I spent the next two weeks in hospital, healing the old-fashioned way. My first foray into the strange space beyond the ripples hadn’t come without cost, as I had torn some of my stitches, waking up with a blood-soaked bed the next morning. Trevor made two more brief visits to check on me, explaining he was there to see if I had any new information, but I felt that each time he grew more suspicious that I was concealing something. My answers remained the same, I hoped, but he never contradicted what I said; he simply noted my responses in his notebook before leaving.
Grandfather had made a rare second trip to London within the same calendar year, spending a day with me in the hospital now that I was awake again. Sitting there quietly, I watched him carve intricate runes into the crossguard someone had paid the extortionate fee to commission him directly. We hadn’t exchanged many words, but I liked the silence as I lay there, attentive to his work; it reminded me of the times I would sit in his workshop after school.
He had had a minor disagreement with Mum in the hallway when they believed I was asleep, hoping to have me looked after by the guild medical staff at home, but I had turned it down. I didn’t want to go home, at least not yet. Each night, when I had a few hours to myself, I ventured into the strange place beyond the ripple, seeking my saviour or perhaps another clue. Leaving notes on the ground each night, they remained untouched the following morning when I returned to check.
Just after a month of being stuck in the hospital, half of which I spent asleep, I was finally wheeled out of the front door into the fresh air outside. I remained unsteady on my feet, unable to conceal the grimace on my face whenever I moved, as the skin on my back stretched and tugged beneath the dressing. Unable to return to my own apartment due to Mum’s insistence, I was taken to her townhouse and settled into my old bedroom.
Every night, I continued to check the area beyond the ripples for signs of activity, but there was never any trace of a visitor, even after leaving several cameras to record in every direction. Searching online for information about my experience, I found nothing but conspiracy theories and fabricated stories. I came across a news article covering my incident, but it was lacking in details, citing the Ministry investigation, and I was surprised to discover a photo of the nine of us posing together before one of our other raids.
Growing bored of being cooped up at home all day, I begged and pleaded with Mum to let me out of the house. I wanted to go to the Isle and begin searching for clues about what had happened to me. After three nights of begging over dinner, she finally relented with a heavy sigh.
As our driver held the car door open, I stepped out, hiding a grimace as I craned my neck to look up at the tall glass-walled building that housed the Ministry of Defence and Arcane Matters. Towering over eighty-five floors, it would have dominated the skyline of pre-Fracture London, but now it stood amidst numerous other tall buildings that had emerged as the city expanded upwards, accommodating those who sought safety behind the new defensive walls. My own apartment was on the sixtieth floor of a building further down the road, visible in the distance. As I felt my mum's arm loop through mine, the two of us joined the throng heading into the building while I carried a bouquet of flowers.
Descending one floor, we entered the Hall of Heroes that had been constructed. Whenever a guild or raid team suffered horrific losses in their attempt to clear a rift, a small obelisk was erected in their memory. Walking past other mourners, I followed Mum as she guided me towards the one thing I had dreaded witnessing for myself. Choking back tears, I placed the bouquet in front of the obelisk bearing the names of my friends and buried my face in my knees as I squatted there. Feeling Mum’s hand rubbing my shoulders, I looked at Josie’s name with a sense of emptiness as my best friend's death finally sank in. My name was listed at the bottom as the sole survivor, a stigma not many could escape, as there was always the lingering doubt about whether I had abandoned everyone else and left them to die.
After spending a few more minutes in quiet contemplation, reminiscing about our experiences inside and outside the dungeons, I slowly stood back up, my aching body groaning and one of my knees popping loudly. Around the room, several memorial staff members wandered through the rows, clearing away withered flowers left by other mourners, while a team of construction workers was in the midst of installing over a dozen additional obelisks—a chilling reminder of how perilous our job could be. It was eye-opening to witness just how many needed to be installed, as numerous other teams had suffered in the past few days. I wondered if things were changing for the worse once more. Had my accident marked the beginning of this change, their deaths nothing more than a statistic rather than a tragedy?
Having arrived at a sense of closure, we moved towards the back of the large room and found the obelisk from Dad’s team. There were over thirty names carved into it, with eight others resting at the bottom. It had been the guild’s greatest failure, a black stain on its almost impeccable history. Of the eight who managed to survive, five had been forced to retire from fighting, while some remained with the guild in other positions.
“Come on, sweetie, let’s go,” Mum said at last, wiping away a tear as she turned to hug me and led me by the hand briskly away from Dad’s obelisk.
Descending once more, we delved deeper into the basement of the Ministry, where a massive customs and border control facility had been constructed around the rift that led to the Isle. Anyone could freely enter and leave, connecting to nearly thirty major cities worldwide. I have always wondered how it was brought here, as the rift had initially opened on the street outside, only to change suddenly one day after this place was built. The Ministry refused to explain why they had constructed it, conspiracy theories abound, and other governments attempting to establish their own, but never succeeding beyond the original thirty.
As I went through security, they checked me for weapons and illegal items since I didn’t have clearance to bring anything like that in or out. Mum was different; she carried her obsidian staff slung over her shoulders and had permission to bring whatever she wished due to her rank and privileges. I had often used what had once been a small space to sneak a few pilfered mana stones to sell on the black market for extra spending money. I’m certain Grandfather knew, but he never mentioned it, and I always limited it to a modest amount.
