Chapter 37- Fallen and Found

Grains of Persistence

Liam’s POV

The world twisted and reshaped itself around us, reality bending like a pretzel in the hands of an fanatic baker. When the nauseating sensation finally subsided, we found ourselves standing on shifting ground, surrounded by an oppressive heat that made me long for the cool, damp dungeons of the Seelie Court. And isn’t that a terrifying thought? Preferring imprisonment to whatever fresh hell this is.

I blinked, trying to clear the sand from my eyes. The brightness was disorienting, especially given the late hour. “Well,” I drawled, “this is certainly… different. I don’t suppose we’ve been transported to some parallel dimension where it’s perpetually high noon?”

Cyrus, looking as exhausted as I felt, squinted at our surroundings. “Liam,” he said, his voice tight, “look up.”

I followed his gaze, and felt my stomach drop. Far above us, barely visible through a veil of falling sand, I could make out the curved surface of what could only be glass. The implications hit me like a slap to the face.

“An hourglass,” I muttered, watching the sand trickle down with growing unease. “Because why not add a time constraint to our already delightful adventure?”

Cyrus ran a hand over his face, smearing sweat and grit. “We’ve been at this for nearly a day now. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of our journey in every ache of my body. “Indeed. Though I must say, the lighting in here is doing wonders for my complexion. Nothing like eternal midday to bring out one’s best features.”

Before Cyrus could retort, something small and hard bounced off his head, landing in the sand between us.

“Ow!” Cyrus yelped, rubbing his skull. “What in the—”

We both stared at the object. It was small, metallic, and unmistakably key-shaped. As we watched, another fell nearby, glinting in the harsh light before being swallowed by the ever-rising sand.

“Well, well,” I murmured, bending to retrieve the key. “It seems we’re in for another riveting game of ‘find the shiny object before we suffocate’.”

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed as he scanned our surroundings. “There,” he pointed, “that pillar. It’s covered in locks.”

I followed his gaze to the tall, crystalline structure stretching upwards. “Ah, the plot thickens. A race against time to unlock our salvation. How utterly exhausting.”

“Less commentary, more action,” Cyrus growled, already digging through the sand. “Start collecting keys.”

I sighed dramatically but joined him in his sand-sifting endeavor. As we worked, we quickly discovered the mechanics of our predicament. Each key lasted only about ten minutes once unearthed, barely enough time to dig up two or three before attempting the climb.

“You know,” I mused as we worked, “I’m beginning to think these trials are designed specifically to be as irritating as possible. First, we had to play the world’s slowest game of boulder bowling, and now we’re cosplaying as particularly incompetent archaeologists. What’s next, do you think? A rousing game of ‘pin the tail on the demon’?”

Cyrus paused in his digging, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “We should try to figure out which virtue this is testing. It can’t be patience again.”

I nodded, brushing sand from my clothes. “Agreed. And it’s hardly testing our generosity, unless you count generously coating ourselves in this infernal grit.”

“What about temperance?” Cyrus suggested, tossing me a newly unearthed key.

I snorted, catching the key and eyeing the daunting pillar. “Hardly. If anything, this setup is encouraging gluttony. Gather as many keys as possible before they turn to dust. No, it must be something else.”

We continued to debate as we worked, ruling out chastity, kindness, and humility. By the time we settled on diligence as the most likely candidate, we were both drenched in sweat and coated in sand.

As I attempted my first climb, the pillar’s surface proved to be coated in some sort of magical lubricant. I slid down unceremoniously, landing in an ungraceful heap at the base.

“Marvelous,” I muttered, spitting out sand. “Because this wasn’t challenging enough already.”

Cyrus, to his credit, didn’t laugh. He looked as worn out as I felt. “We need to pace ourselves,” he said, his voice gruff with exhaustion. “This could take hours.”

I nodded, pulling myself to my feet. “Agreed. Though I must say, a nap sounds infinitely more appealing right now. Do you think our unseen tormentors would mind if we called a time-out?”

