Hours.
Ambrose had been patiently waltzing through the endless desert sands for hours now.
Two to be exact.
During this time, he's patiently followed the guidance of the black mask in finding the black key. There was no psychic map or radar, like he had first thought.
Just a faint tug in his chest that only got stronger the more he moved in a certain direction. Anytime he strayed even a little from this path, the tug would fade away like it was never there to begin with.
So he was careful not to stray.
[Someone looks deathly dehydrated.]
"Oh, wow." he could barely push out those words, panting as he wiped sweat off his forehead. "I would've never guessed. Thanks for the heads-up, Miss Obvious."
He placed a hand over his eyes, holding back from whimpering. "Fucking fuck. Isn't there nighttime in this hell pit?"
