CHAPTER ONE

Seven months ago August, 13 AR Lance’s flat London, England

LANCE

With a groan, the young man woke to the sound of his alarm clock. Each buzz only intensified his suppressed yawn. He rose from his bed, running his hand through his short brown hair, knowing full well that whatever energy he could conjure up now would wither in the next few hours. He made his way to the bathroom, nearly tripping over his clothes and his hospital ID-badge with his name, Lance Turner, displayed on it. Lance studied himself in the mirror, his hazel eyes surrounded by dark bags, before getting into the shower.

As the water pelted his skin, Lance scrubbed away the exhaustion of the previous day. Stepping out afterwards, he pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a comfortable T-shirt. Despite his tall stature, courtesy of his Dutch heritage, his frame was slender. He glimpsed himself again in the mirror, wishing he had a bit more muscle. Thoughts of laundry and sleep flooded his mind as he reminded himself to do the former. In all honesty, he already knew that he was going to hit his bed immediately after his hospital shift.

Two shifts left, Lance thought as he sighed, his mind consumed with the fear of a call from work. He had come to expect them, always asking for him to cover someone else’s shift. He knew all too well that he’d say yes, despite his weariness. After all, he still had a mortgage to pay since his mother’s passing.

Lance snatched his backpack, shoving in everything he needed for work and a breakfast to go. As he filled a mug with steaming coffee, his gaze landed on the television, still displaying the movie he had stayed up late to watch. He couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic groan. “The Rift Apocalypse: Part 3,” he muttered, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for having watched the first two movies too. Rifter movies were always so cheesy and over the top.

“Life-altering, that’s what they say about becoming a Rifter,” Lance mused, his mind wandering to the battles these brave souls fought within the Rifts and the monsters they encountered. Rifts were massive black spheres of unnatural energy that could suddenly form on Earth. Some Rifts were as small as a truck, others large enough to consume entire apartment complexes. No corner of the world was immune, with new Rifts appearing regularly. Most people had either witnessed one up close or seen the footage on the news.

Lance recalled the news about the first Rifts that appeared some time around November, thirteen years ago. The first Rifts had caused hundreds of people to disappear, only to have a handful of them return weeks later, scarred by tales of the horrors they’d encountered. Some spoke of deserts overrun by feral beasts, others of forests shrouded in darkness or freezing wastelands illuminated by several moons in the night sky.

The military’s attempts to enter or destroy the Rifts proved futile as the strange black energy vaporized both organic and inorganic matter upon entry. The exception was for people or things that had already survived a Rift. Scientists theorized that the strange energy within the Rift had altered these survivors in some way. Luck would have it that some of these survivors stepped up to fight against the Rifts, preventing the world from descending into chaos, earning them the nick- name “Rifters” from the public.

The arrival of the Rifts marked a shift in human history, referred to as the Age of Rifts by many. “Anno Rift” or “AR” became a frequent way to mark the passage of time, a testament to the profound change the Rifts brought to the world. The roar of a motorbike outside his flat jolted Lance into action. He quickly grabbed his keys, wallet, smartphone, and earbuds from their undesignated spots before making his way to a small display case. His eyes lingered on memories from his childhood: judo medals, diplomas, and a framed photo with his best friend, Thomas Walker. Among the trinkets from his travels, a simple urn caught his eye, bearing the name of Turner. “See you tonight, Mom,” he whispered, kissing two fingers and placing them against the urn. With a final glance around the room,

Lance burst out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

As the motorbike roared past a car, Lance felt his legs clamp onto the machine’s sides. He was no enthusiast, but he couldn’t help but be enamored by its power and maneuverability. But he would never confess that to Thomas, the fearless rider, who lived for these adrenaline-fueled moments.

Lance and Thomas were childhood friends, polar opposites in personality. Lance was introverted and book-smart, while Thomas was brash, athletic, and a social butterfly. The two of them had formed an unbreakable bond when Lance and his mother moved from the Netherlands to London. Their friendship had even turned into that of co-workers after both had finished school and gotten their nursing degrees.

“Another one,” Thomas said, his voice crackling over the Bluetooth device as he pointed to the left while decreasing his speed. Lance followed the movement of his hand and saw what Thomas was indicating: a massive line of trucks and cranes, each marked with the GRRO logo of the Global Rift Response Organization. These were the people in charge of containing and monitoring Rifts, as well as working with those who could enter them. The police escort and the staggering amount of cargo told Lance they were on their way to a newly opened Rift. The first step the GRRO took was to secure newly formed Rifts and establish barriers and nets to keep the public safe.

