Ser Loran stood at the edge of a charred field, inhaling the bitter tang of cooling magma and scorched earth. His gray eyes traveled across the desolate remnants of a once-fertile farmland, a place that should have hosted dawn’s golden light. Instead, it lay under a veil of drifting smoke. Molten rock congealed into dark lumps, hissing faintly as heat escaped in the crisp morning air.
In all his years wandering Friengard—from the high passes near the Cloudspire Mountains in Ashwynd to the delta villages in the far south of Castellio—Loran had witnessed many a battlefield. He had clashed with rogue mages, monstrous warbeasts, and once even a vampiric legion that stalked the hidden vaults beneath the Capital’s library. But the destruction wrought by a single Magma Elemental felt equally harrowing, if not for the raw power on display, then for the needless devastation it left behind. It was a reminder that danger could erupt anywhere, at any time, especially now that essence flows were roiling unpredictably across the land.
A breeze stirred the ends of his travel-worn cloak, sending a swirl of soot around his tall frame. Loran, well over six feet in height, had once joked that his shoulders were broader than most doorways. His imposing stature, however, belied a quiet confidence. He had long ago learned that leadership was more than barking commands; it was about knowing when to let others shine.
But at the moment, there was no time for subtlety or reflection. He had a team to command—and a crisis still unfolding.
His deep, resonant voice cut through the haze. “Marcus, collect that core before it cools. Be careful—it might still have pockets of molten slag. Elia, get the (Baeardic Containment Device) ready. I doubt this elemental’s core is above Saffron-rank, but we don’t want any surprises. And Jackson—blast it, where is he?”
Marcus answered with a quick nod, jogging over to the fallen Magma Elemental’s remains, the heat still shimmering visibly above its fractured shell. Marcus was the group’s reliable cornerstone, older by a decade than Jackson and two over Elia, yet still younger than Loran who boasted near seven decades of age. His broad chest and scarred forearms bore testament to countless battles. Despite the heat, he knelt and began examining the cracked husk, searching for the glowing node that would be the creature’s Core.
Meanwhile, Elia hovered close by, rummaging in her satchel for the item known as the “Baeardic Containment Device.” She found it—a disk-shaped contraption etched with swirling runes. Long, blonde hair spilled over her shoulders; she had let it loose after the battle, her ponytail undone. Though slender in frame, Elia was swift and decisive when channeling her specialized magic. She was still in her late teens, yet life as a traveling adventurer had toughened her spirit and sharpened her talents.
Standing in the smoldering field, Loran pulled up his {Team View} skill to locate Jackson, the team’s stealth and reconnaissance expert. A faint pulse of mana overlay his vision, revealing a bright swirl at the edge of a half-burned house. A figure was moving there—Jackson—and he wasn’t alone.
Moments later, Jackson emerged from behind the charred structure, carrying two limp forms slung unceremoniously across his shoulders. “Found these kids sneaking around,” Jackson announced, voice carrying across the ruined yard. “Didn’t want to take risks with shapeshifters lurking about. But check out the black-haired one. His essence pathways are so bright it’s like staring into the sun.”
Loran felt a prickle of curiosity. Shapeshifters—particularly the dreaded Chimera Mimics—were known to adopt human appearances, using illusions to fool unsuspecting travelers. But for Jackson to suspect these might be monsters implied something extraordinary about their mana signatures.
“Come here,” Loran ordered. Jackson came closer, adjusting the bodies draped across him. Loran moved in, studying the unconscious youths. One was dark-haired, the other sandy-haired, both probably in their early teens. The dark-haired boy’s face sparked a memory deep in Loran’s mind.
Then recognition blossomed. “James,” he murmured. “He’d be around ten, maybe eleven by now. I remember him… Ariebel and Anthonellis’s son.”
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He cast his gaze around the battered farmland—Tellemoria, if he wasn’t mistaken. He had passed this way several times over the years, occasionally stopping by to share a meal or reminisce with the couple that once fought at his side. They had retired to care for their son, who had reportedly been injured in some magical accident. Loran wasn’t entirely sure of the details; he only knew that Ariebel and Anthonellis had chosen a peaceful farm life after their questing days ended.
