With a start, I awoke.
I coughed. The grit and dust of wherever I was had really gotten to me. Groaning, I rose. I really needn't have bothered.
For, again, I was nowhere.
The same blandness that featured in so many of my dreams assailed me. All there was, in my dream world, was that dull, black sky and that endless white desert. No moon. No stars. No plants. No anything. Just sameness, flatness. Forever.
I laughed, almost hysterically. I really hope that does not say something about my personality.
I stood, brushing the soft, bleached sand off of my naked dream body, and I breathed. I focused, and I reached out my hand, and with a thought, formed a sword out of the dream stuff I was in. It was an ugly, grey thing; bland, like the skies, the earth, the horizon, like everything around it. It throbbed slightly, and I could hear in the whoosh of the blade my darkest thoughts—but it was good enough. It was balanced. It could kill. Since my capture at the hands of the Denovan Grimm Cultist i-Torak, cursed be his name, I had been practicing, for our eventual reckoning. His grim, laughing face hovered before me, and I slashed through it.
Udiwah will be avenged.
"That sword doesn't really fit you, you know."
I almost dropped said sword in shock. I looked behind, and there she was. The girl had not been there before. Her sharp, green eyes pierced me, and her flaming red hair illuminated the area. She radiated calm, sincerity, life. In a very real way, she was the only spot of color in my own personal hell. I supposed I should be relieved for another soul in my dark dominion. For let me tell, I was a teenaged boy with teenaged needs. Some parts of me reacted faster than others. I crushed those instincts down—for I knew what this could only mean.
Psychic infiltration.
I raised high my weapon, and snarled, calling my dream armor to me. i-Torak had tortured me for days within my own mind. He had seduced me, broken me, humiliated me and scarred me. I would not bow to such an insult again.
"Identify yourself!"
She smiled, coyly. I tried not to notice how pretty she was.
"I don't remember you being so dramatic last time we met. Then again, it has been several years. How are you?"
"I am Jaune. But you would already know that. You are in my mind, and I am sovereign here. Again, I ask you, one last time: who are you?"
"You'd not know me now. But you used to know me as the Ieri Lonchyi."
The foreign word meant nothing to me. Her damned smugness—
It fucking ticked me off.
"Enough with word games, witch! I will not fall to them. Be clear, and tell me who you are and what you want, and we may conclude our transaction. I may even forgive your trespass. But shit with me—"
I gestured, and vines the color of spilt wine erupted from the desolate earth, grasping at her feet and pulling her roughly to her knees. Surprise registered on her face, and I felt a vicious glee at the outrage I could see in her eyes as she struggled with her bindings.
Oh yes, i-Torak, I have learned.
She eased her struggling when I lay my sword directly at her throat.
"And you will regret ever invading my sanctum."
She held my gaze defiantly, then laughed. She blew on my face. It smelt of metal, blood, and a slight sweetness I could not quite place. She smiled again, twisting the face she was wearing in a predatory manner. I suppressed a shudder. It did not suit her.
"I only have a few minutes. My dear master will recover soon, and I wear her form."
She raised an eyebrow, and pouted in a distracting way. I frowned. She sighed.
"This body will soon be very familiar to you. You'll know her as Sanctum, when you meet her. She'll tell you that."
"Who is your master? What are you? Why are you doing this?"
She rolled her eyes, then winced slightly as I dug my sword tip even deeper. It was a clear warning.
She dared to glare at me.
"Jaune, don't be so uptight. Relax. I just don't want to be lost again, in case she dies. Thanix is a fucking dick."
"And? Continue."
"So, here: You will speak, and she will listen. It is vital this happens so. Events are moving faster than you can imagine, and your father is still alive."
The Primarch? First Consul?
"Dux Tyrion Ark? What?"
But she had already moved on. For the first time, her expression hardened, and she looked me in the eye.
"Don't you dare betray her. She will be both your lance and shield."
My lance and shield—
She saw my reaction, and winked.
"Your personal Lancea et Sanctum. Eh, Pontifex?"
I roared. I threw the sword aside, and seized her by the throat and brought her face to face with me.
"Tell me! Where is it? Where is it? Where is the goddamned Spear of Destiny?"
She crumbled away into dust.
And I was left there, standing.