“They keep popping up more and more,” Lance muttered. Each newly formed Rift held the possibility of people becoming Rifters, provided they survived their first experience. Ending up in a Rift was a risk that some people took seriously, carrying backpacks filled with survival gear. Despite their precautions, the odds of it actually happening were small. Still, more Rifts formed each month, and Lance couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more at play.

Thomas increased the speed again. “Just think about it,” he exclaimed. “One moment you’re lounging at home, the next thing you know, a Rift forms right on top of you and BAM! Afterwards you’re a Rifter. Wealth, respect, and powers beyond your wildest imaginations are all yours.”

“Provided you make it past the monsters, the different gravity, and dozens of other lethal combinations that could happen,” Lance added, a note of sarcasm in his voice. He knew full well that Thomas would choose to ignore these inconveniences. Soon after, the two of them arrived at the hospital, changed into their uniforms, and made their way to the break room for the morning briefing. Having just done a late shift yesterday, as well as a double shift before that, Lance was already feeling his body protest as he closed his eyes for a minute.

A pungent mix of coffee, cleaning agents, and the unmistakable odor of ill- ness clung to the air. As Lance dozed off, the other nurses made their way into the room, each with a steaming cup of coffee or tea in hand. Minutes later, it was time for the coordinator to allocate rooms to each nurse.

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“Thomas, I need you in room two and three,” the coordinator instructed, her voice confident. “Patient 2-A is due for surgery in a few hours, so get them prepped. Rachel, room one is yours. Tiffany, be ready to assist during rounds.” She paused, adding, “And let’s all hope maintenance can get that damn toilet fixed in an hour.”

“Lance, rooms four and five—” the coordinator said, but her words trailed off as she caught sight of the young man in the corner. He was fast asleep, his eyes shut tight. She strode over to him, her heels clicking against the floor. “Mr. Lance Turner!” she bellowed. When he didn’t stir, she threw a pen against Lance’s chest to emphasize her point.

The young man jolted awake, eyes wide as he realized the coordinator’s displeasure. He knew he was in trouble, this being the third time this month. Lance caught Thomas’s eye and saw the amusement dancing there. As his sup- posed best friend, Thomas always seemed to be there with a grin whenever Lance found himself in a bind.

“Turner, I’ve got a new assignment for you,” the coordinator said. “Seeing as you are so well rested now, you’re in charge of room six.” Lance let out a defeated sigh as he slumped in his seat. He knew today was going to be brutal. Room six was the go-to room for VIP patients or Rifters. Hearing Thomas giggling like a child wasn’t helping his mood either.

“Thomas, since you’re in such a great mood, you’re going to assist Lance this morning on top of your regular duties,” the coordinator said with a smile. Thomas’s face turned ashen.

A few minutes later, the two nurses had introduced themselves to the patient in room six and were busy running the first tests of the morning. Lance finished measuring the blood pressure and jotted down the numbers on a piece of paper. He then placed two fingers on the man’s wrist, feeling the pulse of the artery, and used his smartphone to keep track of the time. “Any further discom- fort?” he asked.

Lance listened attentively as the patient recounted his symptoms, scribbling notes as he spoke. But as the conversation progressed, Lance’s gaze kept straying to the man’s right arm, or rather, what remained of it. What the hell could’ve done this to a person, let alone a Rifter? he wondered, disturbed.

The man Lance was treating was a Rifter by the name of Daniel Wells. He was one of the fortunate few who had lived through the experience of his first Rift, choosing to embrace his newfound identity and make a living as a Rifter. The mark of a Rift survivor, a white crystal-like shard, graced Daniel’s chest. The man had worked as a Rifter for several years before he injured his arm badly. Even the combined efforts of multiple surgeons couldn’t save it. “Everything appears to be in o—” Lance began to explain, before being rudely interrupted.

“Have we considered that this might just be a minor scratch, and he’s milking this injury for all its worth?” Dieter Kühn asked with a cheeky smile, his guttural German accent—the thickest Lance had ever heard—emphasizing every V and Z to the point that it was hard to understand. Lance had learned that Dieter and Daniel were guild members and long-time friends.

Today, Dieter was there to graciously offer his limited medical expertise. The man, like Daniel, was an experienced Rifter. He specialized in taming and training Rift-animals, although his frame hinted at a far more melee-oriented style. Dieter’s unique class allowed better cooperation with animals that had survived Rifts and to train them to fight alongside him.

