Don't stop.
A lone figure streaked across the desert. His sweat had soaked through his tunic and begun to drip onto the sand as he ran at a full sprint. Judging by the cool morning air, any bystander would be able to tell he had been running full-tilt for hours on end. However, there were no bystanders to be found in this neck of the desert. No trade routes came within miles of the area, and no sane explorer would venture into such an unremarkable expanse of desert.
Just keep running.
Though the man didn't look behind him, he knew exactly what he'd see, and it was that which drove him forward. He could hear the concussive blast strike sand he'd crossed mere seconds before, followed by the soft hiss of the raised cloud of sand raining down. He knew the dark, near-formless shadow was close on his tail, ready to take him as soon as he tired.
Keep it together.
Half an hour ago he'd realized he was lost. Since then, thoughts of giving up had mixed themselves in with his survival instincts' directives. He had no guarantee that escaping this shadow would improve his chances of survival. In fact, his defeatist thoughts said, I might actually survive giving myself up to the shadow. He'd brushed such thoughts off as best he could, and when he'd seen the overly large dune, he'd decided to use it to get some sort of bearing.
Almost there.
His labored breathing became heavier as he headed up the slope of the dune. He cast his eyes left, then right, then left again, trying to sight some familiar landmark in the dreary desert lands. With each step higher, each glance further out, he became more certain: he'd never been here before. He knew he was far from civilization, and as he crested the dune he found his last hopes shattered. He staggered forward a few last steps as he came to a stop, resigned to his fate.
Then the ground disappeared.
I'm dead. As he fell, time seemed to move slowly, giving him plenty of time to think. His body slowly turned in midair, giving him a perfect view of the clear morning sky above him. All that's left is for my soul to return to the Creator or be stolen by a witch. I don't care anymore... for now, I am free.
*whud*
The man landed upon something soft, breaking him out of his reverie a split second before momentum pulled him and whatever he'd landed upon spinning into darkness. He let out a yelp as something rounded yet sharply angled dug into him. A yelp of response came as he bounced and landed with whatever was attached to his back under him. This cycle repeated twice before they finally stopped spinning. The last thing the man felt before passing out was his face pressed against cold, smooth stone.
"Stand, heroes!" Confused, the man stood from his kneeling position and glanced around. Darkness stretched out in all directions, but he could easily see the small hooded figure that rose with him. "The world is in peril. We need you now more than ever! Go to the Fire Temple and retrieve the shard there." The image of the shard faded into view. "Then you must reunite it with the other shards to breathe life into the world anew. Go, for time is running short!" Everything faded away into nothingness - not even the darkness remained.
"You awake yet, Lemming? You've got a lot to explain."
The man woke to the harsh midday sun of the desert, blocked only partially by a hooded face whose features were cloaked by shadow. The man winced and moved to shield his eyes, only to find his arms unable to move from his sides. His legs were likewise immobilized, but he was thankfully able to turn his head away from the sun - only to find himself staring at the shadow that had been chasing him standing (if you could call it that) only feet away.
"Well? Start talking, Lemming."
Every muscle in the man's body strained to run, to crawl, to slither away, but he didn't move. Even his neck no longer turned, forcing him to stare at his pursuer... which did nothing to him. Its form continued to shift, but otherwise it seemed frozen in place. "Th-th-that thing... Wh-"
"I'll make you this deal once, Lemming. Don't ask questions until you've told me your story, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Now, ready to talk?"
A hand gently turned his head away from the shadow and back upward. Strangely, the sun appeared only as intense as a candle's flame now, though it hadn't gotten any darker. The hood still loomed over him, watching him expectantly. "Uh, well, I guess I am..."
And so he began to speak. He told of mercenary work in the mountains, guarding trade caravans. He told of a bear attack that killed nearly all his comrades. He told of being captured by witches and used as an experimental subject. He told of torture in dark caves. He told of his daring escape, emphasizing the heroic details of his brave exploits as he ran from the witches. Finally, he told of how he was hunted by the witches, and how the shadow was just one of many that had come after him since his escape.
The hooded figure listened intently to the story, not speaking once. Water was provided wordlessly as the man's mouth grew dry from the arid desert air. As the story progressed, the sun dipped further and further behind the hooded figure, falling halfway to the horizon by the end of the man's story.
Silence settled over the desert. Seconds ticked away excruciatingly slowly for the man as he stared up at the hooded figure, waiting for something, anything, to tell him that he'd done as desired, to tell him to ask his questions. Such a response never came.
"...And?"
"What do you mean, 'and'? That's my story!"
"But how does it end?"
"It's still being written as we speak! Jeez, what do you want from me?"
"You're the writer of your own story, Lemming. Just because it's still being written doesn't mean you don't have a plan for what's to come. So? How do you want it to end? Do you live on the run for the rest of your life? Settle down in secrecy? Storm the witches' coven for revenge? Or maybe you fall into the sands of the desert only to fade away, leaving this world pathetically?"
"I don't know, okay? I've been trying to get a witch hunting party going, but I can't stay in one place long enough to gather interest. If only I could wipe all witches out of this world, my life would be so much better..."
"Even the one who saved your life?"
Shocked, the man sat bolt upright. This only served to shock him further, as he'd gotten used to being unable to move. He scrambled around, checking himself over with his hands in an attempt to find any signs of experimentation. Finding none, he calmed himself - he still couldn't move his legs, so he wasn't out of the frying pan yet.
The hooded figure behind him sighed. "I guess you pass. Ask your questions, Lemming."
The man was almost unintelligible due to how quickly the words flowed out of him. "What is that thing? Why hasn't it killed me? Why haven't you killed me? Why were you in my dream?"
"Ah, the hard questions, huh?" The man could almost feel the sarcasm in the hooded figure's tone. "That 'thing' there is a spectre. Witches like to make them into familiars because they're low upkeep and easy to control, but they're also dumb as bricks. It hasn't killed you because I'm blocking its senses. It can't tell what's around it, so it just sits down like a hooded falcon. I haven't killed you because I have some use for you, and because I was about to ask you that last question myself."
"Can I trust you?"
"That's a question you'll have to answer yourself, Lemming, though if you'd look to the spectre for a moment you might be swayed in your decision." The man obediently turned to look. "Book of Binding, Chapter Eight: Constriction." As the man watched, the formless figure of the spectre seemed to slowly crush in on itself. When it reached about half its original size, a burst of dark smoke billowed from it, leaving nothing in its place. "And there you have it. Any other questions before we head off?"
"Er, 'head off'? Where are we going?"
The hooded figure scoffed. "You asked about it yourself, didn't you? That vision - or dream, as you called it - called us to the Fire Temple. I get the feeling we'll get more answers there than here. Don't you agree?"
"...I guess so. Hmm... If we're going to be traveling together, I should at least know your name. Mine is-"
"Hold it. I don't want your name, nor should you give it to me. To me, you're Lemming, and to you, I'm Zero. Now stand up. We've got a lot of ground to cover, Lemming."
Though Zero's name literally had no value, Lemming felt the name he'd gotten was worth less.
