"Strange, isn't it?"

"Hah, even in the desert outside time I find new things!" Alexander lifted the relic up into golden sunlight, admiring it.

"But what is it?" Hephaestion asked, leaning closer on his spear as the king brushed sand off of the elegant curve of metal and turned it over to examine the smaller interlocking pieces joined to the back.

"So cunningly made..." Alexander mused, broad fingers gripping the base and watching intently as a peg on the device retracted inward when he turned the wave-shaped piece.

"Maybe it's like a puzzle box from Egypt, with treasure inside," offered the still-kneeling scout who'd found the item to begin with.

"I've never seen the like in all my travels. Go and get my wizard; he might have an idea."

"Yes, my king!"

That was how Waver found Rider and several of his generals fiddling with an everyday door handle. An unusual incident, to be sure, but such a small one that it was quickly forgotten in both the untrackable resumed normalcy and the far stranger events that were to follow.

(Lysimachus kept the doorknob, though. He said all of the king's treasures should have their minders, and one never knew where one might find a door in need of opening.)

"What do you make of it, Calanus?"

So behested, the sage turned his gaze out over the dunes, surveying the whorls of color in the sand, ribboning spring green and pale purple and a particularly eye-searing pink, all laid alongside bands of pure white and deepest black. At his side, Ptolemy waited patiently.

Calanus crouched down, bare sword laid across his knees, and squirmed his toes thoughtfully in the lavender grains beneath his feet. Reaching out, he scooped up a handful of the dark sand, bringing it close to his face. A moment later he looked up, letting the ebon granules stream out of his fingers.

"You don't think of sand as having a scent, usually," he observed.

Ptolemy shook his head, responding wryly. "If it has one, I have never noticed it past the stink of an army at march through the desert heat." He gestured eloquently towards the hammered white disc of the sun overhead.

"But that sand smells of crushed jamun berries."

Ptolemy stroked his beard.

"Fermenting?"

Calanus grinned at the obliquely hopeful tone, and jerked a thumb out at the multicolored tableau.

"You first."

The old general sighed remorsefully. "I shall tell Alexander the sand's temptation is an empty one. Perhaps the next oasis will be more kind."

The Indian stood, shouldering his dark blade, the tattoo on his chest bright and distinct in the sunlight. He shrugged philosophically.

"We're wanderers, my friend. We might as well enjoy the change of scenery. Anyway, what could there be to hurt us here?"

"It's past the perimeter! Stop it!"

"Surround it! Run it down!"

A towering bear sculpted in branches and leaves, the monster roared as arrows rained into its flanks, but like an animal in frenzied rage ran on, cracking and brown in the desert heat. Oxyathres pelted after it, spear in hand, breaking right with the other lancers as Perdiccas, drawing his bow again, yelled orders. The cursed thing was fast, too fast; it barreled over an unfortunate guard in its way, leaving the man moaning and clutching the bleeding wounds left by the vicious rake of claw-like thorns.

"Turn it! Run it to the right!"

Perdiccas shouted from behind him, holding his fire as the infantry surged forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leonnatus leaping alongside the beast's other side but then they were on the monster and all he could focus on was driving it along with slashes and prods.

Clear fluid splashed along the edges of their blades, filling the air with the scent of sap; the creature swiped outward with one massive paw, but finally turned towards Leonnatus, who dashed a line in the sand behind him with one foot and drew his sword and dagger, dropping into a readied position and watching the approaching enemy with deadly intent.

It came on, bellowing, and the camp raised a cheer as the slim soldier moved in a blur, severing the plant-beast's paw in a single swing and ducking beneath it, rolling back to his feet to cut a long slash along its shoulder. He danced back from a retaliatory blow, shorter blade darting into the thing's remaining paw; as it jerked back he scored another gash along the underside of its leg.

