Dawns respite was going to have to wait, a distant rumble interrupted the silence of James’s watch, a low thunder-like growl that seemed to roll across the barren farmland outside. The night pressed in around the small farmhouse, thick and impenetrable, shrouding the yard with inky darkness. While it could be the wind or even the distant echo of collapsing structures elsewhere in Tellemoria, something about the noise made James uneasy. He had grown up among these fields, lulled to sleep many nights by the distant cry of owls and the sighing hush of tall grasses in the breeze; this did not sound like any of that. This was deeper, more foreboding.

He glanced through the half-ajar door to his old bedroom, where Joey lay in a makeshift cot of blankets. glancing back at the front door, it wasn’t exactly on its hinges anymore—after the chaos and partial destruction of Tellemoria, it was only loosely propped in place, leaving gaps that let a cold draft slither in. In the low lanternlight, James could make out the subtle rise and fall of Joey’s chest. That small comfort—a friend sleeping within arm’s reach—steadied James’s heart. The act reminded him vaguely of how he used to check on Lily—his daughter back on Earth, in those half-remembered days of another life. He’d kept vigil at her bedside when she was sick, worrying about her the way only a father could. A pang of sorrow pricked his heart for the lost life, but he was quickly grounded by the new reality he found himself in.

The wind outside shifted, carrying another ghostly rumble. The boards of the farmhouse groaned in protest, and a chilly gust seeped through the ill-fitted door. James shivered, pulling his arms closer around himself. He was painfully aware that monstrous creatures roamed the countryside now.

He turned his gaze over his old living room. It felt…not quite home. The furniture was the same, the stove still in its place, and the shelves still lined with the same old knickknacks and farmland trinkets. But the spirit of the house was off, like an echo of what he remembered. It was a sensation akin to returning to a hotel room after a long outing: one recognized the place but knew, deep down, it wasn’t “home” anymore. The occupant had changed—and so had the space.

Seeking a distraction from the unsettling atmosphere, James activated {Essence Sight}. He closed his eyes for a moment, drew a measured breath, and let the skill gently wash over his perception. Immediately, the world around him illuminated with dim but distinct pulses of mana. Lines of glowing script crisscrossed the ceiling and walls, forming patterns that James had never suspected were there. He stepped carefully across the floor, scanning the runic lines. Each swirl or curl of magical lettering glowed faintly, anchored to nodal points near doorframes and windows.

In the corner, the kitchen stove revealed a tiny reservoir of essence that sparked and flickered whenever James’s gaze swept over it. A small, contained swirl of energy pulsed in place of what he’d once assumed was a purely “mechanical” contraption. {Essence Inspect} revealed nothing—just the knowledge that the stove contained a localized essence core. No additional text or details. James felt a faint buzz in the back of his mind and he realized that since this was a crafted device rather than a “System-generated” item (like those discovered in the rift), it wouldn’t readily display detailed stats. The everyday wonders of Tellemoria’s magical technology—ward-stoves, ice-boxes—operated on a different set of runic rules, apparently requiring a separate level of skill to interpret.

He found himself wishing he had studied more seriously under Miss Clara or whomever else taught runes in Tellemoria. Back then, he’d been a boy with an easy life: running errands, daydreaming with Joey, or sneaking out to fish. The intricacies of wards or advanced magical theory had sounded dull next to the allure of playing hero in the meadow. If only he’d realized how crucial such knowledge might one day be. Still, I guess I can start learning now… if the world even gives me time.

He traced a hand over a swirl of script near the door, carefully not to disrupt the lines. The wards set in place by his parents might be for structural security—reducing the chance of collapsing beams during storms—or they might be actual defensive wards. The dryness of the lines and their thickness suggested some sort of protective barrier ward. But James couldn’t decipher them with any certainty.

Stepping away from the wards, James let out a weary sigh. His eyelids felt heavy. The repeated rumble from the distance whispered more warnings, but he didn’t want to succumb to paranoia. Perhaps it was far off and not a direct threat. With a wry snort, James thought, We said that about the rift, too, and it devoured us for an entire month.

