Greywind drew a long, weary breath, suppressing the loathsome, crawling sensation of that psychic "lick" against his neck. Within the sanctum of his mind, he turned to face the pervasive presence of Jannis.
"Fine," he muttered, "you come along. But if you wish to be of any use, tell me what you know of this 'Sandheart Gem' or this cult of the 'Sand-Bound King.' Or are you content merely to be a clamorous distraction?"
A short, sultry laugh echoed in the hollows of his skull. "Oh, Greywind, ever so direct. I find I rather like that." The spectral embrace tightened for a fleeting second, then slackened. "Sands and dreams... a delicious combination. Ancient patrons and elemental entities are often ensnared in such states sleeping, yet not dead; bound, yet never truly lost."
Jannis fell silent for a moment, as if scenting something upon the psychic winds. "The core stone... the 'Sandheart Gem'... it sounds like a focus, or perhaps a key. Petty cults like this rarely forge such artifacts. They find them. Or... someone gives it to them."
"Mistress Althea..." she whispered, tasting the name. "She may be more than a mere fanatic. She could be a vessel for visions or a suitable sacrifice for the entity's voice. If you slay her, ensure you claim the stone first. Or better yet... let the ritual reach its zenith. When the power of sand and dream is most potent... then you seize the reins for yourself for us."
Her tone swelled with dark ambition and a shimmering greed.
"You could give me more than just lives, Greywind. You could give me power. A trapped taste of divinity. Imagine... we could feel what that 'King' feels. A sleep filled with exquisite dreams... and nightmares."
She paused, offering a warning that carried a sharper edge of gravity. "But heed the sands within that cave. Grit infused with such sorcery can lead the senses astray, weaving hallucinations, or even... siphoning the very marrow and moisture from your bones. Carry more water. And... trust nothing you see. Not even me." The final words were uttered with a suspicious, teasing lilt.
With his purse heavy with coin, Greywind resolved to secure provisions before venturing into the wastes. He sought out a general store within the port city.
The shop he found was "Harbor's Bounty," a cramped establishment overflowing with maritime gear and adventurer's sundries. The proprietor was a middle-aged man named Borin, his forearms corded with the strength of a deckhand.
"Headed for the desert, are we?" Borin ventured, watching Greywind inspect waterskins and iron rations. "Going toward the Caverns of Breathing Sand? Be wary. The air out there... it makes a man see things that aren't there."
"I'll take four additional skins, five days' rations, a coil of rope, a crowbar, and a healer's kit," Greywind said curtly, tallying the cost in his head.
"Safe travels," Borin said, handing over the gear. "And... do not drink the water from any pools within those caves, no matter how crystalline they appear."
As Greywind stepped out of the shop, Jannis commented within his mind. "Prudent preparations. But you forgot one thing, darling... something for the eyes. The sands there can shimmer, blinding the unwary. But... perhaps you have no need for it. Perhaps the darkness of the cave shall be your truest ally." Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Greywind pivoted and returned to the counter, pinning Borin with a stare. "You said the sands there make men see things. And you mentioned a 'shimmer.' What did you mean? Have you or your customers seen something specific?"
Borin stopped mid-motion, his expression turning grim. He lowered his voice. "A few months back, a band of prospectors went out that way. Only one returned a lad named Dorn. He... was never the same."
Borin glanced around the empty shop before continuing. "Dorn spoke of 'lights dancing on the sand, like tiny ghosts of fire.' He said the light spoke to him, coaxing him deeper. His companions followed the lights and never came back. Dorn himself lost three fingers to frostbite in the middle of a scorching desert! and his eyes blink incessantly now, as if he's seeing things we cannot."
"I sold him salves and bandages. But the last thing he said before he vanished... 'They sleep within the crystal. And they are hungry.'"
Borin shook his head. "So, yes. Something is fundamentally wrong with the sands there. It's not just an illusion it's something alive, or at least possessed of a will. I don't know what it has to do with the cult you hunt, but I doubt it's a coincidence."
"My advice? Do not touch the crystals or the sands that shimmer too brightly. And if you see the dancing lights... close your eyes, and walk by the memory of the path you've already trod."
