The sky continued to lighten, streaks of apricot and rose staining the horizon. Smoke from the earlier battle still hung low, tinted orange by the rising sun. As they rode, Loran found himself reflecting on how many times this team had faced uncertain roads. Now, their bond would be tested once again. They weren’t merely dealing with a typical beast wave or a run-of-the-mill hunt for magical cores. The very essence flows were swirling unpredictably, rifts forming sooner than expected, beast tides out of season. Something big was brewing in Friengard, and they were caught in the middle.
A low rumbling, reminiscent of distant thunder, rolled across the plain. That was likely the beast tide moving en masse, shaking the ground with their combined footsteps. Loran tensed. If they tarried here, they’d be overrun. But they wouldn’t tarry; they’d ride swift and sure to that forest rift Elia had noted.
Jackson lifted his arm, a silent signal to slow. He surveyed the ground ahead—scarred with deep ruts, possibly from the elemental’s path. He guided them around the worst of it, ensuring the aethermares didn’t stumble.
Once they found smoother terrain, Marcus leaned back in his saddle to address the group. “I see the treeline. That’s where we spotted the rift’s swirl, right, Elia?”
Elia pulled a half-folded map from a tube at her side, checking landmarks. “Yes. I marked it just behind that ridge. If we keep going at this pace, we should reach it in about twenty minutes, maybe less.”
“Good,” Loran said. “We’ll push on. Once we’re inside, we can decide the best way to wait out the tide or explore further if needed.”
As the farmland fell behind them, Loran’s mind wandered to the day he first met Anthonellis and Ariebel. It had been on a storm-wracked road, where bandits threatened travelers fleeing a war-torn region. Loran was a younger man then, eager to prove his knightly mettle despite having shed official titles. Anthonellis, tall and stoic, had joined forces with him to repel the brigands, while Ariebel demonstrated uncanny healing abilities that saved Loran from a near-fatal wound. The two had claimed it was a simple matter of helping those in need—no debt required. But Loran had carried that gratitude in his heart ever since.
Later, he’d learned they gave up a life of treasure hunts and dungeon delves for a quiet farm, wanting to have a stable environment free from politics, so they lived out in the Straits. The fact that Tellemoria lay in ruins, and that James was an unlikely survivor with strange new power, felt both tragic and fated. Loran couldn’t look upon the unconscious boy slung across Betsy’s back without recalling the old promise he’d made: If you ever need help, my sword is yours.
Now, that promise stretched across time and circumstance, guiding Loran as surely as the sun guided daybreak.
Elia’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “Boss, the younger one—James’s friend—he’s stirring a bit. Should we stop?”
He looked over, noticing a slight twitch in the sandy-haired teen’s leg. Nothing more than a reflex, perhaps. “No, keep going,” Loran decided, trying to remain gentle but firm. “We can’t afford to stop. If he fully wakes, we’ll slow for a moment to let him get his bearings, but we’re not halting our progress. We have minutes before the tide might envelop this area.”
A hush fell again, just the pounding of hooves and the ragged breathing of the aethermares. Clouds overhead glowed with the fiery pink of sunrise, as though foretelling the battle that might soon rage behind them. Loran prayed they could escape the zone of danger in time.
Jackson, riding ahead, lifted a hand. “Look to the east,” he called, voice tight. Loran turned in the saddle, glimpsing a distant line of motion—scores of beasts, silhouettes in the morning light, swirling like a living wave. It was too far to identify species, but their collective roars and snarls carried even from this distance.
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Elia muttered a soft oath. “They’re definitely heading the same direction we were in. Maybe they sensed the elemental’s remnants or the boy’s aura. Hard to say.” She urged her mare to quicken the pace.
Marcus kept a steady hold on Betsy’s reins, mindful not to jostle the unconscious cargo. “We’ll make it,” he murmured, though it wasn’t clear if he was reassuring himself, the group, or the unconscious boys.
“Stay together,” Loran reminded them. “Should we meet stragglers, we’ll fight as a unit. But if we’re lucky, we’ll reach the rift before any direct confrontation.”
The terrain changed from open farmland to scattered copses of trees. Fresh green shoots, incongruous amidst the devastation behind them, hinted at a place less ravaged by the elemental. Up ahead, the land rose into a gentle ridge crowned with pines. A faint glow shimmered near the base of an ancient oak—a swirl of motes that played in the early sunlight.
Elia pointed. “There! I see the rift boundary. It’s faint, but it’s definitely there.”
Jackson slowed to a canter, letting the group close ranks behind him. “Looks stable enough at first glance. Doesn’t seem to be swirling with malignant energies. No hostiles lurking around it, either.”
Loran guided Starfall next to him, peering at the ephemeral shimmer. Forest-affinity rifts typically had illusions of vines and leaves swirling in the arc of entry. This one was no different, exuding a gentle luminescence reminiscent of an early spring dawn. A small part of him relaxed; of all rift types, forest-based ones were often among the least overtly hostile—though still not without their challenges.
Marcus angled Betsy so the boys wouldn’t slip, then cast a quick look over his shoulder at the direction of the beast tide. The roars were louder now, echoing in the morning air. “We can’t linger outside the entrance,” he warned, brow creased.
“Agreed,” said Loran. He raised his voice, summoning the aura of command that had served him well in countless battles. “Team, form up! We enter together. Elia, be ready with a scanning spell in case the rift spawns an immediate threat. Jackson, watch our flank. Marcus, keep the boys steady. Understood?”
They each responded with practiced efficiency. Elia muttered a short incantation, swirling air currents around her fingertips. Jackson unbuckled a pair of daggers from his waist, flipping one in his palm, eyes narrowed. Marcus patted Betsy’s neck to calm her, then nodded at Loran. Activating the rift entrance the rift glistened like a rip in reality, roughly seven feet high, shaped by shimmering vines that parted the air. Loran could smell a hint of moss, even though they were outside. Carefully, he urged Starfall closer, letting her step into the gateway first. A soft tingle passed over them as if crossing an invisible threshold.
One by one, the others followed—Marcus and Betsy in the center, Elia and Jackson on either side, forming a protective diamond formation around the unconscious youths. The roars behind grew to a crescendo, as though the tide had realized its quarry was slipping away. But the swirling lights of the rift enveloped the group.
Just before the shimmering portal closed, or at least stabilized behind them, Ser Loran cast a final glance over his shoulder. The farmland was distant yet heartbreakingly visible, a reminder of the fragile peace Tellemoria once knew. His teeth clenched.
For now, the immediate task was survival—and saving two boys who might hold the key to an even larger mystery of what happened while they were in the Harrowlands. Steeling himself, Loran faced forward, guiding Starfall deeper into the forest realm that lay beyond the rift entrance.
They had made it inside. The tide would rage across the fields outside, but his team would be out of reach—at least for a while. A wave of relief pulsed through him. Beside him, Elia’s posture relaxed a fraction, and even Jackson let out a small exhale. Their quartet had once again slipped the jaws of calamity by a margin.
The swirl of leaves and pine-scented mana parted before them, marking the start of a new frontier within the rift. The air here was cooler, tinged with loam and dew. Shafts of unreal sunlight pierced the canopy of ancient, magical trees. It was a serene facade that likely hid its own dangers, but any threat was a better gamble than being caught in the open by a rampaging beast tide.
With James and his friend draped across the aethermare’s back—still unconscious but alive—Ser Loran and his companions rode on, prepared to face whatever lay ahead in the rift’s forested domain.