Rather than risk nodding off on his feet, James decided to keep himself engaged. He set the trident aside—still within easy reach—and rummaged through a chest of drawers near the living room table. A loose-fitting shirt surfaced, simpler and cleaner than his battered traveling clothes. The faint scent of home clung to its folds, stirring a flicker of nostalgia in his chest. He draped the shirt over a nearby chair, pausing to let the moment settle.

Before slipping into anything fresh, James moved to the corner where a worn washbasin waited. A half-full jug of water sat beside it, the well outside still operational but not worth the risk of stepping out alone just yet. He carefully poured water into the basin, then peeled off his sooty, travel-worn top. The cold splash jolted him awake as he scrubbed away grime and dried blood. His muscles, strained and bruised from the rift, protested at the motion, yet the shock of frigid water soothed the ache more than it aggravated it.

He glanced at a warped mirror propped atop a nearby shelf. Its reflective surface revealed stark changes he wasn’t entirely used to: he stood taller, his frame lean with newly formed sinew. Subtle lines of fatigue and responsibility bracketed his eyes—signs of battles fought, both external and within. For a moment, Frank’s memories brushed alongside his own, hints of a life he’d never lived but somehow recalled. That quiet sense of overlap made the familiar surroundings feel unexpectedly foreign.

Shaking off the disquiet, he toweled himself dry with a scrap of cloth, each sweep of fabric reminding him that, for however brief a window, he was safe here. Finally, he reached for the clean shirt. The soft threads felt like a homecoming against his skin, a warmth he hadn’t realized he was craving. Securing his chest plate over top, he exhaled a small sigh of relief—something akin to normalcy, however tenuous, settled over him.

He began to drift around the house, reacquainting himself with corners he’d once known by heart. A low shelf in the living room contained some of his old childhood toys: A small wooden horse, a miniature wagon cart, some crudely carved figures of farmers and knights. He remembered how he’d push the wagon around the living room as a toddler, imagining grand caravans setting off across the sea of farmland.

But now, with {Essence Sight} still active, he noticed that each toy possessed a faint swirl of mana. Intrigued, James leaned down, picking up the wagon. A groove along its underside glowed softly, reminiscent of the internal lines he’d seen in the stove’s reservoir. A curious notion struck him. When he had been small, these toys seemed almost alive, able to move or shift with minimal pushing. Had that been his parents indulging him with small illusions, or was it something built in?

Experimentally, he let a tiny thread of mana flow from his fingertips. The effect was clumsy—he wasn’t practiced at deliberate mana channeling and he had no skill for it. Yet a spark took root in the wagon’s runic lines. The wooden wheels jerked, and the wagon squeaked forward an inch, then whirled off with surprising vigor. It careened across the room in a spiral, bumping into a table leg.

James actually laughed, a bittersweet sound. The memory of being enthralled by that wagon as a child surfaced. He’d never realized that it wasn’t purely mechanical. “Mom, Dad… you two were always embedding little touches of magic in everything,” he murmured. It was a stark reminder that even in this seemingly humble farmland, cunning enchantments were woven into daily life.

Cradling the wagon gently, James set it aside and turned off {Essence Sight} to rest his eyes. The faint glow in the lines faded from his perception. A leaden wave of fatigue pressed down on him, but he shook his head. He couldn’t risk sleeping yet; the rumbling in the distance still worried him. “At least let Joey get a few hours,” he whispered to himself.

Needing something purposeful to do, James decided to pack supplies for a possible journey. Whether they stayed for a day or left at first light, it made sense to have provisions at the ready. He found an old napsack in a corner—dusty but still sturdy—and began rummaging through the cabinets for food. The ice-box, a large box etched with runes that glimmered faintly, held a small chunk of salted meat and some root vegetables. Despite the town’s destruction, his parents hadn’t left it entirely empty. “They probably took only what they could carry on short notice,” James reasoned, glancing again at the half-packed crates near the door.

