“Watch it,” Joey hissed. He shifted his stance. The pink shoes glowed faintly, ensuring his balance as he prepared for an altercation.
James activated {Essence Inspect}. A faint, shimmering overlay appeared across his vision, letting him glean the wolf’s status. Flickering lines of text manifested:
Gray Dire Wolf
Level 10
Further details require higher skill rank…
That was all he got but it was alot more than he had in the rift. it seems the skills he has are growing in strength and new layers are being revealed. “Level 10,” James murmured, stepping sideways to keep the wolf in view. “I can’t see more than that—my skill’s not advanced enough to read deeper.”
"A level 10 beast is no joke.” Joey said with slight trepidation in his voice "That was the level of the Rift Guardian". The wolf snarled again, drool trailing from its jaws as it bared teeth in a clear threat display. Joey’s heart hammered. "I don't think it will be as strong as the guardian though," James tried to encourage Joey.
Still, they were different from the boys who had stumbled into that rift. James, his silver trident gleaming in his grip, felt the subtle corrections from the weapon’s enchantment guiding his stance. Joey, bridging his metal mana through the prosthetic, felt a tug of power flow from his chest to his fist. He took a steadying breath, letting {Bronze Skin} activate. A faint, metallic sheen crossed his exposed skin.
The wolf charged first, launching itself forward with frightening speed. The forest floor blurred beneath its paws. James set himself, {Strategic Tranquility} stabilizing his nerves. He used the tip of the trident in a feint that forced the wolf to angle sideways mid-lunge.
At the same time, Joey darted in, left foot pivoting with uncanny stability thanks to his Shoes of Balance. He drew back his prosthetic arm and triggered {Iron Fist}. A wave of metal mana suffused the limb, adding weight and density. The punch connected with the wolf’s flank before it could fully dodge. A heavy, resonant thud echoed, and the creature yelped, staggering from the impact.
With a snarl, the wolf twisted to snap at Joey’s arm. Joey quickly retracted, the prosthetic gears whirring as he retreated a step. He turned the motion into a fluid backward pivot, the wedding gown flaring around his legs. “I’m okay,” he called, noticing the wolf had left a shallow gash in the metal plating but hadn’t punctured it. Looking at his arm with a smile as though pleased with the way it moves Joey started to enjoy himself.
James followed up, lunging in with the Trident of Homing. The wolf jumped back, but the trident tip seemed guided by a small corrective force, grazing the creature’s hind leg. A spatter of blood darkened the grass. The beast howled, but its eyes burned with savage determination. It circled wide, looking for an opening.
They settled into a triangular standoff—James on one side, Joey on the other, the wolf prowling in the center. “Check for movement patterns,” James muttered under his breath, letting {Strategic Tranquility} spool up. He noticed how the wolf favored its left foreleg. Likely a prior injury. If they forced it to pivot right, it might expose its weaker flank. He relayed that to Joey with terse words.
They moved as a team: James stepping forward with a low, threatening stab. The wolf instinctively darted right—into Joey’s waiting punch. This time, Joey summoned more metal mana. He shouted, burying his powered knuckles into the creature’s rib cage. A wet crunch sounded. The wolf’s growl turned into a sharp whine, limbs buckling.
Sensing the threat, the dire wolf tried a desperate leap away, but James capitalized on its momentary vulnerability. He drove the trident forward in a powerful thrust, the homing effect adjusting the angle to pierce the wolf’s side. Pain and shock rippled through the beast’s body. It let out a final whimper, then collapsed onto the forest floor, blood seeping from the wound.
Adrenaline raced through both boys, hearts pounding. The world around them settled in tense silence, broken only by the wolf’s ragged exhale as life faded from its eyes. A swirl of intangible energy brushed James’s awareness—an almost ethereal hum that signaled an experience gain from defeating a creature. A brief text flickered at the edge of his vision:
+174 EXP
Level 7 (205/1139)
He let out a shaky breath, withdrawing the trident. A wave of mixed relief and guilt churned his stomach. This wolf wasn’t a monstrous rift denizen—it was a living creature of this forest. Yet it had attacked them, and they had to defend themselves.
“Are you okay?” Joey asked after a moment, flexing his prosthetic. A faint dent marred the forearm from the wolf’s teeth, but no major damage. “You got scratched or anything?”
James checked his limbs. A few scrapes from the frantic scuffle, but no bite marks. “I’m fine,” he said. He wiped the trident tip on the grass, wincing at the sight of congealing blood. “No treasure chest is popping out, huh?” he added grimly, recalling how rift beasts had often dissolved into ether, leaving behind loot. But this wolf’s body remained.
“Yeah, real world, real body.” Joey crouched, gingerly pressing a hand to the wolf’s fur. “No weird meltdown into black dust. Guess we’re back to normal.” A bittersweet memory flickered: in Tellemoria, huntsmen sometimes harvested creatures for their cores or pelts. But out here, no swirling rift energies would conjure magical rewards. “Dad would say we should salvage the beast core. That’s what sells in the bigger cities. My parents used to gather them from hunts—pure essence lumps in the beast’s heart or brain or something.”
