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((The 17 pages of St. Patrick's Day + Triple Saturday -- Page 14 of 20))
This conversation wasn’t going how Hector hoped. That seemed to be a running trend, of late.

Given who he was talking to, he’d thought that he would be able to learn something important, but if anything, it seemed like Rasalased was the one acquiring new information here, not him.

Pretty weird, Hector felt. The notion that he could tell a “god” anything that they didn’t already know.

Malast had been the same way, though, now that he was thinking about it. He supposed that supported Garovel’s belief that they were not truly “gods”--at least not in the sense of being all-powerful or all-knowing.

“I suppose that means you can’t tell me anything about what Domain does, either,” said Hector.

“Ah, is that what he called your second blessing?”

“Yeah.”

“Fascinating.” And that was all Rasalased had for him, apparently.

Yeah, alright, fine. What was something that the Dry God might actually be able to tell him?

Hmm. Maybe something about the Sandlords? Or maybe just--oh yeah.

“...Do you know where Asad is, right now?”

“My successor.”

“Yeah.”

“He is in the town of Capaporo.”

Wow, a straight answer. And exactly the one he had been hoping for, too. That was a relief.

“You should hurry to him,” added Rasalased. “He is a prisoner.”

That was much less of a relief. “Prisoner?! But--wha--how?! Who’s holding him prisoner?!”

“Hmm. A good question. A lost sheep, it seems to me.”

“...Say what?”

“That is who is holding him prisoner.”

“A sheep.”

“Yes.”

“...Like a literal sheep, or...?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.”

“Ugh... could you give me a name, maybe?”

“No.”

“...Fair enough, I guess.”

“He is much confused and struggling to find himself. Full of regret. His mind is in such disorder that he does not even notice when I probe for his emotions.”

“...Are we talking about Asad or the sheep now?”

“The sheep. This is why I believe he is lost.”

“Right...”

“I hope you will help my successor one more time.”

“I’d love to, but, uh, h-how do I do that, exactly?”

“I do not know.”

“Agh...”

“Good luck to you, Young Hector.”

“Thanks...”

“And goodbye.”

“Wait, what?! I still have more questions!”

“As do I. I hope we will be able to speak again.”

“Aw--!”

He felt the world shift. The cabin disintegrated, and a vast calmness enveloped him. It felt simultaneously like a gentle wind, a warm sea, and a familiar set of clothes.

Hector awoke, wincing. His throat felt hoarse; his body felt like rubber; and he was so dizzy that it took him a minute to realize that he was face down on the ground.

Slowly, he picked himself up.

‘Hector!’ came Garovel’s soundless and private, but nonetheless very loud, voice. ‘You okay, buddy?!’

‘...Yeah,’ he finally managed to say. He could feel the undead vigor coursing through his body again. No pain anymore, either. ‘How long have I been out?’