Curiosity seized him. He touched the runic script on the ice-box, letting {Essence Inspect} flicker on for a moment. Again, no easy label popped up; just the swirl of magical energy that kept the interior cold. It’s definitely using essence, but it’s not from a rift or a recognized item. So no detailed data for me, he concluded. Even so, it was fascinating to realize how thoroughly essence underpinned daily life in these parts.

He carefully wrapped the meat in cloth, selected some cheese and jerky from a cupboard, then added a handful of hard and stale but still-edible biscuits. With the help of a battered canteen, he scooped water from a barrel near the stove. Next, he located a battered pot, in case they needed to boil water on the road. All these items went into the napsack. Then, rummaging deeper, he found a small pouch of herbs—dried rosemary, thyme, and something that looked like ground berry leaves. He wasn’t sure how fresh they were, but they might help flavor meager meals.

Somewhere outside, the rumbling sounded again, louder this time. James paused, heart pounding. He crept to the cracked window, peering out into the gloom. With the lantern dimmed in the living room, there was little light to reflect from the glass, so he had a clear enough view of the yard. Grass rippled in the night wind, but he saw nothing. No shape, no luminous eyes, no silhouettes that spelled immediate danger.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Still, the direction from which the noise seemed to emanate—somewhere west, near the outskirts of Tellemoria—made James’s stomach clench. Could something be approaching? A stampede? Another wave of beasts? He prayed it wouldn’t come tonight. They were exhausted, with no immediate reinforcements.

He heard movement behind him. Turning, James saw Joey shuffle in, rubbing at his bleary eyes. The ill-fitting wedding gown—torn and caked with rift-dust—looked more pathetic than ever under the dim lanternlight. Joey paused halfway through a yawn, taking in the stillness of the farmhouse.

“Hey, James,” he managed at last, “you got any food? Feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”

A faint smile touched James’s lips. “I’ve been rounding up what I can,” he said, pressing a strip of jerky and a hunk of hard cheese into Joey’s hands. “Not exactly a feast, but it’s something.”

Joey bit into the jerky with vigor, mindlessly brushing the grime caked on his prosthetic arm. His gaze flicked to his other arm, the real one—leaner and far more muscular than before. “Guess I should wash off. I smell like fish from that crazy ride in the rift.” His nose wrinkled at the sight of his battered bridal train. “And I’m so done wearing this dress.”

James stifled a laugh. “I found some of my dad’s old clothes. Might be a tight fit with all your new muscles,” he teased, “but I figure anything’s better than that wedding gown.”

“That’s for sure.” Joey’s grimace softened into a sheepish grin. “I’m keeping these Shoes of Balance, though. They’re the only part of the outfit that’s actually practical.”

While he finished his makeshift snack, and James retrieved a simple white tee and well-worn linen pants from a nearby wardrobe. “Here,” he said, thrusting the clothes toward Joey. “Wash up first if you can. I put some fresh water in the basin. We don’t have much privacy, but this half wall will have to do.”

Joey nodded, stepping over to the washbasin with the clothes in hand. He called back, “Thanks, man,” then vanished behind the short partition. The sound of sloshing water soon followed, intermixed with Joey’s muttering about fish guts and the “world’s worst outfit.”

Meanwhile, James lingered near the window. He peered outside into the darkness, trying to quell the unsettling memory of distant rumbling. Turning his head, he said quietly, “So… I think there’s a big monster out there. Could be more than one. The essence flow we saw near the forest is getting stronger, drawing who-knows-what out of the woodwork.”

Joey paused, halfway through scrubbing his arms, water dripping off his elbows. “You want to check it out?” he asked, raising a brow. His tone was forcedly casual, but the line of tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “We do have some decent gear—and I’m a pro at punching by now.”

James shook his head firmly. “Let’s not push our luck. We have no idea if it’s anywhere close, and we’re not exactly in top form. You remember how tough that Guardian was.”

Joey let out a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, guess you’re right.” He splashed water on his face again, then vigorously toweled off. “We’ll stick to the plan: hide for the night and hope nothing nasty wanders this way.”

