US BACK, ANTI-MILKER!”

Kotono begged for relief with what little words she could muster between wheezes and snorts. Bright yellow glitters of energy shook off of her and faded into the grass.

“AAAAND!” Hiroko conducted.

One last time, the group broke into the chorus, doing their best to recall everyone’s subject of hatred. Hiroko dramatically waved her arms up at the conclusion as if to cast it all away into the smoke, and the five consciousnesses fell back to their seats, their laughter finally winding down.

The crackling firewood once again filled the returning silence.

“In Hidakala—my home tribe—hunting and gathering resources can be extremely difficult and dangerous,” Hiroko shared. “We’ve also had years of conflict defending our land from opportunistic outsiders in the past. So our hunters and warriors are strong, and we’ve built traditions to keep us that way.”

Her eyes rested on each consciousness individually.

“One of those is what we’re doing right now: a Dauflafla. My tribe believes the Gods deep beneath the Mainland Desert created us, and so the ground is sacred—gravity itself pulls us back down towards it no matter what. The night before a hunt or a battle, we would start a Dauflafla by casting our negative feelings into the fire, and watch the smoke pull it to the sky while we stay beckoned towards the earth. It’s a purification of our hearts.”

Deon’s eyebrows raised. “Whoa…that’s what we just did?”

Hiroko smiled. “Who knows? Maybe. But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

Kotono shifted, clearly mustering the courage to elaborate. “I…well…I used to get really bad panic attacks before fights…debilitating ones,” she admitted to her friends. “So Hiroko started doing these with me…and we kind of turned it into our own fun version.”

Hiroko shrugged. “I just went with what I knew,” she added unassumingly. “But yeah…it’s definitely a lot sillier than the real one.”

Deon sighed. Somehow, breathing had become easier than it had been in days—ever since he watched Lammy and Zayza disappear. He hadn’t even realized how hard his heart had been beating this whole time.

But right now, it was slow.

He looked beside him to Skrili: she still had a lingering smile from their little game. Even Phillip leaned back as he sat across from them.

Hiroko knows exactly what she’s doing, Deon realized.

His attention fell to the black, triangular tattoos all over Hiroko’s body—the countless markings all over her arms, hands, and feet, and the single one just underneath her eye like a teardrop.

Considering her tribe was rich with traditions and symbolism, he wondered what those were for.

“Well…there’s a lot more to a Dauflafla than that—especially a Hiroko and Kotono one,” she said, reaching back to retrieve her travel bag from the darkness.

“Wait—did you bring Phoenix Floats?!” Kotono beamed, peering in as Hiroko opened her bag.

“Huh? When would I have gone all the way to the Phoenix, and how would I have fit them in here?” Hiroko laughed.

“A girl can dream…” pouted Kotono.

“We’ll have to make do,” Hiroko shrugged, pulling out bags of sweet treats. “It’s not a Hiroko-Kotono Dauflafla without candy.”

She tossed bags around the fire to Deon, Skrili, and Phillip, and the relaxed ritual resumed.

Storytelling—as Hiroko shared—was another major staple of a traditional Dauflafla. Normally, warriors and hunters would take turns exchanging folk legends and battle stories alike. Deon prepared to pick out his and Skrili’s wildest fighting story yet; perhaps the Fullmetal Consciousnest and Xavier would garner a chuckle.

But instead, Hiroko unveiled yet another alteration: they were to make up a story together, on the spot, each providing a singular word at a time.

Despite a slow, shy start, their collective tale grew until it spanned hours into the night. Eventually Deon found himself invested: Duck and Buck’s aspirations to win every Conscious Competition exclusively by ducking kept him on the edge of his seat, and he’d never forgive their Uncle Diddlebob for betraying their trust and disrespecting their joint cucumber allergy.

By the conclusion of their largely nonsensical epic, Deon’s stomach was sore from laughter. The sheer lack of sleep only encouraged giggles further, clearly getting to everyone else, as well.

As the fire died down to glowing embers, Deon noticed Skrili had nodded off against him soundly. He wrapped her in his arm and observed the rest of his teammates.

Phillip remained staring into the campfire’s final luminance, his eyes hidden. But the frown he usually wore was absent. He wasn’t afraid anymore—his mind was clear. He was ready.

Across the glow, Kotono’s head lay on Hiroko’s lap. Deon couldn’t hear their soft words to each other as Hiroko ran her hand through her teammate’s strawberry blonde waves, but he could only describe the warmth in their eyes as adoration.

Deon’s mind slurred and he caught his now-heavy eyelids drooping. The restlessness was gone.

The fear of tomorrow still lingered, but for now, it couldn’t hold him captive. For now, he could finally get the rest he’d need before his most fateful day.

He imagined a pillow on the ground behind himself and Skrili. But before laying her down and making himself comfortable, he glanced over the faded fire one more time.

“Thanks, Hiroko,” he whispered.