It was like playing the world’s most annoying game of hot potato, if the potato turned to sand and the penalty for losing was a slow, suffocating death.

“Right,” I said, clapping my hands together and sending a small cloud of sand into the air. “I propose a division of labor. One of us searches for keys while the other attempts to scale that delightful crystal maypole over there. Any volunteers for the climbing portion of our entertainment?”

Cyrus eyed the pillar dubiously. “It’s slippery,” he noted, his talent for stating the obvious truly shining through. I bit my tongue and instead decided to give it another shot.

As I approached the pillar for my second attempt, Cyrus called out, “Hey, Liam. Don’t suppose you could use some Fae magic to make this easier?”

I smirked. “Oh Cyrus, your faith in my abilities is touching. Allow me to demonstrate.” I focused my energy, attempting to create magical handholds on the pillar. The result was… less than ideal. The spell backfired spectacularly, leaving me sprawled in the sand with my hair standing on end.

“Well,” I sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of sand, “it seems our hosts have thought of everything. No magical shortcuts in this particular funhouse.”

Cyrus couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Nice hair. Very electrifying.”

“Oh, har har,” I grumbled. “Laugh it up, demon hunter. At least I’m trying something other than brute force.”

As we settled into our roles – Cyrus digging, me climbing – the heat intensified. Small vents opened periodically, releasing bursts of scorching air.

“Wonderful,” I gasped after a particularly brutal blast. “I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be a rotisserie chicken.”

Cyrus grunted in agreement, wiping sweat from his brow. “Makes me almost miss the demon realms. At least there, you expect the heat.”

I paused in my climbing attempts, genuinely curious despite my exhaustion. “What’s it like? The demon realms, I mean.”

Cyrus’s face darkened. “Imagine the worst parts of your world, but twisted. Corrupted. Beauty turned to ash, pleasure to pain. It’s… not somewhere you’d want to vacation.”

“Sounds charming,” I muttered. “Remind me to cancel my booking.”

As we worked, I found my thoughts drifting to Kate and how she’d managed to get under my skin in such a short time. At first, I’d been drawn to her power, the intoxicating energy of a newly awakened saint. But now…

I thought of the way she’d scrunch her nose when deep in thought as she solved another mystery. The little dance she’d do when she managed to create a particularly strong barrier as I had secretly watched her train in her room back at the safehouse. The fire in her eyes when she stood up to Marcus and Eric.

“Cyrus,” I called down, surprised by my own willingness to discuss this, “do you ever wonder if Kate’s effect on us is purely due to her saintly powers?”

Cyrus paused in his digging, looking up at me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “What do you mean?”

I sighed, sliding down the pillar to rest for a moment. “I mean, is it just her power that draws us in? Or is it… her?”

Cyrus was quiet for a moment, considering. “I’ve wondered that myself,” he admitted finally. “At first, I thought it was just the pull of her energy. But now…”

“Now it’s more,” I finished for him. “I won’t lie, her power was the initial attraction. But there’s something about her, isn’t there? The way she faces each new challenge with that mix of determination and sarcasm.”

Cyrus nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “The way she can find humor in even the darkest situations. Her passion for her work, her loyalty to her friends.”

“Exactly,” I said, surprised by how much we agreed on this. “It’s not just the saint in her. It’s Kate herself.”

We fell into a companionable silence after that, each lost in our own thoughts as we continued our grueling task. The sand rose steadily, the heat intensified, and our bodies screamed for rest. But we pressed on, driven by the need to survive, to complete this trial, to return to Kate.

As we neared the end, the sand chest-high and the heat unbearable, I found myself reflecting on how much had changed. Here I was, working alongside a demon hunter, fighting through impossible trials, all for a woman I barely knew. When did I become so… invested?

As the hours dragged on, the relentless heat and constant exertion began to take their toll. My throat felt like sandpaper, each breath a struggle against the oppressive air. Cyrus wasn’t faring much better. His movements had become sluggish, his once-precise digging now more akin to a drunken badger’s efforts.

