Loran took a moment to glance around at his team—his team, one they’d built and refined over countless adventures:

Elia had joined them two years prior, right after an incident at a rift in the Painted Desert on the opposite side of the kingdom in Valthorn country. She was the youngest, brimming with ambition, always chasing the next big class advancement. She tried to put on a tough front but had a good heart beneath her prickly exterior. Her spells combined water and wind essences in a way Loran had rarely seen, though she was now dabbling in fire-based synergy.

Marcus had been by Loran’s side the longest. A dependable presence, stoic yet quietly compassionate. He’d first met Loran outside the Steel City, both serving as hire-swords to protect a merchant caravan. Their mutual respect had grown with each mission, culminating in the formation of this squad of adventurers. In good times and bad, Marcus was the anchor.

Jackson came later, bringing a roguish flair and a penchant for dramatic speech. He specialized in stealth and infiltration, often climbing vantage points or slipping through enemy lines. Beneath the jokes and occasional haughty phrasing lay a loyal friend who’d risk his neck for the group in an instant. Loran had once seen Jackson take a crossbow bolt to the shoulder just to shield Elia from a surprise ambush.

And then there was Ser Loran himself, once a knight errant in service of a lesser noble. He’d grown disillusioned with feudal politics and found more purpose traveling the wide roads of Friengard, helping folks directly. Over the years, his ragtag group had become a small family. They bickered and bantered but held fierce loyalty to each other and to those in need.

That loyalty now extended, by Loran’s reckoning, to these two unconscious youths. If James truly was the son of an old ally, and if his aura was so potent that it drew monstrous creatures, leaving him here would be a death sentence—both for him and possibly for anyone else in the area. No, the right path was clear.

Loran drew himself up to his full height, scanning the horizon. Distant hills were tinged lavender and pink by the approaching dawn. “We can’t leave them,” he said simply. “Jackson, you said Tellemoria’s empty? No sign of survivors or townsfolk?”

Jackson shook his head, swallowing hard. “No, boss. The place is a ghost town. I scouted half a dozen houses—just dried blood, smashed doors, occasional signs that people fled. If these two are survivors, they might be the last ones left.”

“All the more reason to take them with us.” Loran’s hand clenched around the pommel of his sword. “We owe them that much. Ariebel and Anthonellis risked their lives for me once; I won’t stand by while their son perishes in a beast tide.”

Marcus scratched his chin. “Then we head out soon as possible. The next question is: where?”

Elia’s blue eyes flicked up at the paling sky. She pursed her lips. “Dawn’s minutes away. If that tide is truly heading here, we have little time to plan. We could try to outrun it on the open road, but with those two unconscious kids—” She left the thought unfinished. They all knew outrunning a tide with extra baggage wasn’t ideal.

Jackson cleared his throat. “We could hole up somewhere, but Tellemoria’s structures are half-destroyed. Not a single building in prime shape. If the tide is large, it’ll swarm us.”

Loran’s mind clicked into gear. A beast tide, typically triggered by a massive flux in essence, drew all sorts of creatures—many quite high-level. The farmland offered no real cover, and Tellemoria was deserted and partially burned. If they stayed, they’d have to fight wave after wave. Not impossible, but reckless.

He met Elia’s eyes. “The nearest rift: you mentioned seeing a forest-affinity rift a couple miles back. Could it serve as shelter?”

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Elia hesitated, brushing soot from her sleeve. “Maybe. Rifts can be unpredictable. But we’ve used them before as temporary hideouts. If we can enter it safely, we might wait out the worst of the tide inside.”

Marcus gave a thoughtful nod. “Rifts often have stable “safe zones” near the entrance, as long as it’s not a high-rank domain.”

Loran weighed the risks. A standard rift wouldn’t necessarily be safer than facing the beast tide. But if it truly was a low-to-mid-tier forest affinity, his group was seasoned enough to handle it. Plus, it beat being caught in the open with an unstoppable swarm.

“All right,” Loran decided, “we head to that rift. Marcus, you’ll secure the boys onto Betsy. Jackson, take point, scout for any immediate threats. Elia, keep that device secure—and maybe see if you can glean anything else about the surge that triggered this tide. We might need that knowledge if the rift’s environment is also affected.”

They sprang into action. In short order, Marcus fetched a large aethermare—a sturdy, midnight-black steed with shimmering lines along its mane, the hallmark of an essence-bonded mount. Carefully, he laid James and his sandy-haired friend across the back, padding them with spare blankets so they wouldn’t jostle uncomfortably.

Loran’s gaze lingered on James’s face. The boy looked so young, free of the lines and scars that a seasoned adventurer might bear. Yet beneath that youthful exterior lay an inexplicable power. He prayed that the debt to James’s parents might be repaid in kind: saving James’s life now, when he could not save himself.

A flicker of motion drew Loran’s attention. Jackson had climbed atop the remains of a tall barn to get a higher vantage. His eyes widened. “Boss, that tide I warned you about—I see movement to the east. Possibly big wolves or hyenadons, dozens of them at least.” He hopped down, brushing dust from his cloak. “They’ll be in this area within half an hour, maybe less.”

The mention of hyenadons made Elia’s expression sour. “Great. Fire-lovers, too. They’ll be all worked up after the Magma Elemental’s energy. We need to go now.”

“Jackson,” Loran said with quiet authority, “I’m trusting your route. Keep us clear of that swarm.”

Jackson nodded, though a trace of old irritation flickered in his posture. He was never one to enjoy being told how to navigate, but time was short. “Understood, boss.”

Elia, with the containment device strapped to her belt, tugged at her aethermare’s reins. A faint swirl of mana coursed from the steed’s flank to her palm, a silent testament to their bond. She gave a quick glance at Loran. “We ready?”

A hush fell. They were all used to swift, coordinated departures, but the presence of the unconscious boys added a new dimension of caution. Loran inhaled deeply, letting the brisk morning air fill his lungs. Over the years, they’d formed a well-honed synergy—Elia’s agile spellwork, Marcus’s consistent strength, Jackson’s cunning infiltration, and Loran’s commanding presence. They had tackled labyrinthine rifts, battled necromancers, and survived war-torn city sieges together. Today would be no different, if they stayed unified.

“All right,” he said firmly, “Mount up.”

Marcus lifted the two boys onto Betsy’s broad back, securing them with straps so they wouldn’t slip. The mare huffed but showed no panic, accustomed to hauling cargo in far worse conditions. Next, Marcus swung himself onto his own aethermare— a chestnut with flecks of gold in her mane. Elia and Jackson followed suit, each guiding their respective steed. Finally, Loran placed a reassuring hand on Betsy’s neck, verifying that James and his companion were as comfortable as possible.

He cast one last look at the farmland. Broken houses, blackened fields, the acrid stench of burnt wood—this land deserved better. Maybe once the tides of essence settled, Tellemoria could be rebuilt. Until then, it was a graveyard of memories.

Turning away, Loran sprang onto his own aethermare, a proud bay with gentle eyes. He’d named her “Starfall” after the faint streaks of silver in her coat. She snorted, stamping a hoof as though eager to depart.

“Move out, everyone,” Loran commanded. “We make for that forest-affinity rift. Stay close, keep watch for stragglers from the tide. Elia—keep an eye on those two. If they stir, let me know immediately.”

Elia gave a firm nod. “If they have any injuries that need tending, I’ll handle it.”

Marcus nudged his mare forward, taking the lead with Jackson. Typically, Jackson would scout ahead alone, but under these circumstances, Marcus’s steadiness provided a good anchor for the group’s front line. Loran and Elia fell in behind, Betsy trailing near the center to ensure the boys didn’t jostle too much.