But this farmland looked anything but peaceful now. Fire-scorched fences and half-collapsed houses testified to chaos. If the Magma Elemental’s rampage had traveled this far, perhaps James’s parents had fled along with the rest of the townsfolk. Or perhaps…
He pushed that grim possibility aside. For now, there were more pressing matters.
Marcus arrived carrying a faintly glowing orb of molten rock, about the size of an apple, still radiating dangerous levels of heat. “Got it, boss,” he said, wincing as he held it in a pair of thick metal tongs. “Feels unstable. Elia, you ready?”
Elia snapped open the (Baeardic Containment Device)—a swirling pattern of runic lines glowed to life within the metal disc. “Lay it in gently,” she instructed, voice tight with concentration. Marcus slowly lowered the sizzling core onto the device. Blue-white mana lines danced across its surface, corralling the molten energy until the orb’s angry glow diminished to a steady pulse.
Elia flipped a latch, sealing the device. “Safe enough for now,” she announced, though her expression remained unsatisfied. She spun toward Loran, hair swishing behind her head. “This isn’t going to help me much,” she muttered, lips pursed. “Core’s not refined enough for the class advancement I’ve been working toward.”
Loran raised a brow at her. “Elia, we went after that Magma Elemental precisely because you said you needed a high-level fire essence. If it’s not good enough, that’s hardly our fault.” He tried not to sound too harsh, knowing Elia’s frustration likely stemmed from disappointment. But they’d all put their lives at risk for a goal that might now be moot.
Mouth twisting, Elia looked aside. “I know, all right? It was just… I hoped for something better.” She exhaled, her earlier combat adrenaline giving way to weariness. “Thanks anyway...”
Satisfied that her annoyance had cooled, Loran turned his attention back to Jackson and the unconscious boys. “Show me again, Jackson,” he said, leaning in. “You said the black-haired one has essence pathways like the sun?”
Jackson gave a curt nod. He shifted James’s limp form so Loran could press a palm to the boy’s chest and coax a sliver of mana out, as if to see how it was absorbed. A wave of heat coursed into James’s core, and Loran could practically feel it resonate in return. The boy’s internal mana channels were frighteningly robust for someone unclassed.
“Bloody hell, you’re not exaggerating,” Loran muttered, pulling back, heart pounding a little faster. “I’ve never sensed anything like this in a child. Even a normal adult advanced to mid-tier wouldn’t have channels that robust.” He briefly considered the possibility of a shapeshifter, but the face, the faint memory—both felt undeniably genuine.
Marcus, who had set aside the device, returned in time to hear Loran’s observation. He cocked his head. “So the monster was probably drawn to him, yeah?”
“Could be,” Loran replied. “Or it’s part of this entire essence tide that’s flooding the region. Something triggered it to roam near Tellemoria, and maybe James’s aura was a beacon.”
Elia sidled over, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She placed a hand near James’s temple, letting her own magic sense wash over him. A soft gasp escaped her lips. “Whoa. No lie, Loran—this kid’s brimming with something powerful.” She looked again at the other unconscious boy. “Him not so much, has potential but not quite as bright. Still… they definitely aren’t normal farm kids.”
Jackson gave a half shrug. “Didn’t seem suspicious otherwise. I found them near that half-collapsed house,” he jerked a thumb toward the building behind him, “just watching us take down the Elemental. Didn’t want to risk them turning into some Chimera Mimic mid-battle, so I, uh, knocked them out. Figured we’d sort it out later.”
Loran pursed his lips. “Probably wise. Better safe than sorry, although let’s be sure they’re not harmed. James and his friend could be key to understanding what’s going on around here. Or they might just be kids caught in the crossfire.” His gray eyes flicked over the farmland once more, noticing the black smudges of char along the fields, broken fence posts, and a distant barn burned down to a single frame. Tellemoria had apparently been evacuated—or worse.
Marcus stooped beside the unconscious boys, pulling out a small waterskin. He trickled some across their faces to check for signs of stirring. Neither stirred.
“All right, boss,” he said, “what’s next? The sun’ll be up soon, and if that tide hits, we can’t stay in open ground.”
Elia responded by tucking the (Baeardic Containment Device) into a leather pouch at her waist. “Exactly. Let’s get out of here. No reason to push our luck.”