Her eyes, filled with a depth of understanding, lifted from Kotono’s to meet his. The embers added further brightness to their icy shade. With a smile, she gave a simple wink.

~~~

Lammy knew he should have expected it, but his heart still practically stopped when he spotted a cluster of armored guards.

While it was a wild guess, he’d hoped trekking through this seemingly insignificant back hall would have provided better cover than flying freely through the castle on a large rainbow-furred beast. Now, several minutes into the path, he realized how wrong he was—and how badly he needed navigation.

The narrow hallway lit blue as the countless guards ignited their magical swords. Paintings of past kings and queens appeared ghostly under the flickering shadows.

Threats and shouts echoed Lammy’s way.

This was bad. He’d trapped himself; even the ceiling was much lower here. Summoning Loozooloozeux was no longer an option—perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed the dragon and instead opted to forgo concealment entirely.

But it was too late to reflect.

I have to fight, he thought.

He shifted Layla’s resting body on his back. Her arms dangled over his shoulders.

She’s counting on me—everyone is, he reminded himself, throat restricting. I…

I can’t let Zayza lose her only family left.

Deon’s beaming smile flashed into his mind. His mother, father, Aunt Meiv, Uncle Dien, Savannah…all of their faces swam through his thoughts, eyes full of love.

“We’ve become sort of a consciousness team of our own, haven’t we?” Zayza had said hours ago.

Lammy blinked away the dampness in his eyes. “I won’t let my teammate down.”

The guards charged, a few of them in the front even chuckling. Lammy hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until then.

“FOR AZVAYLEN!!” came their roars.

Lammy stared them down. This time, fear wouldn’t dominate him. This time, he was just as ready as he was determined. He’d done this before. He searched within to call upon his heightened imagining powers.

But nothing happened.

Huh?!

Their onslaught was a moment away. Lammy desperately felt for any hint of his power up. Thanks mostly to the urgency of the situation, his realization came quick:

His heart wasn’t racing. His head didn’t hurt.

He wasn’t stressed enough.

He’d become confident—but confidence didn’t fuel his powers. In fact, it was now hindering his true power source: stress.

Seriously?! I canceled myself out?! Lammy deduced.

The realization itself returned his heartbeat into a frenzied state. Doom awaited him, and that overwhelming possibility set a fire to his eyes. Energy spiraled within him.

But he was far too late now: the guards were upon him. There was no more time to summon a defense.

This was the end.

Wind and heat slammed his whole body backwards. He felt Layla’s weight vanish, replaced with the unforgiving stone of the floor. But he couldn’t seem to hear as he crashed and slid against it.

On top of that, he couldn’t see, either: billows of dust and smoke burned his eyes. After a moment, he could pick out the sound of his own coughs.

And in that moment, he realized the guards’ coughs and shouts of pain blended with his.

Two soft hands grasped his.

“Rise, Noble Lammy.”

The smoke cleared enough for Lammy to at least recognize the face right before his. Layla kneeled over him, her pale blonde hair blown in all directions and her face now smudged with dust.

“You’re awake?!” Lammy observed. “What just happened?”

“You’re welcome.”

She attempted to yank him upwards with minimal success. Lammy followed her lead, crawling to his knees. Only steps away, all the guards lay buried under stones and debris. The hallway was entirely cut-off.

Finally, it clicked: Lammy remembered the Throne Room explosion.

“Let’s make haste,” Layla urged.

“HALT!!”

Their heads whipped to the other end of the hall. Dozens more guards charged their way, the sight of their defeated brethren heightening their tenacity.

“I wish not to harm any of you any further,” Layla insisted. She climbed to her feet with a sharp limp, balancing on her one good leg.

The guards persisted.

“But if I must…” she lamented. The Queen’s hand brushed along the side of her dress in a clearly rehearsed pattern, reaching for something particular. She attempted to tug on part of the fabric, but missed. Alarmed, she peered down to her dress to find ripped material.

“What’s wrong?” Lammy checked breathlessly.

“This enchantment…it’s damaged.”

The guards closed in.

Lammy’s eyes lit even brighter in sync with his anxious breath. This time, it was his chance.

The front two guards found themselves consumed within the wide mouth of an oversized fish: Lammy had placed it into existence just in time. Metal and violent threats alike piled up behind the beast—its flubbery body blocked them off from the rest of the hallway.

But the fish rocked and slid against their unrelenting shoves.

“It won’t hold,” Lammy warned Layla. His head shot back and forth: between the wall of debris and the wall of piled-up soldiers, there were no more exits. Even with all that effort, it seemed they’d done little more than put off their capture for a moment.

“Follow me,” Layla uttered coolly.

She again slid her hand along the skirt of her dress. This time, she clutched a small dangling fabric in another area, her eyes fixed on the inner wall.

Layla tugged the fabric. Only steps away, a section of gray bricks crumbled to nearly nothing. They left behind a circular, gaping hole into the darkness.

“Another enchantment?” marveled Lammy.

