"I'm lost."

Grumbling slightly to myself, that's the only conclusion I can arrive at. After leaving Maus's dubious company, I had begun moving in the direction where Paul and Sara were at. Or at least my best guess of their current location. There remained a tingling sense of unease as I made my way through the woods but that pungent piss stained stick Maus gave me seemed to be doing the job. Whatever predator that was lurking in the dark never dared to stray too close.

Thankfully there were no further Reality Shifts. The ion storm was still crackling away in the skies above but the Rift remained mercifully stable. In the circumstances I was fairly confident of the direction my feet were taking me. But I was tracking my friends through the last known direction of their voices. That was a fairly vague lead even in the best of circumstances. And here I was stumbling about without the help of even a map.

Not for the first time I start feeling pretty stupid. The best move would have been to head back to the camp and get help. There was still time to turn back of course, my path was still fresh enough for me to backtrack easily -

No.

No. I couldn't do that. Leaving the master behind in the dangerous woods? Unthinkable. Unforgiveable. The sour sensation of curdling milk wells up in my chest. My legs quaver as strength begins to leave them.

Focus. I must focus. Drive out those weak, treacherous thoughts.

"That's better." Taking a deep breath and centering myself, a blossoming warmth blots out the cowardice slithering about my heart. I had become strong after accepting my family's heritage. And strength comes with obligations.

Obligations that I can't afford to abandon.

"It has to be this way, shouldn't it?" I muse to myself, stepping clear of the tree line. Before me is what remains of a large garden fit for a grand estate, now overgrown and left to the weeds. Amidst the broken and neglected statues and decorative rocks are messy patches of mud, a sign that it had rained recently.

That's odd. During my trek here, not a drop of rain had fallen from the sky. The only dampness I've been feeling are from my sweat stained clothes. And that's not the only strange thing. The moment I had cleared the woods, the moon had disappeared completely. Replacing it was the orange red rising sun, shyly peeking out from between the swollen, ion storm charged clouds.

I'd been walking for half an hour. At most. It would have been impossible for the entire night to pass by just like that. Something is very wrong here.

Yet alongside the mounting premonition of danger, there's also a reassuring calm accompanying it. For whatever reason, this place is where I'm meant to be right now. And my money is on the ruined, gothic building sitting in the middle of the field. The structure is in atrocious condition, with most of the façade rotted away and the wall partially collapsed. A large part of the interior nevertheless remains hidden from view.

"Sara! Paul!" I shout, hoping to get some kind of response from the ruins.

Silence reigns. If I'm going to find anyone inside the ruin, its going to be up to my own skills at searching. Seeing no sense in putting the task off, I break into a light jog now that a concrete objective is in sight.

"Damn it!" the ground beneath my feet abruptly gives way and one of my legs sinks into a sucking mass of soft mud. As the morass inexorably pulls me downward, my hands quest for any surface that can afford me some leverage. The moment I seize on to the edge of the mud pit, the soil crumbles around my fingers, leaving me grasping impotently.

And all the while, the mud keeps pulling at me. Within those few short moments, I was already halfway up my chest in mud.

"Got a few tricks left up my sleeve." Grunting, I awaken my soul, calling my powers into action. Wisps of energy swirl around my body and with a flex of my will, I summon forth erupting cone of pressure, freeing my body from the mud and blasting me upward like a rocket. Landing lightly on my feet, I take a quick raincheck on my current condition.

I'm not hurt, though that situation was incredibly dangerous. If not for my soul powers, the mud pit would have easily become my grave. Hell of a way to go, drowning to death like that. As things stand right now, the only loss I suffered was my clothes being completely written off.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Shame, Paul had spent quite a bit of money on making me stylish. Maybe there's a way to clean the mud off once we get back home. Before I can consider the thought any further, my nose catches a whiff of the mud staining me all over. It stinks strongly of salt. Something about the water in this Rift I suppose.

Well, as they say, whatever. I can't deal with any of these issues right now. Should get back to why I came to this dump in the first place.

Stepping into the cavernous maw carved out by the collapsed wall, I begin cautiously moving through the crumbling wreckage and masonry within. There's the remains of a once luxurious carpet on the floor and my feet kick up a damaged wooden plaque left to gather dust.