"Do not drop your guard!" Oxyathres shouted to the men around him as they spread out around the confrontation. "It will not hold the engagement! Once it's injured enough, it—"

The sound of galloping hooves emerged through the clamor and he cursed under his breath, casting his eyes to where the king approached on Bucephalus, grinning with excitement. The bear monster heard as well. Circling back, it raised its head in a look to the side; though the movement cost it another deep wound from tireless Leonnatus, it broke back and whirled, gathering itself and leaping over the ring of soldiers.

Alexander drew his sword and urged Bucephalus on even as the soldiers reoriented. Gasps rose as the monster rose up on its hind legs, looming upward into the sun. As it extended its claws up to rake them down into the king, Oxyathres' Noble Phantasm activated.

His view of the world changed in a flash; standing right in front of him, the underside of the beast stretched upward like a hedge wall, rustling and creaking within. The Persian spun his lance, gripped it tightly, and hurled it like a javelin into the space between beast's wooden ribs.

The thing screamed, arching farther up and, overbalancing, toppling backwards to the ground. Behind him, Alexander reined in his horse as the army fell upon the monster, swiftly ensuring its death. The king let out a gusty, disappointed sigh.

"Ahh, Oxyathres, you should have let me attack it! It looked like a fun opponent!"

The Persian looked up at him with a grin. "Iskandar, you know that I would sooner give every drop of my blood to the thirsting sands than to stand by while my sworn liege is endangered. Do not rebuke me for my own legend!"

The king scoffed, sheathing his sword.

"Monsters in the desert are too rare!" he complained. "We likely won't find another for years."

"This did not look of the desert to me, my friend," Oxyathres returned, shaking his head as he turned his eyes back to the fallen beast and those beginning to call suggestions to the king about what to do with the carcass. "Perhaps there will be others like it to come?"

"Well, a man can hope."

"I don't like the looks of these stars, wizard." Aristander leaned on his staff, staring upward pensively. "They bode us ill."

"I never studied much astrology," Waver commented, folding his arms. "What's wrong with them?"

The seer pointed west, to where a reddish star hung near the horizon.

"That star has seen many victories for Alexander the Great," he answered. "I have never seen it so low in the sky. Taurus the bull is inverted, and Saturn rides high."

Waver wanted to be skeptical—Clock Tower's teachings had never looked highly on omens and portents, though he'd known mages that disagreed—but given the nature of the desert and the recent strangeness, superstition was getting easier.

"Eggs with no center, hollowed stones, leaking kegs-there's something missing," Aristander went on, voice low and upset. "I see the signs everywhere, but I don't understand them. The skill that makes me useful to the king is failing him; I am failing him."

The loyalty means more to him than the skill does, Waver thought, but he couldn't say it. He of all people knew what it was to strive to be worthy of Rider's pride.

"…Then maybe it's time we stopped wandering aimlessly," he decided aloud, stepping forward and turning to face his fellow mystic. The older man looked up at him in confusion. "Things with no core—If we want to find out what's missing at the center, we have to get there first."

"The heart of the desert?" Aristander asked, gray eyes clouding. "That is a hard journey."

Waver grinned at him, eyes narrowing. "Then it'll be all the more satisfying when we get there, won't it?"

The seer stared at him for several seconds, then bowed his head, laughing ruefully.

"You really do take after him, don't you, wizard? No, no need to answer; I can see it plainly enough," he finished as Waver flushed and scowled. "You're right, and I think between the two of us and our king's own instinct we can find him a way there. Accept it graciously when he insists that we drink before he does, else he'll grow cross," he advised.

"Duly noted," Waver said sourly, and glanced towards the sky again as he and Aristander headed back towards the camp. The sight of the stars nagged at him in a way he couldn't quite place.

What's that mean? he wondered, frowning. Are even things like our own thoughts omens here?

Pale blue embers glowing in fathomless depths; long robes consumed in flames—a mortal memory from lifetimes ago, or a dream he was only now remembering?

The sudden sounding of a horn from the camp shocked him from the thought; he and the seer shared an alarmed look, then broke into a run.

"Three squadrons gone, my king." Eumenes bowed his head, dark hair masking the tense set of his lips. "There is no sign of where or how."

Rider stood-he unfolded, angry and deliberate, his presence filling the room as he glared down at the table.