James nodded in agreement. “We’ve got a bit of an advantage,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “My parents set up wards around the place—at least, I think so. I can see the rune lines with my {Essence Sight}. They might not hold against something huge, but they could deter smaller beasts.”

Joey emerged from behind the partition, wearing the ill-fitting tee and the linen pants cinched tight around his waist. Though wrinkled from of disuse, they made him look far more comfortable than the shredded gown. “Wards?” he echoed, glancing around the dim interior as though expecting to see glowing barriers. “How come I never knew about this?”

“Honestly, I never paid attention,” James admitted with a shrug. “But I can see the runes now, faint lines around the doors and windows. Must be a defensive measure or something that stabilizes the house. All I can do is hope it’s enough.”

Joey exhaled, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Yeah… let’s hope.” He shot James a sidelong look. “Hey, at least you’ve got that advantage to see things like that. Me, I just punch things.”

Despite the levity of his words, a note of real discontent vibrated underneath. As if sensing it, James offered a small nod. “You’ve got more than that, man. You’ve got an Iron affinity, that new arm. And your hits pack a serious wallop now.”

“Yeah, but you have this combined skill—{Strategic Tranquility}—and that big fancy trident,” Joey pointed out, unable to mask the edge in his tone. “I’m happy for you, really, but sometimes it feels like I’m the sideshow brawler.”

James started to smile in reassurance—only to falter as thoughts of Nyx intruded. The cat’s final moments loomed fresh in his memory. “It was from the optional quest there” he said quietly. The tightness in his chest spoke volumes. “from rescuing the lost wanderer... Nyx.”

Sensing James’s shift, Joey’s bravado wavered. He stepped forward, letting the frustration drain from his face. “Hey, sorry,” he said, softer now. “I’m being a jerk. I didn’t mean to make it about me.”

A heartbeat passed before James’s mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. “You’re not a jerk—just… emotional. We both are. The rift was a lot to process. We lost so much there.”

“Nyx…” Joey whispered, his voice cracking at the memory of the little creature. Setting aside his envy, he closed the distance and wrapped James in a sudden hug, all awkward limbs and heartfelt sincerity. “She was a good friend, even if it was just for a short time.”

James gripped Joey’s shoulders, clinging to that moment of warmth. Tears shimmered at the edge of his vision, and an ache settled in his throat. “Sometimes… it feels like part of me is gone,” he admitted, voice raw. “But yeah, she’d bat at us with her paw to keep going.”

For a few seconds, neither spoke; the hush in the farmhouse felt strangely peaceful despite the looming threat outside. Then, Joey cleared his throat, stepping back with a shaky grin. “Sorry for getting all moody on you. Let’s do this, then. We’ll wait for dawn. If that rumbling stays away, we head out first light. If it shows up…” He shrugged. “I’ll break in my new pants if I have to fight in them.”

James managed a small laugh at that, blinking away the residual tears. “Deal."

They exchanged a smile, a quiet flicker of solidarity passing between them. Outside, the wind moaned, carrying a reverberation that might have been the distant rumble returning. Yet here, in the glow of a single lantern and the dusty warmth of a family home, they found a moment of fragile contentment.

breaking the silence James yawned "I think I'll go and get some sleep, do yo..."

Before he could say more, a deep roar shattered the night. The rumbling had grown from a distant threat to a thunderous quake, rattling the rickety door on its broken hinges. James and Joey spun to face the window, hearts hammering.

A faint orange glow colored the horizon, flickering like distant flames. Within seconds, that glow soared taller, accompanied by crashing booms. Flames licked across some structure in the near distance—an old barn, or possibly a line of houses near the center of Tellemoria.

Joey, hair still dripping, scrambled for his gear. James followed suit, snatching up the Trident of Homing. “We can’t outrun that thing if it’s near,” James hissed, remembering the unstoppable speed of the Guardian Salamander. Stats really make the difference here, then again, they had leveled up significantly. He had no real measure of his top speed now.