“Water,” Cyrus croaked, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. “We need water.”

I nodded, sliding down the pillar for what felt like the thousandth time. “Agreed. Though I fear our gracious hosts have neglected to provide refreshments. How terribly rude of them.”

We shared the last few precious drops from our bottles, the lukewarm liquid barely enough to wet our parched throats. The brief respite only served to highlight how desperately tired we were.

“You know,” I mused, staring at the empty bottle, “I once attended a Fae revel that lasted for three days straight. Danced until my feet bled, drank wine that tasted like liquid starlight. I thought that was exhausting. Now? I’d give my left arm for just five minutes of that revelry.”

Cyrus grunted, already back to his digging. “Less talking, more climbing. We’re running out of time.”

He was right, of course. The sand had risen to our waists, each movement a battle against its crushing weight. The periodic blasts of hot air had increased in frequency, turning our little prison into a veritable oven.

I hauled myself up the pillar once more, muscles screaming in protest. Halfway up, a particularly vicious gust of hot air hit me, nearly causing me to lose my grip. I clung to the smooth surface, heart pounding, as sand and sweat stung my eyes.

“Watch out!” Cyrus called from below, his voice tight with exhaustion. “You alright?”

“Just peachy,” I gasped, blinking furiously to clear my vision. “Though I must say, I’m developing a newfound appreciation for those lizards that scurry across hot desert sands. Resilient little buggers, aren’t they?”

Despite my attempt at levity, the situation was growing dire. My fingers, raw and bleeding from countless attempts at the climb, could barely maintain their grip. Each time I slid down, the landing was harder, the sand offering less cushion as it compacted beneath us.

Cyrus wasn’t faring much better. His digging had become frantic, almost manic, as he searched for keys. More than once, I saw him fumble a key, his exhaustion-numbed fingers unable to maintain their grip. The string of curses that followed would have made even the most hardened Unseelie blush.

“You know,” I called down during one of my brief rests, “I’m beginning to think these trials are less about testing virtues and more about seeing how creatively we can suffer. What’s next, do you think? Perhaps we’ll have to recite epic poetry while standing on our heads in a pit of lava?”

Cyrus didn’t respond immediately, too focused on his task. When he did, his voice was strained.

“Save your breath for climbing,” he grunted, tossing another key my way. “We’re almost there.”

I caught the key, wincing as it scraped against my raw palms. “Almost there,” I echoed, more to myself than to Cyrus. “Just a few more locks. We can do this.”

But as I began my ascent once more, a horrifying realization struck me. The sand had risen so high that Cyrus was now chest-deep, his movements increasingly restricted. If we didn’t finish soon, he’d be completely submerged.

“Cyrus,” I called down, my voice tight with urgency, “you need to get to higher ground. The sand­-“

“I know,” he cut me off, his voice grim. “Just focus on the locks. I’ll manage.”

I wanted to argue, to insist he find a way to climb up with me, but there was no time. Every second counted now. With renewed determination, I forced my aching body upwards, ignoring the searing pain in my muscles.

The next few minutes were a blur of pain and desperation. I moved from lock to lock, each click bringing us closer to salvation but feeling impossibly far from our goal. Below me, Cyrus’s movements became more frantic, his breathing labored as he fought against the rising sand.

Just as I thought we might fail, that we’d come so far only to be buried alive in this godforsaken hourglass, I heard Cyrus’s triumphant shout.

“Liam! The last key!”

The final moments were a frantic race for survival. Cyrus found the last key just as I reached the highest lock. With the last of my strength, I hauled myself up, fighting exhaustion and the slippery surface. The key slid home with a resounding click.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a great sigh, the hourglass shuddered. The sand flow stopped and slowly began to drain away.

As we emerged, sand-covered and exhausted beyond belief, Cyrus and I shared a look of triumph tinged with newfound respect.