Watching from the corner of the tent, Waver frowned, fingers tightening infinitesimally on the sleeves of his coat. Rider's anger was so rare, especially here; he didn't envy the men who'd had to contend with it in life. When the king turned his hard-eyed gaze in the direction of his erstwhile-Master, Waver straightened hurriedly, arms dropping to his sides.

"Does Eumenes speak for you, too, Waver?" Rider asked him, voice low. The mage steeled himself and nodded evenly.

"The spells I tried couldn't find any trace. No sign of them, no sign of what took them—not even a mana residue." He paused, then finished carefully. "But I've talked with Aristander the seer, and we have an idea."

He waited, aware of the generals' murmurs, holding Rider's stare—he'd do anything Alexander asked of him without a second's regret, and formality had come with the process of finding his place in the army, but he'd never quite gotten the hang of humility before the king, not after the bridge so long ago.

Slowly, Rider nodded for him to go on.

"The omens say there's something missing," Waver began with the permission, moving forward. "The core's dropped out of the Reality Marble; something's wrong in the center. If we want to stop it, that's where we have to go."

Craterus pushed himself upright swiftly. "Alexander, we have already lost six hundred men! Can we afford to lose the numbers it will take to reach the heart of the desert?"

"Can we afford to wait and lose more?" Waver countered. "Anyone we've ever lost here finds their way back eventually; it's better to lose them to something we know than something we don't." It sounded callous, he knew, but if he couldn't talk about calculated risks in a tent full of the advisors of the greatest conqueror the world had ever known, then they might as well dissolve the Reality Marble and all pass on.

"Patience can reveal weakness that haste overlooks," Ptolemy opined from over knit fingers. "Might our enemy not show more of himself given time?"

"But there is the chance that this is just an opening sally," Perdiccas put in, tapping on the table abstractedly. "The next time may be worse."

"But if it did reach us here and will continue to deplete our strength, why do its job for it by trekking into the center?" Craterus threw back.

"Because that's where the answer is," said Waver forcefully.

"And because it's where we'll be the strongest."

Silence greeted this pronouncement, and Perdiccas stared levelly back at the questioning looks.

"…In the heart of the desert…?" ventured Coenus.

Perdiccas answered simply. "That's where our loyalty meant the most."

…And that's that argument won, Waver thought as they all turned their looks from the man who'd received the king's dying behest to Alexander himself.

He looked back at them, and Waver felt his heart begin to beat again, the thrill curling through his stomach, as Rider grinned—joyful, dangerous, and challenging, the King of Conquerors' smile.

"So it did. And it won't go unrewarded." He slashed one broad arm out, sending scrolls flying. "Inform the companions! We make for the heart of the desert!"

Weeks later, and to Waver one of the stranger parts of all of this was that he could state that—weeks. Memory in the desert had always been curious, coming and going as if by its own mysterious whims, but of late events had been more clearly progressing one to the next, as men and women slowly began to fall to the rigors—the longer days, the scarcer waters, the strange beasts that had begun appearing in increasing numbers.

Navigation had been simple enough for a while—let Rider toss some stones, go in the direction Aristander said they indicated, and keep a consistent position relative to the sun—but then, with black clouds racing across the sky from the western horizon behind them, they'd found the canyons. More than a few men had raised concerns over the path flooding, but Aristander had been insistent bordering on desperate that they press on.

Waver shaded his eyes, peering up the sheer walls. Red stone sandwiched in layers of glossy obsidian, which seemed unlikely bordering on geologically impossible. This did not make him feel any better about touching it; despite telling himself he was being a ninny, he couldn't shake the fear that his fingers might be slipping over cracks in reality.

All right. So what do I think are the odds of getting a familiar up that high?

"There'll be no scaling that," said Peucestas behind him, adjusting his helm as he likewise craned his neck back trying to see the tops of the cliffs, so high overhead that the sky looked less like sky and more like the scratched blue line of a river crawling across a map.