A shape emerged from the fiery glow, looming taller than the rooftops. Even at a distance, James spotted a silhouette easily ten feet tall—broad-shouldered and with a shambling gait that belied surprising speed. It was too dark to see fine details, but the flickers of orange suggested molten rock or lava.

The boys exchanged an alarmed look. “James, I… can’t punch molten lava,” Joey breathed. “At least, not without losing what’s left of my real hand, or melting my new prosthetic.”

James’s mind raced. We should run. This is insane. But to where? The creature was making a beeline for them, or at least for the farmland where their house stood. He glimpsed fire in its wake—some farmland hedge or building set ablaze by its passage.

The monstrous figure drew close enough that James could see it was vaguely humanoid, albeit with limbs that glowed from the inside out, as though forging steel in a bellows. The outer surface was a thick, crusted shell of igneous rock, with bright magma veins flickering at intervals. A series of cracks along the chest area revealed an inner core that shimmered with intense heat. Globules of molten material drooled from its arms, sizzling against the ground.

Scraps of James’s knowledge surfaced: maybe it was a Lava Golem or a variant of molten elemental. Possibly higher-level, which explained why {Essence Inspect} returned no data.

He raised the trident. “We might not be able to kill it, but let’s see if we can slow it—”

“James, we need a plan. Quick.”

But the Lava Golem advanced with surprising pace. Even at a hundred paces away, the heat radiated like a furnace. The orchard behind it crackled in flame, explaining Tellemoria’s extensive burn damage. Bell and Andy, along with the other adult villagers, must have decided it was beyond their power to fight. They had chosen evacuation over a hopeless battle.

Despair threatened to paralyze him. The behemoth roared, spewing a shimmering wave of molten spatter that ignited the field. If the wards on the house were still strong, maybe they’d buy a little time. But if it steps right through, or if the wards are decayed…

Suddenly, from the gloom of the far side, James spotted a smaller silhouette darting. A shape flitted along the perimeter of the farmland, parallel to the Golem’s path. So quick that at first, James couldn’t tell if it was a large dog or a person. Then a booming voice echoed through the night, commanding, “NOW!”

Confusion seized James. He twisted to see the silhouette break from cover and skid to a halt in front of the Golem, arms raised. A violent torrent of some substance—was it water or dust?—surged forward, dousing the Golem’s front. The monster bellowed in fury.

Another voice rang out: “MARCUS WHILE IT'S SOLIDIFYING!”

From above, a second figure literally soared into view, leaping from the roof of a half-collapsed shed. The silhouette arced across the sky, arms raised overhead. Mid-leap, a giant sword materialized mid swing as he brought his arms down, shimmering with condensed essence. With a roar, the swordsman brought the weapon crashing down onto the Golem’s molten shoulder.

The shockwave rattled James and Joey from over a hundred feet away. They stumbled, hearts racing. The Lava Golem staggered back, cracks spreading across its rocky hide as part of its molten interior cooled under the assault.

A final shout rose: “ELIA, AGAIN!” The first figure unleashed a second torrent of the same substance—likely some magical water or something of the like—that further hardened the Golem’s core. The Golem’s once-glowing form grew dark, lines of molten red quickly dimming as it hardened into rock.

James and Joey stood transfixed, jaws slack at the display of advanced magic and martial prowess. This trio, whoever they were, wielded powers well beyond the usual farmers and small-town refugees they’d known.

Before James could blink, a new presence slid up behind them. A harsh voice grunted, “Well, well. What do we have here?”

James spun, but the shape slammed something into his temple. He glimpsed a broad-shouldered figure in leather armor, a silhouette of stubble and sharp eyes. The blow was expertly placed to knock him out. Sparks danced across his vision.

He thought he heard Joey shout, “James!” But then a thud indicated Joey, too, had been taken down in a single strike. Darkness roared up, swallowing James’s senses. The last thought in his mind was that he recognized the faint ring of the man’s voice, as if from a memory. Possibly from Tellemoria’s past visitors—or someone his parents had once known. But then everything went blank.