“Well,” I said, my voice hoarse, “that was an experience I hope never to repeat. Shall we see what new nightmare awaits us next? Or do you think they might grant us a short reprieve for good behavior?”

Cyrus chuckled weakly, brushing sand from his clothes. “A nap would be nice. But knowing our luck, we’re probably in for another round of ‘let’s torture the demon hunter and the Fae’ immediately.”

I groaned at the thought. “Marvelous. Well, onwards we go, I suppose. Not like we really have any other choice.”

 As we stood there, sand-covered and exhausted, the thought of moving on to the next trial felt almost insurmountable. We shared a look of weariness and resignation.

“So,” I began, my voice still hoarse from the heat and exertion, “shall we place bets on which virtue awaits us next? We’ve had patience and diligence. Perhaps kindness? Though I shudder to think what form that might take in this sadistic gauntlet.”

Cyrus grunted, rummaging through his pack. “Could be charity,” he mused, pulling out a small, vacuum-sealed package. “Here, we should eat something before we move on.”

I eyed the package curiously. “Ah, the famous demon hunter cuisine. What delicacy have you brought us? Dehydrated holy water? Blessed beef jerky?”

He snorted, tearing open the package to reveal a handful of what looked like dried meat and nuts. “Pemmican,” he explained, offering me half. “High in calories, doesn’t spoil easily. Standard issue for long missions.”

I took the offered food, surprised by its rich, slightly smoky flavor. “Not bad,” I admitted. “Though I’d give my left arm for a cool glass of Nectar right now.”

Cyrus nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning our surroundings as he chewed. “We’re out of water,” he said grimly. “That could be a problem if the next trial is anything like this one.”

As we ate, we began to search for the exit, or rather, the entrance to our next challenge. The hourglass chamber seemed to have no obvious exits, its smooth glass walls offering no clues.

“You don’t suppose we’re meant to smash our way out?” I suggested, only half-joking.

Cyrus shook his head, running his hand along the glass surface. “There has to be a way. We just need to-“

He stopped abruptly, his hand catching on something. A small indentation, barely visible, had appeared in the glass. As he pressed it, a section of the wall began to shimmer and fade, revealing a narrow passageway beyond.

“Well,” I said, peering into the dimly lit corridor, “this is certainly a change of pace. No dramatic pillars or swirling vortexes this time.”

The passageway was low and narrow, forcing us to crouch slightly as we entered. The walls seemed to be made of some sort of shifting, iridescent material that made it hard to focus on any one spot for too long.

“I don’t like this,” Cyrus muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his weapon. “It feels… wrong.”

I nodded, a chill running down my spine despite the lingering heat. “Indeed. But we’ve come too far to turn back now.”

Just as I was about to suggest a cautious advance, a low rumbling sound echoed through the hourglass chamber. The sand, which had finally begun to settle, started to vibrate violently, causing small dunes to shift and collapse around us.

Cyrus’s eyes widened in alarm. “We need to move. Now.”

A sudden, deafening crack resonated above us, and a torrent of sand poured from a new fissure in the glass ceiling, cascading down with relentless force.

“No time for second thoughts,” I said, grabbing Cyrus’s arm and dragging him toward the passageway. “Go, go, go!”

We dove into the narrow corridor just as the chamber behind us filled with a blinding storm of sand. The oppressive heat and the claustrophobic darkness of the tunnel were suddenly preferable to being buried alive. The walls seemed to close in around us as we hurried forward, each step driving us deeper into the unknown.

With every breath, we could feel the pressure mounting, pushing us forward. Behind us, the sound of shattering glass and rushing sand grew more distant but no less menacing.

“Whatever’s ahead,” Cyrus panted, “it can’t be worse than what’s behind.”

I nodded, determination hardening in my chest. “Let’s hope you’re right about that.” We pressed on, the passageway narrowing further, guiding us into the heart of the next trial, whatever form it might take. There was no turning back now; our only choice was to move forward, toward whatever new challenges awaited us.