James frowned at the dire wolf’s corpse, uneasy about carving it up. “You want to…?”
Joey hesitated. “I’m not sure how to extract it properly without messing it up. We can’t just leave it, but… maybe we should. I’m not certain how, and we’d only mutilate it.”
“All right. Let’s just… keep moving.” James stood, the forest wind rustling his blanket-cape. He felt a pang of pity for the wolf. But he also knew that in these lands, this was reality: fight or be killed.
They secured their gear and pressed on, heading east. The forest thickened at points, forcing them to navigate tangles of briars, but overall it was passable. The next hours were a blur of cautious steps, conversation in hushed tones, and that persistent, uneasy feeling that the land had changed. James occasionally used {Essence Sight} to sense the flow of energy in the environment. It seemed more concentrated than before, as though surging from some distant source to the west. He recalled warnings from his parents about an essence tide that ebbed and flowed unpredictably every few decades—Maybe this was it in action.
They emerged from the treeline as dusk settled in, the sky an orange expanse streaked with purple clouds. Below them spread a rolling plain that once led to Tellemoria’s farmland. Familiar farmland. James’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. In the distance, he could just make out the silhouettes of low buildings—some collapsed or sagging in disrepair. A knot of unease twisted in his belly.
“Something’s off,” Joey murmured.
“Maybe,” James said, throat tight. They exchanged looks, then jogged down the slope, hearts pounding anew.
As they drew closer, the signs of destruction became plain. Half-broken fences, scattered debris, scorch marks on the ground. A pang of horror gripped James. Where was everyone? The route they followed brought them to the main dirt road leading into Tellemoria’s center. Only, it wasn’t busy with wagons or neighbors calling greetings. It was deserted, eerily silent, and buildings on either side showed signs of damage—burned roofs, caved-in walls.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“What in the world happened?” Joey whispered, his voice thin in the settling twilight. The wind rustled, carrying dust across the battered street. The once-cozy houses wore scars of battle or frantic evacuation. James felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. A month’s absence, and everything had changed.
The old town hall was a charred skeleton of beams and planks. James swallowed, remembering that place as the heart of Tellemoria’s gatherings. He paused, pressing a trembling hand against the blackened structure. A wave of sorrow and guilt crashed over him. He tightened his fists, letting {Strategic Tranquility} keep him from spiraling. “Where could they have gone? They wouldn’t just let the place burn.”
Joey’s eyes flickered with worry. “Maybe they fled. Maybe something attacked.” He recalled the sense of rising beast tides. “My mom and dad… we’d been living in that weird half-burrow house by the hillside.” Without warning, Joey broke into a run, careening around corners of half-fallen huts. James followed, heart hammering.
They arrived at the slope where Joey’s family home once stood. The sight made Joey’s knees buckle. It was burned—charred to the ground, only a burnt foundation and partial walls left. The acrid scent of burnt wood lingered, though it seemed days or weeks old. Joey’s breath came in ragged gasps, and his prosthetic arm clenched involuntarily, metal digits scraping against each other.
“Mom… Dad…” he whispered. Tremors racked him. For a moment, James feared there might be bodies or remains within the debris, but as they carefully approached, it seemed empty. No bodies, just ruin.
“It’s deserted,” James said quietly, scanning the rubble. “Your parents might be alive. Maybe they left.” Joey’s expression flickered between anguish and hope. “Yeah. They must have gotten out. They were always resourceful.” He inhaled shakily, brushing tears from his eyes with the back of his real hand. “Let’s check your place, see if we can find any clue.”
They set off through the dusk. James’s heart pounded. If something similar had happened to his parents’ home… The winding path felt surreal, each step stirring a swirl of fear. Soon, they turned onto the farm lane that led to Bell and Andy’s modest house. James’s mind flooded with memories: the wooden porch, the old rocking chair, the garden patch. The distinct smell of fresh bread that Bell often baked. Or the comfortable hush of the yard at twilight.
At first glance, the house still stood. Relief flooded James’s chest. The walls and roof appeared intact, though scorch marks darkened one side. They approached cautiously. The front door was ajar, the hinges splintered as though forced open.
“Dad! Mom!” James shouted into the silent interior. No answer. He tried again, voice echoing through the gloom. The house remained still. Anxiety spiked. He stepped inside, rummaging for the Lantern of Guiding (Saffron), feeding a trickle of mana into it. A bright, crisp light flared, revealing overturned furniture and a scattering of half-packed belongings. It looked as though Bell and Andy had left in a hurry. no beam indicated danger or interest.
“They definitely left,” Joey remarked, noting the trunk in the corner, half-filled with clothes and a few personal items. “Looks like they didn’t get time to tidy up.”
James swallowed, moving deeper into the hallway. A corner of the living room had a small table. On it, someone had placed a folded parchment. James recognized Bell’s handwriting on the outside: For James.