With him in the room was one of Dieter’s newer animal companions, a massive dog known as a Rift-hound, who was lounging on an empty bed with a curious gaze fixed on Thomas. Despite Thomas’s unease, both he and Lance held a sense of awe and respect for the formidable canine, nicknamed Little Hans.

That Little Hans had a white crystal-like element embedded in the chest, like the Rifters had, only made him seem more threatening and alien. It was a rare sight for dogs and other animals to survive a Rift, so it spoke volumes about what Little Hans had been capable of in the past. The once normal-sized mastiff had grown into a formidable beast, his piercing gaze revealing a cunning intellect unrivaled by most of his kind.

Daniel apologized for Dieter’s behavior. “Dieter’s got some issues,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling as he glanced over at the man flipping him off. Daniel waved back with the stub of his injured right arm, still grinning. “Spends so much time with animals, he’s forgotten how human interaction works. Not to mention basic decency and hygiene.” Daniel’s grin was infectious, making Lance and Thomas feel more comfortable. “We tried to get rid of him during one of our previous Rifts, but he’s one lucky bastard,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“ There’s still time,” Thomas softly whispered so that only Lance could hear. To be fair to Thomas, Dieter had taken a liking to tormenting the young nurse with vivid accounts of the horrors his Rift-hound was capable of.

There were few Rifters in the world, so meeting one in person, let alone talking to two of them, was a remarkable feat. Had it not been for this hospital having a special room for Rifters, Lance and Thomas might’ve never met one in their lives.

Save for the more extravagant individuals, most Rifters looked quite normal. But they each bore a distinctive mark: a white crystal fragment, known as a Rift- shard, embedded in the center of their chest. That shard irradiated and infused their cells with a strange energy, allowing them to enter a Rift and grow in power when they defeated monsters. Even the weakest Rifters could hold their own against trained athletes, but as their Level increased, so did their abilities. Those in the triple-digit Levels could brush off small caliber bullets and tear off doors from a car with ease. At the highest Levels, the Rifters were capable of feats that bordered on the realm of fiction.

It was hard not to imagine what a one-armed Rifter such as Daniel could do to a room full of civilians if the man suddenly snapped. Luckily, these types of cases were infrequent and other Rifters dealt with these incidents.

“I’ll get this data recorded and be back in a little while,” Lance commented as he grabbed his things and smiled at Daniel, doing his best not to stare at the missing arm.

“I’m telling you, man,” Thomas persisted during lunch for the fifteenth time in a row, “that dog is just not right.” Lance tuned him out, tired of hearing Thomas’s spiels about how ordinary people needed to be protected from Rifters. The truth was, Thomas was a hardcore Rifter buff, devouring countless articles on the topic. Only one person was more into Rifters than Thomas, and that was his little brother, Oliver.

There was just something about Dieter and his hound that unnerved Thomas. If Lance was being honest, it affected him as well. One mere look at Little Hans made you realize that there was nothing you could do to stop the dog if he lost control. But Lance was more unnerved by the displays of intelligence and how closely bonded Little Hans and Dieter were. Still, it was amusing to see a tough figure like Thomas tremble whenever the hound approached him.

Lance took another bite of bread, the rough texture scraping against his teeth as he dipped it into the bowl of tomato soup. The meal was a bizarre combination of under-seasoned and overpowering spices. Who in their right mind classified this as soup? Lance thought, shuddering as he tried to ignore the taste.

Lance flipped on his earbuds, drowning out Thomas’s loud ranting with the beat of his music. He couldn’t handle his friend’s extroverted personality at times, opting instead to retreat into his own thoughts or the solace of sound. He spooned another mouthful of what he’d come to think of as Satan’s liquid ashtray while scanning the bustling crowd of patients and medical staff. With his third year on the job just around the corner, he reminisced about his experiences at work. Despite the long and irregular hours, the hospital had treated him well.

He glanced at his phone to check the time and saw a text from his older brother, asking him how he was doing. The message was in Dutch. Despite having lived in the Netherlands during his early childhood, he still remembered the language fluently, thanks to his mother’s encouragement to improve it alongside his English. After his parents’ divorce, she and Lance moved to England to stay with her relatives. Lance’s older brother had remained in the Netherlands due to having joined the police academy and recently gotten a girlfriend. His brother had made attempts to stay in touch, even visiting a couple of times. However, the distance and the divorce had created a rift between the siblings. Rather than confront his

feelings, Lance shut off his phone.

“Time to earn our pay,” Lance said gruffly, interrupting Thomas as he spun him around and guided him away from several enraptured interns. Thomas had just begun holding court, regaling the group with tales of the mythical Rift-hound, but Lance was eager to move on.