“I prepared for this for quite some time,” Layla reminded him. “I have enchantments across practically the entire castle written on the inside of my dress. Let’s hurry.”

She inched forward towards this new doorway, her hair bouncing with her labored step.

This girl’s brilliant, Lammy thought.

With a start, he hurried to overtake her. Lammy squatted down.

“Here, Layla,” he urged, reaching his hands back. “You really shouldn’t walk.”

“Hm. You remembered this time,” she noted as she climbed onto his back once more. “However…I am a Queen…”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Queen Layla.”

She fell oddly silent as Lammy rushed her towards their escape.

“Well…you’re allowed to be informal with me, Noble Lammy…” she muttered.

Alright, which one is it?! spun Lammy’s mind.

He raced into the dark, dusty hole, the soldiers’ bellows of protest dulling behind the layers of stone. Another hole of equal size awaited them straight ahead, only steps away. Lammy stumbled over the rubble for a moment before shifting Layla’s weight and pressing forward.

“Good work back there,” Layla uttered. “Though…why didn’t you defend us from the first wave of guards?” she added, her tone seemingly trying to hold in her disappointment.

Lammy hesitated. Clearly, she’d expected more extravagance from him. “Well…um…I was too confident I would win…?” he attempted. “My powers are weird…Anyway, I’m glad you’re awake. I could really use a navigator in this place—and your enchantments. I have no idea if I’m on the right track.”

Layla turned to observe the hall they’d come from. “You’re not…that hopelessly off-course…”

That’s not very reassuring…thought Lammy.

“It couldn’t be helped. Fewpar urgently needed to reach out to us, and the Dreamer Traps were the only clever way under Proscious’s watch,” she reasoned. “The information he provided is the key to our victory.”

“Right,” Lammy agreed. Deon and his friends were on the way. Tomorrow, they wouldn’t fight alone.

Lammy reached the opposite opening in the wall. He and Layla poked their heads into the next room just enough to see: the ceilings were high once more, and the room ran as long as the hallway they’d just come from. Rows of unoccupied armor glistened subtly under the low glow of lanterns on the wall. As far as they could see, Lammy and Layla were alone.

“Step forward,” Layla whispered.

Lammy cautiously entered the supply room. He felt Layla’s hand leave his shoulder and reach for her dress once more. As she returned her grip on him, the sound of brushing and shifting rocks caught his hear. Lammy turned to find the wall reconstructing itself back to its original form, leaving no trace of tampering.

“Nice…” he uttered.

Layla studied the room. “Move towards the opposite wall. We’ll be back on the best route to the western tower momentarily.”

Lammy sighed; at least he hadn’t completely hindered their chances.

“What ended up happening in the Dream World?” he checked as they passed by countless armor displays. “Did you get kicked back out into reality?”

He felt Layla’s hair as she shook her head. “Because of the Dreamer Trap, I would have been knocked dreamless. The enchantment lifted, so I returned,” she explained. “What happened…was Zayza.”

Lammy’s heart lifted. “You found her?”

“She found us. She single-handedly defeated the Dreamer guards who attacked her when she fell into Fewpar’s Dreamer Trap,” said Layla. “Fewpar fought a good fight with what little assistance I could provide, but we were failing. Zayza warped to us just in time and immediately turned the tide.”

She…really must be the most powerful Dreamer…Lammy realized.

“We sensed the Dreamer Trap expire, so they told me to return to you,” added Layla. “It seems I returned just in time.”

Lammy nodded. “So that means Zayza can return to the real world, too?”

“Yes. But I instructed her and Fewpar to remain.”

Lammy thought he’d misheard her for a moment. “Wait…why?”

They reached the opposite wall, so Layla advised him to wait. She searched her dress skirt for a moment, and then decidedly tugged on another section of fabric. As before, a circular section of the wall crumbled.

To Lammy’s surprise, a soft light shone from it into the room. It wasn’t a lantern this time—it was natural.

He stepped into the hole, and after a few steps, discovered the next section of the castle featured a decorated wall with tall windows—similar to the ones he’d seen early in this escape.

But now, instead of a night sky, Lammy saw budding sunlight beginning to welcome morning onto the kingdom’s rooftops.

It’s already been that long? he noticed.

Lammy had travelled throughout the castle away from windows for a while now, but in his heightened state of adrenaline, he hadn’t realized just how many hours had already passed.

The day had come.

Layla didn’t seem to mind that he paused to take in the unexpected sight.

“Given Zayza’s account of Proscious’ experiments, and with Fewpar’s new information about the resistance,” Layla said, “I think I know exactly what Proscious will attempt today. So I launched Zayza and Fewpar into a Dream World counteroffensive: to lure in Azvaylen Dreamers, and incapacitate as many of them as possible.”

Though Lammy couldn’t see her face, he knew she was gazing into the early morning sky just as him. Even as a strategist himself, he could hardly follow her thought process.

“You know Proscious’ next move?” he finally asked.

Layla tightened her grasp on him, her arms trembling. But her voice remained poised: “Keep moving, Noble Lammy. I’ll explain,” she uttered. “The Battle for Azvaylen…has begun.”