Heart racing, he snatched it up. With trembling fingers, he broke the seal and held it under the lantern’s glow. Joey stood at his shoulder, reading silently:
---
My darling James,
If you return to read this, then the fates have answered our prayers. Forgive us for not waiting here, but we tried… oh, how we tried. The beasts have grown too many. We waited over a month, searching day and night for you and Joey. We refused to believe you were dead. I cannot let my heart accept it. But Tellemoria isn’t safe now. The caravans from neighboring towns have come, and refugees are heading toward the capital, hoping to find protection and answers from the King. We had no choice but to join them.
If you see this note, come after us if you can—though part of me prays you’ll stay safe somewhere else, out of harm’s way. Your father and I are going to hire a clairvoyant, or maybe someone with a strong scrying skill, to locate you. We’ll never stop searching. But the roads are too dangerous to remain.
We left at dawn with the last caravan. It heads west, then south to the capital. We will keep asking about you in every guild, every apothecary, every rumor mill. If you do come, be vigilant. The realm is in turmoil. If you can’t come, then please, stay alive. That is all I ask. My heart is with you, always.
Love,
Mom and Dad
---
James’s tears blurred the words. The note slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the ground. He pressed a hand to his face, stifling a sob. They’d left, but they were alive. They believed in him. They wanted him to follow, or to remain safe—whichever path was possible. He crouched, letting the sorrow and relief swirl in his chest, anchored by the calm presence of {Strategic Tranquility}, which kept him from breaking down completely.
Joey placed a comforting hand on James’s shoulder holding the letter in his other hand. “So, your folks are heading to the capital. My guess is my parents probably did the same. They were working on some scrying ritual that night. I saw the lines they used to do in the rubble. They’d want to find me too.”
James nodded, wiping his cheeks. “Yes. That must be it. The capital… they might be able to hire powerful mages to track us.” He swallowed hard, reading over the final lines of the note once more. “So much has changed. The beasts forced them out, the caravans are traveling… The King apparently can’t protect the realm as well as he used to.”
“It’s more than just a local problem,” Joey said soberly. “We got a taste of it in the rift, we’re just kids, but we’ve grown stronger. Maybe we can do something about it. Or at least keep each other safe.”
James nodded, folding the letter carefully and tucking it into his blanket’s torn side which created a sort of pocket. Silence fell as the pair surveyed the half-packed living area. They were home, yet it felt hollow, full of memories but no people. The sun had all but disappeared beyond the horizon. The shadows of night cloaked the corners, and a breeze rattled the window shutters, making the entire place feel that much emptier.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” James finally said, voice hushed. “My parents asked me to stay put if I can’t follow, at least for a little bit. I need to rest and think after the fight we had and the hike after. We can decide in the morning if we’ll go after them.”
“Agreed,” Joey said quietly, sitting down on a chair. He cast a wary glance at the open doorway. “We should post a watch, though. If beasts roam the roads, they might also roam here.”
James nodded. “I’ll take first watch.” He gave Joey a faint smile. “You look exhausted, and your arm probably needs rest I've seen you wincing as we walked. Sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours to switch.”
Joey hesitated, scanning James’s face. “Okay, but you better wake me up before you’re dead on your feet.”
“Promise,” James said, mindful of how the Blanket of Nourishing Comfort could help him handle fatigue better anyway. He unclasped it from his shoulders and handed it to Joey. “Wrap this around yourself when you sleep. It speeds up healing, helps rest.”
Joey opened his mouth to protest, but the ache in his real shoulder where flesh merged with metal reminded him he could use the extra comfort. “All right. Thanks.” He gave a small, grateful nod.
Gently, Joey cleared a corner of the living room, pushing aside scattered packing crates and rummaging for a blanket or pillow in the trunk. He soon curled up there, the baby blanket draped over him, looking comically out of place with the wedding dress forgotten to be changed out of in the rush. It seemed heartbreakingly normal—a friend simply sleeping over.
James, wearing his battered clothes under the Steel Bloom Cuirass, slid down by the window, propping the trident beside him. He kept the Lantern of Guiding on low, so it provided a faint glow. Outside, the wind began to howl, gusting through the empty farmland. Loose shutters banged. James peered through the cracked window frame, scanning for any flicker of motion. Darkness pressed in, swallowing the scattered shapes of outbuildings.
Level 7 (205/1139), he thought absently. A swirl of contradictory emotions pinned him. They needed rest, but they also needed to press forward. How could two ten-year-olds track their parents to the capital? The roads teemed with monsters—some, he guessed, far stronger than the dire wolf. Could they survive that trek?
He exhaled, letting {Strategic Tranquility} gently soothe him. Step by step, that skill reminded him. Survive tonight, plan tomorrow. Another gust of wind battered the house, moaning through the eaves. James adjusted the window shutters to minimize the noise, then settled in, eyes scanning the gloom. He felt no illusions about the dangers lurking out there, but for this moment, he had a roof overhead, a companion by his side, and the first glimmer of hope that his family was still out there somewhere.
Time to watch, James told himself firmly, settling into a more comfortable position. Though the wind’s keening voice pressed upon the old walls, and though the darkness outside felt menacingly deep, James endured, his mind balanced between sorrow and resolve.
In the silence that followed, James kept his vigil, while Joey slept fitfully, occasionally twitching. Outside, the night advanced, thick with tension yet also laced with a faint, unstoppable promise of dawn.