Using Smaya's promise as his source of motivation, Ghent made progress in freeing himself from fear. The freedom offered his mind the ability to focus on what he needed to, granting him an escape from the between world.
He shivered involuntarily, the cold chill spreading from his spine to every part of his body. Leaving the ghostly realm was working far sooner than he expected it to.
Any inner peace Ghent experienced was disrupted by the return of the voices and whispers. Distressed by their pain, Ghent pressed his hands against his ears in a futile attempt to block them out. He couldn't feel what they felt, but he could still hear their suffering, and that was almost just as bad.
Reminding himself of Smaya's promise, Ghent took a deep breath and lowered his hands. He couldn't dwell on the dead anymore, he had to worry about the living. Elayra needed help.
As the voices mingled and changed, he became increasingly disoriented. He didn't feel himself move, but he felt as if the world was reshaping itself around him. It was a strange, bizarre sensation, somewhat similar to how it was when traveling through the portal.
Elayra's voice cut through the darkness, her tone different than what he was used to. She sounded distressed, or at least close to it. The words weren't directed at him, but someone else. Ghent shivered as another chill raced down his spine. Drust was definitely conscious.
Ghent was afraid, but he didn't open his eyes. He wasn't ready. He was hardly an expert on how the Spiritayum worked, but his inner voice told him he wasn't where he needed to be.
Eventually, the earth seemed to fall away from him, replaced by the familiar roughness of entangled vines and grass.
“You. Know. Nothing!”
Gasping, Ghent's eyes shot open. Drust was awake, angry, and armed.
The knight stood across the clearing, sword in hand. His form blocked Elayra from immediate view, but Ghent knew she was there, cornered and pinned with no means of escape.
Ghent’s stomach knotted. Keeping Drust in his line of vision, he moved his hand across the ground until his fingers brushed against cool metal. The dagger he dropped before entering the Spiritayum was still there.
Fingers wrapping around the hilt, Ghent rose with shaky legs, adrenaline pumping. He could hear the scuffle between them. Elayra was trying to push the madman away.
Time had officially run out. There was no time to think, there was only time to act. Ghent’s first steps were wobbly. His sneakers barely made a sound as he moved forward, his pace quickening with each step.
Inexus. The focus word crossed his mind, but Ghent pushed the thought away. The spell was too unpredictable, and he didn’t think Elayra would appreciate being thrown again. Magic wasn't the answer.
As Drust lifted his arm, Ghent sprinted toward him in one last, giant leap. From where he landed, he was in range to stop the knight. At least, that was his intention. He was hardly a match for Drust, but that didn't stop him from trying.
In a single movement, Ghent wrapped his arm around Drust’s upper arm in an attempt to stop him from bringing the weapon down on Elayra. The difference in height was inconvenient, but the action was doable, even if Ghent practically had to stand on his tiptoes in order for it to work. Using the same hand, he pointed the dagger up towards Drust’s throat.
"Alright, DROP IT!" Ghent pulled back on Drust's arm tighter, the blade he gripped moving half an inch closer from the movement. "I'm serious, Drust!"