And It's not like I've seen any birds in here anyway, the magus thought, nodding and scowling. He commented in vague agreement, turning his attention back to the branching path ahead of him. One looked as good as the other, to his eye; Aristander hadn't found any signs he felt confident in and was sitting a few yards behind, resting in the shade with his staff over his knees.

Well, nothing for it. This was the first true trial he'd ever faced since becoming a part of the Reality Marble, and he'd be damned if Lord El-Melloi II failed to measure up to the example set by the rest of Rider's followers. He stretched his arms forward, hands curving around the circumference of a magic circle as wind whistled away from him, carrying the scents of old books, tobacco smoke, and rainwater as it kicked up dust devils along the canyon floor.

There were many aspects of being a Heroic Spirit that still felt strange to him, even after all this time, and one of the very strangest was being able to summon ten liters of mercury out of thin air instead of having to lug it around in reinforced rolling suitcases. Compared to that, the old annoyance of having to use Kayneth's chants instead of his own words didn't rate even an eye-roll.

"Fervor, mei sanguis—Volumen Hydragyrum!"

Peucestas watched curiously as the seal flared alight between Waver's hands, its crimson lines parting to admit a silver mass; the globe, this time, not the girl. Peucestas had seen the spell before, of course—it almost hadn't been fair, how quickly that hunt had ended—but what use the wizard had for it now he couldn't begin to guess. He blinked when Waver turned to him.

"This is going to be faster if you let me use the shield," the man said bluntly, the wind around him dying down.

Peucestas pulled the item closer almost unconsciously, rebuking, "Waver, this shield is sacred."

"To Athena. I know. Don't you think we could use some wisdom right now?" At the other's continued reluctance, he raked back his dark hair, sighing hard. "I can send her ahead," he elaborated, jerking a thumb back at the globe of mercury waiting behind him, "but she can only go so far before the connection gets too thin. If the canyon goes on past that, it's a waste of time. I can use her to scry, but for that I need a vessel." His long fingers sketched a rough circle in the air. "It's just for the focus. I promise it's not going to get damaged."

Peucestas glanced back up the canyon trail. A pair of scouts lingered some yards off, waiting for any word to bring back. The black clouds pursuing them were not yet visible, but they'd been making far better time than the weary army, and could not but be upon them soon.

He could remember, still, the night crossing of the Hydaspes, the thunder and the dark, the ferocity of the river such that it seemed a defender all itself, and the constant fear of what might fall upon them unknown.

Not an experience I'm anxious to relive, he thought; and so, pressing a brief kiss to the shield's metal lip, loosed it from his arm and passed it to Waver.

Though, he reflected, watching the wizard direct his familiar into the bowl of the shield with a gesture and a word, at least this time there won't be any war elephants.

Roxana shivered as another cold gust ripped through Bucephalus' mane and slid, serpent-swift, beneath her clothing. Alexander's arm tightened around her and she leaned into him in response, but still reached out to pat at the mare's neck. Behind them, men toiled on, even the clanking of armor and the steps of so many barely heard over the roar of thunder overhead, branching forks of lightning splitting the sky into an ever-changing patchwork.

A light flared ahead, a scout's lamp flashing once, twice—five times in all, and she could feel through her skin her husband's low, furious breath. Silently, she wrapped her fingers over his scarred forearm; a moment later his hand pressed against hers, taut and pained. She said nothing, as there was nothing to be said that could soothe him for the continued loss of his men to the labyrinth his own soul's landscape had become. It was almost enough to drive out her ongoing count of the ways she and the others had of making their enemy suffer, once they found him.

Almost.

Riding at the king's right hand, Hephaestion bowed his head to his passenger. Roxana could see that even in the heavy rain, the Greek seer stared up into the sky, seeking meaning in the storm. He spoke into Hephaestion's ear and the man nodded, looking up to Alexander and signaling rightward.

