(( Did I mention I hate writing solos? 8Da ))

It wasn't unusual for the Sage to find himself lost. In reality it was almost a daily occurrence by now; even the task of getting around the measly Lost Clans was a chore. It still felt odd to him, to have all four clans pressed so close together. Habit took him on paths that he had walked hundreds of thousands of times before that no longer existed, and the result was always the same. He would get lost, find some place new, and eventually get back to where he needed to be...only to have the process repeat itself again and again, sometimes twice in a single day.

That was what had him lost today, but something kept him from turning around and seeking a way back home. His bone feet continued carrying him forward, away from the Lost Clans, away from Amity, away from anything on Halloween he had come to know and recognize. He merely walked, unaware of time passing around him, one foot in front of the other. In time he realized he wasn't just lost; he was hopelessly lost. It didn't seem to bother him, nor did it stop him from continuing on, going ever forward, moving by some strange pull from deep inside his very being.

The land around him became rich with jungle, vast in fields both harvesting and wild, and then slowly died, becoming twisted and rotting, fragile. The harsh, barren land he found himself in then eased, spotting with life until he finally slowed to a stop. The something in him that kept him driving ever forward seemed appeased, and he could instantly imagine why; at least he would, if he had the capacity to believe what he was seeing. Stretched out before him, as far as his eyes could see, was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on since his arrival to Halloween.

The desert.

Rather, a desert; it was much smaller than the Isle of Famine, but that didn't matter to him, not in the slightest. He couldn't believe his eyes, and several times rubbed them with his boney hands, trying to clear away the illusion. When it persevered he felt his eyes sting as something heavy lifted off his chest, releasing the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. This time the steps he took were deliberate, making his way from the outskirts of the desert towards the more obvious sand dunes, his bone feet silent in the shifting sand.

"Ah..." He breathed out, otherwise speechless. No words could come to him then, nothing he could form in his head would bring any sort of justice to how he felt in that moment, standing there facing what seemed like an endless ocean of sand. The awed noise lapsed into silence, and then echoed into the vast desert with a resounding, absolutely gleeful WHOOP. The tall man knelt, cupping some sand between both hands before standing suddenly, throwing the grains into the air and letting them fall or blow away as they pleased. He carried on like that for some time, excitedly playing with the sand like an eager child, but after a while he slowed down, instead staring at the way the wind moved the dunes, the way the sand moved. His lips pressed together thoughtfully, seeming to ponder his options.

His foot turned just so in the sand, shifting his weight as he pushed forward with his other foot. He followed the trailing sand, listened to the wind, and after a few pushed with his back leg, finally had some traction. He slid forward on the sand albeit a little wobbly, but now that he knew it was possible he was determined. He used to sand surf on the Famine Isles, it couldn't be too hard to do here on Halloween, or so he imagined. The attempts at first were weak at best; he fell a few times, teetered the others, misread the wind and crashed into a dune instead of gliding effortlessly over it. Perseverance paid off and his childish attempts at sandsurfing turned more solid and sure, the distances he could travel got progressively longer as his confidence in it grew.

Though hours had passed it seemed like no time at all before he was surfing along like he used to, his arms out at his sides and his clothes fluttering around him. The wind and sand whipped his hair back, his various trinkets chiming up a positively joyful storm. He slid forward until he reached a mountain on too much of an incline to surf up, the continuous sweeping track he had left turning into obvious foot prints as he scaled it instead. He reached the summit then, taking a seat and cradling his chin in a bloodstained hand, looking down to watch as his footprints vanished. He was tired, he realized; and certainly in need of a break. This lookout point was a good spot to rest, he figured; plus, when he wanted to get back to it, it would be easy from here.

"Worked late again, huh?"

A woman's voice startled him from his reverie, a voice he never thought he would hear again. As luring as it was he didn't turn around - rather, he couldn't turn; he was too afraid of the truth, that all he would be met with was a vast and empty landscape occupied by nothing more than a few desert animals and his memories. Instead he played into the memory, smiling to the sand below him. "I'm afraid that's just a matter of opinion, my dear. Besides, shouldn't you be--"

"Your Alchemists made a fly trap that tried to eat the lab equipment. Again."

"Apparently, I must thank you for cleaning that up."

"You're welcome. Hey, let's race!"

"Your mind must be a whirlwind of--"

"Is that a forfeit?"

"Never." Sal murmured, grinning at the sand. He stood up then, dusting himself off and fixing his many robes. The woman behind him was laughing, and that was where the memory faded; what had been imagined now felt real. He could feel her step up beside him, the warm aura he missed so dearly; it was right there, right beside him, where it should be. His heart swelled with joy, but he couldn't dwell too much on it; there was a countdown, shouted in a loud and commanding way from the shrouded female form beside him. Her voice echoed through the air, and as her timer hit zero both he and his companion shot down the slope of sand at the same time.

First they did nothing more than try to reach the bottom of the hill before the other; it was never clear who won, and that didn't seem to matter. Their 'race' expanded, both of them adjusting their stances to continue on, sliding through the sand. It became less about speed and more about having fun, their routes side winding, entwining with one another. He could hear the clank of trinkets and jewellery that were not his own, he could hear the laughter and the mocking comments from a voice he had once ached to hear again. He could look behind and around himself to judge where the other was, and catch glimpses in his peripheral vision as he always had when they raced. It was invigorating, and Sal couldn't recall a time when he had felt happier.

"I win!" The Sage skidded to a stop, having made their way back to the foot of the tall dune they had started from, his robes settling around him as they settled from their momentum, his arms in the air in triumph. He turned to gloat, and was faced with nothing. Just a vast sprawl of desert being turned to gold with the setting of the pumpkin sun. The reality of his situation sunk in, his arms lowering slowly as he searched in vain for the figure he knew had been there moments ago...but there was nothing. There never was anyone with him; he was alone.

"...You always did say I could only win in my dreams." His brows knit together, his expression contorting in despair until he was forced to turn his back on his memories once more. His attempts were in vain, it seemed; try as he might to bury them once more, they simply refused to be buried. Tears fell on his bloody scarf as the memories raged back at him, bombarding him with memories of races, of battles, of stories and meals shared, joys, sorrows, regrets. They were relentless, weighing on his heart until he just couldn't keep it in any longer. He let out a choked breath, slumping forward to bury his face into his hands...and then he cried as hard as he wanted to, sobbing into his palms. He mourned for everyone he had lost, he lamented the things that hadn't been said that now could never be said. His thin shoulders trembled, his throat grew hoarse and his head began to hurt, but the tears didn't stop there.

He cried until the weight in his chest seemed lighter, until he could bring himself to face reality once more. When he was ready he stood, sniffling as he sorted out his robes and shook off the last of the memories of his past; then he turned to face the horizon, and began taking his journey back to those who remained, those he had gained, and towards memories he had yet to make.