Withering World [MCSM Fanfiction]

TRANSMISSION: Chapter 28

Lukas

She's been leading me on forever, it's a wonder the sun hasn't set yet. I barely notice the heaviness in my inventory most of the time, but now it feels as if I'm carrying an entire training room's weights with me, or better yet, a vault full of gold blocks.

Apparently, the segment of the map we needed had been burned in a volcano, the cause driven by Jack's trauma. Unfortunately, that means it's trial and error for Petra and because it's Petra, I cannot nag her; I can only trust.

"What exactly are we looking for?" I ask, my boots squelching in the waterlogged mud.

"Enchanted water-breathing helmets. Jack hid them the last time we came here."

I'm praying that mud doesn't get stuck in my boots, and then wonder if there's even a point if we're submerging ourselves in the ocean, anyway. Also, I'm not admitting out loud that I hate deep sea diving. It becomes extremely cold afterwards alongside heavier clothes drenched with the pungent smell of the salty sand. The list of disadvantages goes on and on.

"Jack buried the helmets in the sand, far east up the shore," Petra says, pointing in the direction. "It would've taken all day to find them, but hopefully, I've learned a thing or two from him."

"There's no way you can find them just like that."

"Let's see shall we?"

Further down the shore, the water's blue saturates, with more peaks of shimmering white light lapping against each other. The lifespan of an unimportant wave frothing against the sand is fleeting. Though its calming effect relaxes and absorbs me now, I'll be faced with the dread of hypothermia once I plunge into it.

The mud emanates into sand where pestering grains bind to the soles of my shoes now that they're wet.

She makes me trudge through several watering holes. I didn't like the sensation of freezing water seeping through my pants, but I know this is just a warmup. Eventually, we stop at one of the smaller islands, a single, isolated tree - presumably at its small height limit already - saddening us with its droopy branches. There's marshland grass as well, though Petra is steering away from the green mass in strange, baby steps. With one foot stepping directly in front of the other, she holds her arms out as if balancing on a tall circus tightrope.

"What are you doing?"

"Recalling the exact spot." By grabbing her visor, she pulls off her helmet, undoing the clasps, and stowing it away. Then she stops in front of another chunk of grass and clay. "He took exactly twenty-three steps. Here, help me dig."

We kneel, excavating handfuls of sand out of the spot like deprived, meager dogs. Meanwhile, I'm amazed at how Petra managed to jot and remember almost the exact route to the temple. It's like an internal compass as it just comes back to her whenever it needs to. Or perhaps she was insanely obsessed with Jack back then that she recorded every single move he made.

"Ow!" I recoil, my knuckles banging onto a buried rock.

"You okay?" Petra asks, head snapping up.

"I'm good, thanks. Just hit my hand on a-"

"Oh man, you found it!"

It turns out the infuriating rock is actually an unnecessarily enormous chest. I wince, clasping my aching hand and applying moderate pressure.

Petra unearths the rest of it, picking sand out of the rusty clasp and opening the chest with an exhilarated gasp.

Let me just say, whatever's in there is not exhilarating.

Our eyes meet four electric orange and yellow helmets, dulled and ancient-looking. As I lift it, I realize these things are a lot heavier than what I initially had in mind. Yanking it on, I find that my vision has downgraded by a ton, spore-like bits of dirt and dust clinging for dear life onto the hazy glass.