"When the Life Thread begins to pull you, when it calls you, you must answer to it. When it claims you, there is no turning back. You die, in the simplest terms. However, there occasionally comes a time, once every hundred thousand or so years, there comes an entity that the Life Thread claims. Their purpose might not be completed yet. This being, no matter the way of death, will then be returned to the world from one of two forms, either reformation or rebirth. The resurrected soul, however, is not usually any normal being. This being would have had to have a legendary purpose, only being returned to life to save the world from destruction.

This person will most likely have previously wielded or will wield one of the five Blades of Elysium. The guardian of the Blade, even if your companion is supposedly 'dead', is obligated to follow the Blade as it seeks out its Master. If the Blade remains dormant, however, the guardian must return it back to the place of origin and continue to guard it."

—A passage from the ancient Doctrines of Elysium

He felt cold.

Every bit of his body was covered in an icy chill. He couldn't quite process what on earth was happening, nor could he quit comprehend who he was. He couldn't feel. He couldn't see. He couldn't think.

All he knew was the cold and the eerie silence.

"Dust…"

The single word rose forth and pierced the silence. But it didn't pierce it entirely. The word more made a small hole in the quiet, like a needle piercing fabric. Nevertheless, it was there and it echoed about in the dark, and then stopped.

"Dust…"

There it was again. This time however, it was louder. And with the single word came a small sparkle of light. The light and the word grew and grew. Faster and faster. The cold was melting away. Finally, the blackness of his vision disappeared, replaced by white. Then, the final words came.

"Wake, Dust."

Birds were chirping. Leaves rustled in the trees. Sunlight sparkled through the branches. He noticed that he could breathe. He could see. He could hear.

But everything hurt and his mind was not functioning. Green blades of grass cradled his head and body, and the wind whistled a sweet lullaby to him as he tried to properly operate. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours. What was happening?

"Dust. At last, you're awake."

The voice was clear and very close. He rolled his head to the side to discover a sword. The hilt rested in his palm, though he did not grasp it. Symbols glowed on the sword, and its shape was different, yet familiar.

The name entered his mind. "Ahrah," he rasped. The sword was named Ahrah. He had wielded Ahrah.

"I am glad you are alright," replied the sword. "I had feared you would not awake."

Slowly, shards of memory pieced together. Dust was his name. He had two souls. He had killed thousands of people in his past life. He had saved the world. He had died. But yet Dust appeared to be alive.

"What happened, Ahrah?" Dust breathed. "Where are we…?"

"Back in the Glade, a few miles from where we first met," Ahrah replied. "After the battle we had come here. You and I had somehow survived. Sen-Mithrarin, 'He who is born of dust.' Born of the dust, and saved by the dust."

"Wh… What? I don't understand." Dust's head pounded. His mind, though piecing together, still felt weak and fuzzy. Even when he was on his back, the world spun and dizziness lingered in his mind.

"You were returned from the Life Thread, Dust. I imagine this is a bit confusing."

Returned by the Life Thread? No, that wasn't possible. As memories quietly formed once again, Dust remembered. General Gaius had killed himself. Fidget had tried to pull him to his feet. Dust remembered feeling an imaginary thread, gently pulling him to death. Tired and defeated, he'd allowed it to take over. And that was it.

Dust had died. So why was he here? The Life Thread didn't just give people back, especially when Dust was consumed by the volcano. His entire body was destroyed. But he had hands, he could feel his legs, and he assumed he had a head still.

Born of the dust and saved by the dust…

"Can you stand?" Ahrah asked. "You might still be weary from the events of the battle with Gaius."

"I… I'll be fine," Dust murmured in reply. Tightening his hold on Ahrah, Dust sat up, pushing the blade of his sword down into the dirt and using it to support himself.

Head was spinning.

Dust pulled on the hilt and hoisted himself upwards.

Dizziness exploded in his brain.

Dust took to one knee and took a moment to compose himself. It wasn't working.

"Take your time," Ahrah assured his master.

Dust breathed. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. In. Out.

He felt tired. God, so tired. Dust's whole body ached with fatigue. He eventually lowered down to a kneeling position, both hands grasping the hilt of Ahrah. Pain shot through his head, his mentality was fuzzy. He didn't move for what seemed like forever. Ahrah was patient, but Dust felt like Ahrah might be getting irritated.

"Just give me a moment, please," Dust whispered. He wanted to lie down once more and never get up. But he couldn't. He needed to get up and move and go wherever he had to go.

