A/N: If you're reading this fic in the year of 2024 and beyond... Thank you very much, you are a legend among readers. I don't know where I would be without people like you, honest. Well, chapter 60 of UTCM, here we go!

Tangerine Dream - Creation

…

Elsewhere...

— They came from underground. The Alexandrians are below the desert, or so I heard. – I said to Prescott, who walked out of the tent after checking my brother's condition. Speaking of Bart... – How is he doing, by the way?

— He is awake, though he needs some rest. – He said, looking a bit worried. Not like me, but he seems to care. – The fight we had against that thing... It was too much for him, but Bart seems to be recovering.

— Glad to hear he is doing fine. – I said as the sun's unmerciful heat hits my face and I lose more sweat than any other fluids I have within my body.

— That thing we saw that day... Whatever it was, but other soldiers also came across it too. Some say it was a "Black Mage".

— A Black what? – I asked, to which Prescott took a seat on the rock I stood on.

— A master of dark magic. Not even human, more like a doll.

— Oh, I see.

A Black Mage, he said... Definitely not the weirdest thing I've heard about, and to be fair, I saw quite a lot of weird stuff in my life. To hear is one thing, but to see is a whole different experience one can have. There's stuff I wish I could unsee or take my eyes off right after I saw it, like one of my children being born. Why are their heads so big? Why is it so big? When Aoife was born, she looked like a potato due to her crumpled face. Babies have ugly faces, but my dear Aoife grew up to be a cute child, and so did Daniel, Jared and the others. I wish I could see them again soon.

Given Prescott's descriptions, I can only imagine how a Black Mage looks, fearsome and cruel and someone with a lack of humanity in what they say and what they do. So, like my father, except I could tell when he was decent at times.

"Sometimes I'm going to yell at you for no reason, sometimes I won't care if you drop the milk on the table. Maybe I will listen to you, maybe I won't care and you shut up!"... What an asshole, and I do wish he was here with us. He bit the dust when Bart was learning how to not pee on his bed, and after his death was confirmed, he sure took even longer to learn that it's not right to wake up every morning feeling a warm liquid on your pants.

— I wonder if my letters arrived at home. – He said. Unlike Prescott, I have not written any letters to my family or friends. I have nothing important to say, just the same old same "I hate everything except a few things I cherish for".

— Hiding underneath the dunes... Can you imagine it? – I couldn't think of anything to talk about other than the rumors that were spreading in all four directions. – Do you think the Alexandrian army is surrounding us right now? It might explain why we've seen so few of them walking around. As if we were fighting against nobody... But ourselves.

— The desert is much greater in length and depth than the impression it gives, but honestly, I do not believe said rumors to be true.

— I heard them from Tucker. He never lies, unless he wants to. He told me he saw a head sticking out of the sand, out of nowhere.

— Well, it could've been a skeleton. We know Vube is full of them. We fought a few of them, too.

— Nah, I don't think so. The "skeleton" yelled at him with a hatred in his voice, and we know the dead no longer have hatred or skin like the living. Tucker also showed me the skeleton's arm, leaving a trail of dripping blood. Nice souvenir, I said.

— Interesting... – Said Prescott as he generously offered me a sip from his water canteen. – Here, you've been under the sun for too long.

— Thanks. – I said, but before I could cool my dry throat with some fresh water, I realized that something was wrong. – It's empty.

— I'll get some water.

As Prescott walks towards a nearby burrow which belongs to a Liber family, I am haunted by a memory from years past.

The words that guard told us when he arrived at home... I still remember them by heart. The day I heard my father fell like "autumn leaves" in combat, or something like that, as if being poetic could ever diminish the pain of a child... That changed my life forever. Not exactly as I intended for it to be. but now that I stand here wearing dad's leather gaiters, I can feel the heat of the sand penetrating in my toes and wounds like salt upon a snail's skin... Is that how he felt before his last hurrah?

I never thought I'd hear from someone that Major Brandford was dead. A fucking major, gone forever. Ashes to ashes, or some crap like that. Truth is, or at least some of it, he died like a hero, a well-known man among the masses and the royalty as well. The few Dragoons that attended his funeral spoke about how much they cherished knowing the great, wise, bold, intelligent and late Major Bartholomew Brandford. My father was not an all-powerful leader, nor the all-knowing genius as his friends, sorry... The "right influences" made him be. It's how he became a Major, to begin with. Oh, for sure, he struggled a lot to achieve that position, but with some help from said right influences, he got there on top.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck here in this desolate, shadowless land called Vube. To lick someone's ass is a hard skill by itself. I appreciate how dad licked them, and also got licked in return. Everyone was upset to see his body being locked in a coffin to be no longer hit by the raindrops of Burmecia, the homeland he showed a lot of pride and disdain for. I remember how, by the end of the ceremony, Sigurd openly declared how my father was a dearest friend of his, life and sun, architect of Burmecia and all of these things as if they mattered. Everyone fell for that convincing, if not shallow, display of affection.