Huh, somehow the image on the plaque looks familiar. In fact, everything about this building looks familiar. It takes a considerable effort to squelch the surging sense of unease roiling me. Picking the plaque up, I give it a quick dusting and see a coat of arms depicting a writer's quill laid in between a pair crossed swords. A pair of guard dogs depicted as snarling heads completes the ensemble. I'm no expert on heraldry, but the faded text below the coat of arms makes speaks loud and clear.

RUTGER'S ACADEMY

"What the hell?" I curse, tossing the plaque back into the rubble. No wonder this building looks familiar. I'm in the old wing of Rutger's, or rather this Rift's version of Rutger's. I didn't recognize it at first because the new wing wasn't present. The building I spent all my schooling time in had simply not been built.

The ruins are as silent as a tomb. Clicking my tongue, I continue my ingress, hoping to find any trace of my friends before things get even more freaky. Before long, muscle memory takes over and my legs unconsciously retrace the path where Bart's cell would be back in my own Rutger's.

The door of the classroom has been busted clear off its hinges. No chains mounted to the wall and no insane man rambling away at me. So that's a relief. But I can help notice the obvious signs of violence marring the classroom. Large chunks of masonry had been torn out of the wall and a burn mark seared onto the floor. Instead of quietly gathering dust, all the chairs and tables had been smashed up. Sifting through the assorted wreckage, I come across a bloodstained and badly torn blazer. Its obviously in the style of a Rutger's blazer, except made out of tartan rather than synthetic cotton.

My fingers feel something solid within the shredded folds of the blazer and a quick groping yields a plastic card. Its an old timey swipe card, the sort you use to open security doors before no contact cards were a thing. There's a picture of a guy around my age printed on the card's surface, his face badly pimpled and hair done up in gelled spikes.

"Bartholomew Samptor?" I squint at the details of the card's bearer, "Dorm number 5C?"

Now that's interesting. Except it raises a new question. In my version of Rutger's there's no dorm. Students had to live with their families or arrange for their own housing. And I didn't see anything resembling student dorms during my time in this Rift.

I'm about to discard the tartan blazer before realizing the weight of the fabric still feels off. There's something else in the jacket and it wasn't kept in the pockets. Laying the blazer on the floor, this time I do a more methodical search, my fingers thoroughly feeling every corner of the fabric. And there it is, a bulge in the cloth. Something has been woven into the jacket itself. Tearing the hidden compartment open, my hand closes in on the prize.

"Shit." I hiss, nearly recoiling in disgust. A fingerbone with a length of thread crudely run through it, turning the macabre trophy into a sort of necklace. I'm strongly tempted to just throw it away but this trophy was clearly important to its original owner. Meaning there had to be some value to it I'm not seeing at the moment. Better to keep it with me then. Setting aside my disgust, I wear the grisly medallion under my shirt.

And that's that. The tartan blazer has yielded all its secrets to me. Time to get back to work. The smell of salt had become overwhelming, permeating the entire ruin. Seems like as the sun begins to rise, the smell gets worse.

Hurrying through the ruin, I make it to one of the more intact areas. The carpet isn't actually ruined in this corridor and the door to the auditorium remains standing. The roof hasn't been damaged either, keeping the worst of the damp out. A good place to take refuge in. Pushing the door open, I step into the musty dark auditorium, keeping my sleeve to my nose. The rows of empty seats facing a cold stage are all that greets me.

In the corner of my eye, I catch a subtle flitting motion. My senses scream a warning and I spin to meet the expected threat. An indistinct figure charges out from among the seats, swinging a long pole at me. I hurriedly summon my own soul weapons and my cesti deflect the incoming blow. Sparks fly and I'm momentarily blinded, causing me to involuntarily flinch. With my guard open, a strong hand grabs at my collar, trying to force me to the ground. At the same time, my leg is buffeted by a soft impact, as if a second person was trying to push me over.

There's a ripping sound as my shirt tears from the abuse. The hand readjusts its grip, seizing on the grim necklace, before throwing itself back with a cry of pain.

"Ah! It hurts, hurts so much." the figure groans as it retreats.

"Paul?" I would recognize that voice anywhere. And that must mean the second person pushing at my leg must be -

"Robbie?" Sara whispers as she eases off with her earnest but impotent assault.

"You almost gave us a heart attack, Robbie." Paul speaks up after collecting himself, dismissing his spirit weapon, "But we're happy to see you. Truly."

"Yeah me too." I reply. I can't see their faces in the darkness, though the tone of Paul's voice tells me those words are genuine. It had taken awhile but I had finally managed to get to my destination.

Where I rightfully belong.