He wondered where Fidget was so she could give him some moral support here.

He looked around, and noticed that the hat that was usually perched atop his head laid a little ways off from him. He wondered how that happened; he had thought he had lost it in the blast. In fact, aside from a couple rips and holes here and there, Dust's clothes were still intact. He wondered how that was possible.

Oh, he'd figure everything out later. Right now, Dust wanted to retrieve his hat. Now at least he had some form of motivation.

Hoisting himself to his feet, using Ahrah for support, Dust began to slowly make his way over to his hat. It was a long, dizzying process.

First step… Second step…

Dust already felt as though he would vomit or faint.

Third… fourth…

The hat was only a few more paces forth. Dust wasn't sure how long he could last.

Fifth… Sixth…

Dust stopped for a moment. Everything turned and twisted in all directions. He kept going.

Seventh…

Dust took to kneeling once more. The hat was so close. He'd rest a moment and then continue on towards it.

"Dust," Ahrah suddenly said urgently. "We are not alone."

As soon as the words were delivered, a low growl escaped through the underbrush. Dust angled his vision towards the noise.

"Fidget? Is that you?" Dust whispered hopefully.

Oh, he was so wrong.

It was not Fidget that slowly drew out from the shadows, but a monster. In its starved, bony hands it held a club about the size of Ahrah, studded with spikes. Saliva dripped from its jaws.

A Beastman.

"Dust, you do not have the energy to fight this creature. Run!"

Dust heaved himself to his feet, pulling Ahrah from the ground and trying to move quickly. But walking was already a chore, and running was even more so. Dust faltered and toppled to the ground, face-first. Accidentally letting go of Ahrah, the sword flung off in another direction.

The ground smashed into his face painfully, and Dust grunted in displeasure. Trying to pull himself up once more, he felt something smash into his back. The Beastman had caught up to him, and had him at the mercy.

Dust cried out at the blow, feeling the painful spikes dig into his back, and sunk to the ground once more. He tried again to move away, but each time a blow came down upon him like the wrath of an angry god.

Finally, Dust lay there. The Life Thread had returned him, but he would return again, he predicted. Rolling over onto his back, he looked at his assailant. It raised its club for the killing blow.

Ashes to ashes…

"NOOO!"

Dust saw a bright light form out of the corner of his vision. Electricity, if he was correct. It shot toward the creature, mercilessly, until finally it moved away and ran off.

"Dust? DUST!"

A familiar, high-pitched squeak sounded, and Dust saw a small orange ball of fur hovering about him.

Fidget.

"Dust! Are you alright?! Come on, get up!" The nimbat tugged furiously on his sleeve. "Come on! I didn't follow you out here for nothing! Please, pretty, pretty please with lots of cupcakes with icing and a cherry on top?" Fidget tugged again. "Please get up!"

"F… Fidget…" Dust whispered. Everything was fuzzy and going dark again. He turned himself over again and tried to pull himself forward. Fidget kept tugging on his sleeve.

"That's it, Dust!" She cried. "Just come on and we'll find a place where you can rest and then you'll be okay! Keep going!"

Dust couldn't. With one last pull, he sunk to the ground once more.

"Dust? Dust come on, get UP! You big, stupid, meanie… Stupid-head! Don't do this!" Fidget kept calling out to him, but it was in vain.

As Fidget screeched at him, he caught a glimpse of his hat behind her. Listening to her taunts somehow made Dust feel better. He glanced up at his companion. She was yelling at him furiously, pleadingly. Then everything faded away and it was dark yet again.

When Dust fell unconscious, Fidget panicked, to say the least. She completely lost it.

"What do I do?! Don't die again, please, Dust! Don't do this! Oh, no what do I do?! If I leave him he'll die, if I stay then he'll still die! Oh, I dunno anything aside from getting a cut! Think, Fidget, THINK!"

"Fidget, calm yourself!"

Turning, Fidget saw the Blade of Ahrah on the ground a few feet from Dust's location. Quickly, she hovered over.

"What do I do, Mister Sword?! He'll die!" Fidget cried.

"Focus, Fidget. We are in the Glade, although I do not know the exact location of where we met Dust, nor the location of Aurora. Quickly, go and try to find anyone in the forest at this time who will help us. Hurry!"

Fidget obeyed, and without another word she bolted into the woods. Fear clawed her belly. She felt her eyes glisten with moisture.

Fidget disappeared into the underbrush.