The king nodded in turn and twitched his charger's reins. Down the column, she could hear commands shouted back in relay as Bucephalus turned down another narrow corridor, water choppy about her great hooves. Ranging ahead of them, she could see Mithrenes pick out Hephaestion's signal and gesture to the two accompanying him. Slim Leonnatus, barely more than a shadow in the dark, nodded and vanished ahead into the downpour; Waver straightened wearily, his sodden coat betraying that he still hadn't cast any spells to keep dry—saving his strength, she supposed. She sympathized, but doubted she'd have shown the same restraint in his place.

A great sorcerer will have a great palace, she told herself as they pressed on. Even if we have to scale the cliffs to reach it—Alex climbed up my walls; he'll climb up these too. And then we'll hang the sorry wretch out by the entrails and the sun will come back.

She glared up at the black sky, half in longing and half in reproach, and felt her eyes widen as she saw the eagle.

Soaring on a crack of thunder like the hammer of a god splitting a mountaintop, twin bolts fractured into white fire against the dark, etching the afterimage of great wings onto her vision. Her glance followed in the direction they pointed, where an opalescent light flickered dimly against the clouds. As tinny sound returned, she barely heard Aristander crying out as if his soul were tearing away.

"The eagle! Follow it! Follow it, my king, follow!"

Hephaestion needed no words nor sign. Pulling up sharply on the reins of his golden stallion, he drove his heels into its flanks, urging it forward with loud voice. Alexander did the same, shout resonant in his chest as Bucephalus broke into a charge.

Roxana held onto the edge of the saddle, summoning her bow into her hand. Icy water spattered against her legs as they rode down the canyon floor, passing Leonnatus and the others in moments, but none of it mattered because now, carried up from behind them by the throats of hundreds, rose the battle-cry. Around them, the walls stretched higher and higher, the bands of obsidian widening into black maws; they rode now through the void, filled with the roar of men and thunder.

Alexander and Hephaestion moved in unison, following a shared instinct around a turn she barely saw, and it opened ahead of them: a wide cavern, its black walls scintillating with a thousand colors reflected from the center spire, a dark column which burned at the top like a witchfire sun. No trace remained of the great desert, no golden sand or endless sky, no ocean, no hot burn of unquenchable desire. Roxana's hand tightened on the bow and she turned up to her husband, heart in her throat.

"It's no part of you! Destroy it!"

Beside them, as Alexander stared transfixed at the swirling, pulsing glow, Hephaestion added his voice to her own.

"Aristander's raving! He says you have to open the way!"

The king blinked, looking the black spire up and down, then nodded to himself, the motion rendered ghostly by the pale wash of light on his sun-dark skin. As the army began to flood into the cavern, he dismounted, unsheathing his sword and raising it high. A curve of absolute command, it descended and lightning answered, knotting and crackling about the blade as the Gordius Wheel thundered down from the sky.

Knowing the charger would not stand another rider long, Roxana swung down from Bucephalus and moved to Hephaestion's side, watching Alexander leap into the chariot and seize the reins. Almost lost in the sweep of his great red cape, another figure made a staggering dive for the vehicle, bony wrists and scholar's calluses standing out pale against the wrought iron and brass. As he regained his balance, Waver grinned up at the King of Conquerors, who laughed unstintingly and clapped him on the back.

The army watched them rise and circle, cheering and calling to their ruler. Joyously, Roxana lifted her bow and joined the cacophony. She felt Hephaestion's hand brush her shoulder and turned, but the comfort was not for her—Aristander lay trembling in the blond man's arms, eyes glassy and unseeing. Sharp words of reassurance formed on her tongue, but before she could speak, the seer's hand had lashed out, cupping the back of her neck. Even as she jerked back in surprise, he pulled himself halfway out of the saddle to bring his words to her ear.

"Seek the gates of fulfillment."

He drew back, and in the blinding crack of light as Alexander split the tower's summit, smiled—a perfect, serene smile full of gratitude and regret.

The world nulled.

His eyes snapped open. Raw emptiness echoed in his mind, a mirror of the smear of gray overhead, and desolation rose in his throat, sourceless and all-consuming.

A woman moaned from nearby; he sat up and stared at her, hoping… But she was petite and dark, with tumbling black hair that spilled across her eyes as she stared at him without recognition. No one he knew. Was she?