As Greywind left the shop for the second time, Jannis snorted in his mind. "Dancing lights... hungry crystals... Oh, this grows fascinating! That isn't merely enchanted sand, Greywind it is the dream-residue of the entity itself. Fragmented shards of a consciousness that remains active. They will seek to feast upon your dreams, your mind... and if they can, your soul."
Her tone was one of terrifying academic glee.
"But therein lies the opportunity! If you can endure or even absorb one of those fragments... you would gain a glimpse of a vision, a clue, or even a spark of power from the Sand-Bound King himself. Of course, the risk is losing your sanity or being entombed in his dream forever. But, hey no risk, no fun, right?"
She giggled. "My choice? Seek the lights. Taunt them. Show them who possesses the stronger will between a dream and a man. I shall... enjoy the spectacle."
Greywind walked back into the shop for the third time. Borin raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Again? Forgot something?"
"Chalk. And small stones to mark my path. I need something to leave a trail in the dark."
Borin nodded understandingly. He reached under the counter and produced a large stick of white chalk and a small pouch of bright, smooth pebbles.
"Here. Chalk for the walls, pebbles for the floor. Take both, five silver."
"May they help you find your way back," Borin said with solemnity.
Preparations complete, Greywind was now ready to face the labyrinthine caves and the illusions of the sand. As he finally departed the city through the eastern gate, Jannis commented:
"Simple tools for a complex problem. But... sometimes the simplest things are the most effective against magical deception. They rely on you forgetting the basics. Do not forget, Greywind. Do not forget who you are, and why you came here."
This time, her voice sounded almost... supportive. Perhaps she was merely amused by the prospect of the coming chaos, or perhaps there was a flicker of possessive care within her.
Greywind settled into a steady pace, intending to stop only when night fell. He withdrew Elara's journal from his pack, rereading the details as he walked, absorbing every nuance.
As he traveled, the landscape shifted from lush green to a parched, barren brown, eventually giving way to jagged rock and cracked earth. The air grew hot and thin, though the evening breeze brought a sharp chill. Jannis remained silent, allowing him to focus.
From Elara's journal, several vital details stood out:
The main entrance to the Caverns of Breathing Sand was described as a "narrow cleft between two massive rock formations resembling praying hands." Above it sat a worn carving of a circle with radiating lines.
Elara noted that "the wind blowing from the cleft sometimes whispers words, but only at sunset." There appeared to be a specific timing required for safe entry or to hear guidance.
There was a crude diagram of three interconnected chambers: the "Entrance Chamber," the "Hall of Whispering Sands" (where the sands move and speak), and the "Chamber of the Sleeping Heart" (the primary ritual site where the Sandheart Gem was suspected to be).
A marginal note read: "The sands in the second Hall react to sound. Loud speech or heavy vibrations could trigger... something. Silence is the key, or perhaps... a specific chant?"
Night began to fall. Greywind decided to make camp in a sheltered rocky hollow, roughly halfway through his journey. He built a small fire, ate his rations, and kept watch.
In the camp, the fire had dwindled to glowing embers. The desert wind brought a bone-chilling cold that stood in stark contrast to the day's heat. The silence was suddenly shattered by the voice of Jannis, sounding soft, seductive, and seemingly attentive.
"Grey... are you cold? Do you want me to hold you? Come here, darling..."
Before Greywind could retort, an unnatural heat enveloped his back and chest, as if massive, muscled arms were coiling around him from behind. The sensation was solid and terrifyingly real, followed by a slow, intimate squeeze across his chest. It was no physical touch, but a psychic illusion so potent his chest muscles tightened in response. The heat she radiated felt like the scorching breath of a furnace, not the warmth of living flesh.
Greywind shuddered, not from the cold, but from a profound mix of revulsion and a strange thrill. "No. Thank you. You are hot as hell."
"Exactly," Jannis whispered, with a short, satisfied laugh. The sensation of the embrace did not vanish; instead, it settled into a constant warmth, like an invisible blanket wrapped around him. "But my heat can keep you alive in this wasteland, love. Sleep. I shall... keep watch."
Strangely, for the rest of the night, the desert chill never touched him. Greywind remained warm perhaps even a touch too warm until dawn. There were no nightmares, only a deep, undisturbed silence. It was as if Jannis truly "kept watch," repelling anything else that might have tried to creep into his dreams.