When Eiran initially embarked on his marathon, he had already expected it to be a nearly impossible task, though in fairness, receiving reasonable missions was becoming as rare as a Neptunian that didn't want to swindle you out of all your money.
But if running without rest or a moment of respite, all the way from Noachis Terra to the main army base in the Argyre Basin wasn't bad enough. Eiran had been forced to take an indirect path in order to try and shake off his pursuers.
This isn't good, they're catching up.
Though trekking through the rugged, ancient highlands and dry, heavily cratered terrain of Noachis Terra was initially advantageous for a local like him who'd grown up exploring the vast expanses of the land, the adaptability of these Viritarii scouts was nothing to scoff at.
He'd touched the relic a couple times, each relaying a more despairing situation than the last. Eiran also felt that he was at his limit, the journey had already left him gasping for air, dehydrated enough that he would treasure the sweat off the back of a curly-haired baboon as if it were holy dew gifted to him by the Goddess Selantha.
He immediately recoiled at the image he'd just created in his mind.
This is no time for jokes, I've gotta think of a solution
As he wracked his brain for some ideas, Eiran felt a change.
The feel of the earth had changed.
The previously jagged rocks that clawed into his worn down footwear, the everpresent, cruel, and invasive red sand — it was all gone, replaced by smoother, kinder stone, polished over eons by ancient water flow. The slope of the ground he walked on changed too.
Inconsequential as these changed may seem, for Eiran, this would turn out to be the most lucky boon he could have possibly wished for.
He had long lost track of time and direction, despite how well he understood the land, with the toil on his body and mind, it was inevitable for the seeds of doubt to start creeping their way into his mind.
I'm still heading East right? He often thought
But those seeds were not given enough time to germinate, washed away by relief.
He took a look at his surroundings, Dao Vallis.
A clear line of separation existed between Noachis Terra and Dao Vallis, a network of dry riverbeds. It's a perfect place to use as natural corridors—hidden, indirect, and rough for anything heavier than a bike or on foot, especially something that doesn't know its way around.
He'd long suspected that these scouts had a way of determining which direction he was travelling, but that wouldn't matter much in this terrain.
Mustering up whatever reserve strength was left within him, he gingerly limped over to the edge of the dry riverbeds, and cautiously lowered himself into the labyrinth.
With ragged breaths, he tenderly marched, at a crawling pace, but all that mattered was that he was moving. Rationing whatever energy remained in his body, distributing it evenly so that his feet could remain moving, and his eyes could follow suit.
Even as someone who grew up in the area, he could very easily get lost in these tunnels. He had to remain aware of any recognizable features that would allow him to traverse the dead river.
Following the ancient water path Uzboi Vallis, which once carried water south into Argyre, carefully making sure to avoid routes that left him exposed to the sky, in case had some airborne methods of attacking him or pinning his location, Eiran battled his condition and marched forward through this terrain which provided its own sets of challenges.
By this point, his shoulder length black hair was covered in dust, his bronze skin covered in lacerations, a once pronounced face was now disheveled due to the lack of moisture.
Still, Eiran did not allow his consciousness to wane, and he did not stop moving forward. Eventually, through the corner of his eye, he caught something, immediately restoring some semblance of life into those very eyes.
A particular stone caught his attention, the glistening of its surface crying out for attention like a spoiled child suddenly deprived of attention. He knelt beside the broken slab, brushing aside dust. Beneath, a thin film of moisture glimmered—cool, bitter, but drinkable. The old seep was still flowing.