Across an expanse of dull grass and sloping moor, a flash of red caught his eye. The man stood, and with him, memory returned—court and war and fever and the desert; Alexander and Aristotle and Roxana and all the rest.

I am Hephaestion and that is my king and closest friend.

Alexander!

He stood laboriously, using his longspear to pull himself upright and offering Roxana his hand. Instantly, she moved towards the king's side. He himself hesitated, looking across the plain, assessing their numbers even as Alexander had to be doing.

Ptolemy and Thaïs helping each other worriedly to their feet. Calanus, eyes closed and chanting under his breath, hands clenched desperately tightly around his sword, looking seconds away from slipping into meditative trance.

Lysimachus, Perdiccas, Peucestas, all gathering their composure…

From nearby, making their respective ways towards the small group, Leonnatus, Eumenes, Philip, Oxyathres…

Too few. Gods above, it's too few.

Behind him, Bucephalus rolled up to her feet, whinnied unhappily and cantered off in her master's direction. Hephaestion caught Alexander's eye as he turned and pain arched between them unspoken. Slowly, he began to walk towards the king. Seeing that his friend was coming, Alexander turned again, surveying the land. As the broad line of his shoulders straightened, one more survivor became apparent—Waver, staring blankly down at nothing and white to the lips, one hand gripping Alexander's cape.

Still shaken, Hephaestion thought, looking around at the others—only fifteen left out of thousands. All of us are…

Silence held court for long moments, the companions meeting one another's gazes and looking away, exchanging light touches of support and comfort. No one but Hephaestion dared speak to the king; Roxana slipped away as he approached.

"Alexander…" He paused, searching for words, but they knew each other too well for there to be such need.

"I'll recover," his friend answered, voice flat and empty—drained, to Hephaestion's ear, and no wonder. But in front of the others was not the place to say so.

"What now?" he asked instead, letting his hand on the taller man's shoulder fall back deferentially.

Alexander mulled it over, eyes flicking over the others. The situation called for caution, Hephaestion knew with certainty, and waited. The remaining Somatophylakes likewise remained silent.

Of the others, Calanus had calmed and watched Alexander silently, his breath rising and falling evenly, while Eumenes' eyes scanned the horizon, his hair hanging straight and motionless in the dead, windless air. Oxyathres had knelt, one hand resting along his lance; he was perhaps praying, though in absence of water, flame, or even open sunlight. Philip's hand rested lightly on Waver's arm, the physician clearly concerned with the wizard's continued abstraction. Briefly, Hephaestion wondered if it was the loss of strength in the men of later days that kept Waver in such shock, but—no, the man's eyes were no longer empty, but burning and furious with thought, mouth compressed into a tight line.

"He must have meant 'gates of horn.' They're very similar words," Hephaestion heard Thaïs say from where she and Roxana now stood with heads bowed together, speaking softly.

Waver looked up.

"But why would he be quoting Homer's wordplay at a time like that?" the courtesan went on, frowning. "The gates of horn are—"

"The Dreaming. That's where we are."

In countless centuries, Hephaestion had never heard such intensity in the younger man's voice. Waver stood at attention, looking up to Alexander with complete certainty as everyone turned to stare at him.

"I remember everything now," the wizard declared, voice pitched to carry. "And I know what Aristander's omens meant.

"Something's happened to Morpheus."

END PROLOGUE

So this fic is shaping up to be long. I'm planning to have the chapters cover whole arcs, so while I don't expect there to be many, I do expect them to be some time in the making—the first chapter is already twice the size of the prologue and is only about halfway to 2/3rds done. I will probably fill time with sidestories here and there, though.

All my thanks to Megkips for the constant encouragement, the beta reading, and the seed of the idea itself; I would not be here without her cheerleading and assistance.

A brief cast list for those curious can be found linked from the Archive of Our Own version of this story, as this site does not allow links; I'll probably also have a post for details on Servant Class and Noble Phantasms around the time of the first chapter.