When he woke in his bed in the dark and the tepid morning overcast he stretched to touch his thoughts stirred about. He wiped the last vestiges of sand from his eyes when he shook and dragged himself outside. His limbs and effects were featherlight, his eyes wide open, but a gentle scowl was plastered on his face.

I am still here, he sighed and plopped against his porch with his barehands upon his face.

His belly growled moments later. But he simply grunted and his hands slapped onto his lap. He conjured the two buckets, dashing to the portal ruins within ten minutes. He jumped to place a fungus stem on one end and allowing him to pour water from it, where he poured lava on the other side. Obsidian.

Yes, he giggled and scooped the remaining water.

The corner was fixed. Still.

Oi, hold on, he chirped. Whence was that hole?

He turned and scurried away and almost promptly found an certain unlit undergrowth. Is it? He asked and crept to the huge warped fungus. He only stopped when his belly growled again and he cringed dearly. A laboured breath left his throat before he leaped, straight into the water with a bubbly slosh. Ugh, why? He groaned dryly upon dragging himself to safety. The boy layed for a moment until he heard a few deep bubbles nearby. He collected the lava and returned to the portal.

That took much less than I expected, he mused rather humbly at the time and distance he travelled.

He took a couple deep breaths before he placed a oak block inside the portal. But he froze with the lava bucket. His lips rippled and his teeth gritted to the deadly combination. The boy tiptoed a few steps, extending his hand, swiftly spilling and fleeing the lava. He watched from a dozen blocks away to see the wood combust a few moments later. Whatever exclamation formed gradually died in his throat and his heart sank when the flames were swallowed up. Nothing happened. A saggy sigh left his lips upon collecting the lava.

But he immediately conjured the empty one and fiercely hurled it at the portal. Then he kicked it when it bounced back at him. Iron against obsidian or cloth was an inconsequential combination but to the anger of a builder. Only when it flew through the gateway that the boy stamped upon it. He only left when he tossed the only other oak block at it.

If only I had some flint, he later whimpered that night.

Beside him on his porch was an empty wooden bowl, the remaining iron ingot clasped in his right hand, his lavender eyes staring at its dullness. But his frown grew weary and he bitterly underhanded the ingot near his hedges.

The hell of it, he sighed gravely and bothered only to scoop his bowl and lumber back inside.

The boy was sitting in his bed moments later, his eyes having squinted around in the dark until his calves bumped against its sides. Beforetime he stretched his arms and pulled the sheets over himself save his head and feet. Off was his shoes and gloves this time.

Might as will get comfortable rotting away, he huffed.

Then his head and arms slumped.

Thud.

Flap.

Huh? He frowned.

He flipped the sheets and reached beside his headrest. Scooped in his hand was an empty book, a dry quill hidden in the first page. He stared at it with a silent heaving chest. Then he opened it after brushing the front cover.

It read…


Hallo Mijn Liefste Leerling.

If thou art reading this, tis too late. My memories naught but written within my blood, the letters of this manuscript, the parchment of countless sacrifices. If thou cannot remember, just remember this.

Thou art perhaps my greatest legacy. I hast toured thee many realms, from the Onset unto the End, from the Overwereld unto the Nederlands, and from dust to dust. But E Pluribus Unum and only that of them all became worthy.

I thereby say

Welkom Thuis

This realm is thine whence thee shalt reside in thy lonesome and stillness. Thou shalt not be no one but thyself that yonders these hallowed lands. Only for thee.

Therefore I hast a final gift for thee.

Turn this page.


These art thy Commandments.

First, Thou shalt exeunt upon thy free will and seek a new quest. But thou must return before every year to till and toil these lands. Thou shalt choose to return with good grace or face repatriation under absolute jurisdiction.

Two, Thou shalt not welcome mares or ettin nor man or woman lest of their wickedness. Remember dearly and bruit wisely. Prepare for unforeseen consequences at thy dearest peril or upon gravest needs.

Lastly, Thou shalt exist for eternity. Though art ten millennium past many mortal Man or Beast, thou art still an infant with much to learn. Tis essential thee do naught but yearn every moment or they shalt forsake thee in due time. Time is thy eternal reward not thy protecter. Remember remember.

Farewell Mijn Liefste Leerling

Tis time for thee to stoke the flames of thy destiny. Let thy Duytschen Bloet drive thy mortal engines and wherever thy railroad yonders. Thou art the Dreamwalker.

Love,

Mum

P.S. This book is thine now go maketh theeself happy.

:)


A tear left his eyes, a smile whimpering on his face. The book fell upon his lap but his tears landed on the sheets. He hugged it close to himself however. Tightly. A wonderful compression in his chest and throat from this embrace, something he cannot relive or bring back, no matter how tightly. A sniffle formed. And another. He tried to muffled another one with the sheets, only to slump into a fetal position. He shuttered his eyes, but his weeping continued. Just him and that book under the sheets. Alone.

His last words to her...?

Thanks Mum

I miss you

For everything