A/N This is Chapter 1/3 today! Thank you all for absolutely blowing my goals away!

An urgent wind rushed past James’s ears, turning every shout into garbled noise. He clung to the back of Ser Loran’s aethermare, arms wrapped around the knight’s solid waist, as they thundered deeper into the twisting labyrinth of the Rift. Vines shimmered around them, and enormous, gnarled roots jutted out of the loamy ground in random loops and arches, complicating their path. Behind them, Marcus and Joey rode double on another aethermare, hooves pounding in frantic rhythm. Elia, perched on her own steed, veered close, scanning the undergrowth with narrowed eyes. Now and again, Jackson flitted through the half-light on his shadowy mare, vanishing into drifting patches of gloom and then flickering back into sight.

James risked a glance over his shoulder, heart hammering. His stomach churned with an unsteady mix of adrenaline and dread. Everything smelled of damp moss and sour sap. The air crackled with unstable mana, a sure sign that the wave rift was about to intensify. Branches overhead curved like blackened claws, wreathed in faint phosphorescence. Occasionally, the leaves caught the pale luminescence of drifting motes, turning the canopy into a swirl of eerie green glows. James’s eyes darted—he half-expected another wave of briarsnatch vine-creatures to lunge from behind every trunk.

“Why are we running?” James yelled, voice nearly lost in the gale of speed and the skittering screech of forest growth all around them. Panic tightened his throat. “Aren’t you guys stronger than this rift?”

He’d seen Ser Loran’s swordsmanship, watched Marcus’s unstoppable cleaves, felt the snap of Elia’s conjured wind. Even Jackson’s cunning blade work and stealth had impressed him. If this team was, in fact, high-level for a typical threat, why were they fleeing so desperately?

Ser Loran didn’t look back. The knight pulled on the reins with a fluid motion, guiding the aethermare Starfall over a gnarled root the size of a fallen pillar. The mare snorted, translucent coat rippling with color, but obeyed. Only when they were on relatively even ground did Ser Loran angle his head just enough to shout a reply.

“We’re not just fighting the rift’s denizens, boy!” His voice cut through the din. “Wave rifts spawn endless beasts until they’re done with us or we find the exit. It’s a battle of attrition. We don’t have the supplies or the time to kill them all!”

Before James could ask anything else, a tremor shook the ground, nearly unseating him. He clutched at Ser Loran’s cloak, heart leaping into his throat. Tree trunks vibrated, groaning as though possessed by an otherworldly force. The rift, James realized, was once again contracting and recalibrating the labyrinth with it's essence flow. He could practically feel the entire dimension shifting, as though the very soil was rearranging itself beneath their feet.

“Hold on tight!” Ser Loran barked.

Marcus and Joey’s aethermare threw its head up, eyes rolling in terror. A fresh quake rumbled underfoot. With a sickening lurch, the creature stumbled, its hooves sliding on slick earth, and crashed forward in a tangle of limbs. The impact was thunderous. Marcus, reflexes honed by countless battles, tried to shift his weight, but Joey, smaller and less experienced at riding, was flung sideways off the beast. He tumbled through the air with a terrified yelp, then hit the ground in a rolling sprawl. James let out a strangled cry, powerless to intervene.

Ser Loran yanked hard on Starfall’s reins. “Whoa! Pull up!”

Hooves tore at the soil. Elia, riding just behind them, saw the accident and veered her mount aside to avoid a collision. Jackson materialized from the darkness in a swirl of cloak, scanning for threats even as he maneuvered his mare closer to the crash site.

“Marcus! Joey!” James shouted. His heart hammered. He strained to see through the clouds of dust and shaken leaves.

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Marcus had rolled away from the fallen aethermare, sword clutched in his right hand. A deep scowl etched lines into his rugged face. Joey lay nearby, winded but still moving, propped on his mechanical left arm. Their mount scrambled to rise, its legs trembling. A high-pitched whinny of pain tore from its throat, raw and desperate.

“That’s… not good,” Joey rasped, chest heaving as he tried to stand.