— Hi there. – Instead of Prescott, a young Liber child approached me to offer the canteen filled with water. – Thank you very much.

He didn't say anything, but I made sure to express my immense gratitude for feeling the water cascading down my throat. It's the kind of thing I won't take for granted, and so I savored every drop while the child watched me, curious and inert. Maybe they're not used to seeing people drink this amount of water in one go.

— How's your grandma doing, by the way? – I asked. – Are her bones still intact, or did they become dust?

— Clyde, please. Have some manners. – I thought it was Prescott's voice, but to my surprise, it was Bart's.

— Look who's back from the dead... – It may sound like I'm being dismissive, but words can't tell how glad I am to see my brother standing on his own.

— I never died. – He said as I offered the water canteen to him.

— And the wounds?

— They're healing.

— That's good. Have you heard the rumors?

— What rumors?

— The Alexandrians are lying underground.

— You're crazy. – Bart's voice and expression didn't have the same concern as mine, and he's the one who got stabbed in the arm.

— Look, if they impale our asses with their swords while we're asleep... Hehe... If that happens, I hope you are not a virgin!

— Very funny. – As dull as ditchwater, that's my brother. – By the way, have you seen Prescott? I owe him my life.

— I'm here. – Well, look who has arrived... – Hi Bart.

— Hi, yourself. Where have you been?

— Interacting with the locals. You see, the Libers are willing to share their water and food for those who need it.

— Do I hear an invitation for lunch? – I asked as my stomach began to growl like a beast. Right now, I'd eat sand if it had taste and topping.

— Nothing fancy. Food is very scarce around these lands.

— We can't wait all day for our supplies to reach us. – Said Bart. – We'd starve to death if we did.

— Besides, some food is better than nothing at all. – I replied, then I noticed that the Liber child is still here, watching us in silence and with a kind of admiration in sight. – What are you doing here? Go away. You might get a heatstroke if you stand here doing nothing but waste your time hearing us adults talk. I said go away! Don't you understand?

— Tell me that's not how you handle conversations with your children. – Prescott said with a dumb smile in face. – Nevermind, I'll handle this.

He proceeded to speak in the Liber language. It sounds like the way our ancestors talked before we came to adopt the alphabet, numbers, the metric system and whatever the foreigners of Lindblum called their standard. Bart and I could not understand a single word, it's just noise to us, but whatever it was that Prescott said, it sure was convincing enough for the kid to leave us alone. They got a whole life ahead of us, plenty of time to be not spent with meaningless chatter.

— There you go. I learned about the Liber language when I lived in Cleyra. – He said. – It was necessary for us to establish good relations with our neighbors. The least we want is more bloodshed on our hands. I know, to fight is inevitable at times, yet I yearn for a world where conflict is but a distant memory.

— Fair enough. – Bart said. Instead of following Prescott to the burrow, he stood at my side. – Are you coming?

— This is madness. Standing here outside, with cloudless skies above and endless dunes at the horizon, the desert on fire... It's like I'm asking to die.

— What did you say?

— Yes, what am I saying!? I'm not even sure. – I speak, but it feels like someone else is moving my lips. – It's been only a few days, and yet, it feels like I've been here for a long time, since the beginning of creation and all things. Where are those Alexandrian cowards? The last one I met died in my arms an hour ago. His blood is still in my hands. When I asked him where his comrades were hiding, he said he would never tell the truth, and in his last breath, he called me a filthy rat. What a way of dying.

— Clyde, hear me out...

— No, you hear me out! – I lashed out at my own brother. It doesn't matter. – You were lucky enough to pass out while I was awake day and night! Even in my sleep, it felt like I was fighting those human bastards, always changing shape and positions. Why are they here in the freaking desert, of all places? Why are we fighting against them? If they have the power to get rid of us right on the spot, then why do they refuse to fight against us? Why is this place called Vube? It sounds like vulva and it's been a long time since I've seen one!

In my sudden rage, I kicked up some sand as if it would make a difference. As if the fact that I am here, of all places, made any difference. I could be elsewhere, like Eesistern Coast that's just a few miles away from here, I could be washing my body in those waters and I'd feel cleaner than I have these days. How long has it been since I ate fish? I forgot how it tastes, how it stinks too! I hate fish scent, yet a fish smells better and deserves more respect than I do. Our God is sometimes portrayed as a giant fish, come to think of it. Rats praying for a fish that offers them rain and... Dear Bahamut, what am I even saying?

— What are you looking at!? – I said to Bart, who did not react at all. He wanted to say something, a lecture perhaps, but he was in no position to say anything. To be fair, he said enough when he left me on my own. My brother was at a loss of words and I lacked any reasoning and decency.

The things I have said... These are the things I don't want my wife and children to hear from me. They deserve better than a lunatic in their lives.