Ser Loran brought Starfall around in a wide arc, carefully guiding James toward the scene. In the swirling gloom, James could see the aethermare’s right foreleg bent at an unnatural angle, the translucent flesh flickering in places with harsh sparks of mana discharge. Something had torn under the strain of the fall as a result of the rift’s quake. The sight made James’s stomach twist—these were no mere animals— thinking of how Ser Loran interacted with them, they were living creatures that he had seen were intelligent and loving.

A grim shadow passed over Marcus’s face. He ran a hand along the creature’s mane, the thick reins tangling in his fingers. “Woah easy there, girl,” he murmured softly. “You did your best.”

The aethermare’s eyes rolled again, brimming with pain and confusion. Blood or something like it—an ethereal, opalescent fluid—trickled from a gash near its shoulder. Its entire flank quivered.

James felt a surge of pity. He opened his mouth, ready to ask if he could do anything that might help But Marcus’s face hardened. The man rose, sword glinting in the half-light.

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus muttered. “You’ve done your job. You saved our lives.”

In one swift, powerful motion, he brought his sword down. The aethermare barely had time for a final whimper before the blade severed its spine cleanly. A crackling hush followed, as if the forest itself inhaled in shock. Threads of pale mana drifted up from the creature’s body, dissipating into the rift’s ambient essence. James stared, throat tight, as the aethermare’s head slumped lifelessly onto the moss.

A sudden wave of heartbreak mingled with the reminder of how ruthless and unfair this world could be. Joey pressed his lips together in a trembling line, eyes reflecting the tragic scene. Elia turned away, her jaw set and eyes suspiciously bright. Even Jackson, the most aloof among them, lowered his gaze in something like respect. And Ser Loran… a hint of sadness flickered in his steel-gray eyes before it vanished behind his stoic facade.

Marcus let out a shaky exhale. He wiped the blade on his leather bracer, though the shimmering blood left an iridescent stain. “We can’t limp along, not here,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to the group. “If she’s lame, she’d slow us down and we’d all get overwhelmed eventually.”

The entire group understood. It was a grim calculus but an unavoidable one in a wave rift. James squeezed his eyes shut, recalling how desperate they all were to escape. If it weren’t for the surge of essence that nearly buckled the ground beneath them, the mount might have remained perfectly fine. This realm seemed determined to break them piece by piece.

Ser Loran cleared his throat, voice tight. “Marcus, you mount up on Betsy.”

Elia guided her own aethermare closer. “Betsy’s the pack horse, er, pack mare. She’s carrying our supplies.”

The mention of supplies made James’s stomach clench anew. Food, potions, emergency gear—if they tried to overburden Betsy, it might become another accident waiting to happen. He could see the exact thoughts mirrored on Ser Loran’s face.

Marcus took a slow breath. He gently laid a hand on the flank of the remaining spare mount. “Alright, girl. Sorry in advance, but we need you.” He rummaged in a side pouch and produced a small cloth, wiping fresh tears from his cheeks when he thought no one was looking. Then, in a smooth but heavy-hearted series of motions, he began strapping his sword to the new mount. He called out to the rest, “We’ll toss half our spare rations onto Elia’s mare if we must. We can’t let them weigh us down too much.”

Joey swallowed hard. “But… you just—killed the other one.” He bit his lip. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help it?”

He was shaking. James could tell the memory of losing his own arm was still fresh. Compassion for the wounded aethermare burned in his eyes, but the deed was already done. Marcus turned away, face grim. “I’m sorry, Joey,” he said quietly. “We don’t have time or resources to mend a broken aethermare in this place… and it was kinder to end her suffering else we leave her to die by the beasts. Better a quick death than that.”

Joey’s fists clenched in frustration, the metal digits of his prosthetic scraping against each other with a faint screech. He gave a jerky nod, not trusting himself to speak.

“Marcus, hurry,” Ser Loran pressed. “We’re sitting ducks like this.”

Just then, Jackson dropped out of the shadows. His voice came in a quick, breathy rush. “Four more briarsnatches—level eleven, if my skill read is right. They’ll be on us in fifteen seconds, coming from nine o’clock.”