Stepping through the rift onto the Isle, I welcomed the warm sensation of the sun as it kissed my face. It had been raining for the past several weeks in London, and I was pleased to feel its presence once more, even if it was artificial. The sun never set here; it slowly moved around the dome that surrounded and protected the Isle from the outside, impenetrable to almost everything except air and water. Unable to stand still, we hurried to distance ourselves from the dais where all of the rifts were, joining the throng of people rushing to get clear.
A few hundred thousand people lived here, in a city built around three main structures that dominated the landscape. Standing sentinel, a tall, dark tower rose on the southern side of the Isle. Arches and pillars were intricately carved into its sides, yet it appeared to be hewn from a single solid rock, with not a single door or window revealing the interior. Those who approached it, seeking to test themselves in the trials, placed their hands on the base and vanished, returning only when they had reached their limit. The other two major structures that dominated the landscape were the vast Library, which contained all knowledge pertaining to monsters and magic, and the Academy. I had spent nearly six years attending the Academy, with Mum and Grandfather using their influence to secure me a place there, despite my nearly non-existent mana and strength.
Looking to my left at the towering obelisk that stood sentinel over the Isle, I knocked into something solid and stumbled backwards. Rubbing my shoulder, I felt a chill as I realised I had collided with the back of a Caretaker. They had been here ever since the first people came through the rifts that opened, serving as the Isle’s protectors, breaking up fights and removing anyone who brazenly tried to assert their influence. I felt a cold fear as the white-robed figure turned, its blank mask staring at me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping away. I flinched as it raised its arm, placing a hand on my shoulder, gently nodding before turning to its partner, and they began to walk away.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
The crowd parted as they advanced, no one wishing to interfere with their passage, fearing the dreadful retribution that could ensue. The strongest warriors had once attempted to fight them, believing they were yet another monster to be subdued, but they had instead been humiliated, their weapons crushed and discarded uselessly, and the shamed warriors exiled from the Isle. Whenever one of them attempted to return, a Caretaker simply obstructed their path, physically dragging them back if they resisted leaving.
“You all right?” Mum asked, turning me around to look at her with mild panic. Looking over my shoulder, I glanced at the two Caretakers who were walking away, both of whom had been staring. But upon seeing my gaze, they whipped their heads around as though embarrassed at being caught.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shivered, attempting to shake off the peculiar sensation I was experiencing. “I’m going to head to the Library; I’ll meet you later.”
She looked at me with a hint of suspicion, then eventually nodded and gently gave me a hug. “Alright, stay safe, I’ll see you tonight. Try not to be late for dinner, I shouldn’t be too long with my students.”
Pulling myself from her arms, I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and joined the rest of the crowd making their way down the central avenue that led to the heart of the city on the Isle. There were several hundred thousand who called the Isle their home, and it was always bustling, a place that never slept. Confident that I had evaded her gaze, I slipped into one of the side streets, following it halfway across the city as I searched for my usual back alley stone merchant.
Standing outside the grimy windows, it was difficult to see inside, but I could at least tell that it was empty, as it usually was. I had rarely, if ever, seen another customer within, although I had heard conversations in the back room. As I opened the door, a bell jingled, announcing my arrival, and his beady eyes shot up as he scrutinised me with his customary glare. Store owners typically welcomed their customers, attempting to extract as much of their money as possible, but I felt as if he despised anyone daring to intrude, wishing to rid himself of them as swiftly as possible.
“It’s you,” he wheezed, lowering his head as if resuming his attention to the stone he was polishing and admiring before him, yet I could still sense his gaze upon me. “My rates have changed—forty percent; take it or leave it,” he sneered.
Ignoring him, I began to examine some of the stones he had arranged on the shelves for display. The prices were nearly extortionate, reflecting the cost of anonymity, as he didn’t record the details of who sold them like other merchants did. Letting my fingers glide across a few, they gleamed like the one around my neck, tucked beneath my jacket. As I picked one up, I felt as if an intelligence was watching me, judging me from within the stone. On the counter beside him, several medium-grade stones rested in small cradles, even more exorbitant price tags dangling from them.
Reluctantly approaching him while he watched me with suspicion, I examined one of them, feeling a deeper connection to what seemed to be concealed within. There was a soft growl in my mind as if it were trying to communicate with me, and I dropped it suddenly as he gasped, snatched it from where I had let it fall, and carefully put it back.
“What do you want? Where is the merchandise you want to sell?” he hissed at me, putting away the stone he had been meticulously polishing while observing me.
“I haven’t got anything this time,” I replied defiantly, turning to face him once more. Glancing back at the medium-grade stones, I paused for a moment. “Do you have any high grades?”
Astonishingly, his eyes narrowed even further as he stared at me. “Why? Are you planning to kill me for it as well? Am I simply your next target?”
“What drugs are you taking?” I shouted at him angrily. “You know what, I’m finished, bugger off.”
Turning angrily, I stomped across the floor and slammed the door open, causing it to hit the bell and nearly knock it off as it jingled loudly. “Wait!” I heard from behind me, and I stopped where I stood. “I may have something.”
Closing the door, I saw him disappearing into the back room behind the dirty curtain that concealed it, accompanied by the sound of drawers opening and closing. Returning to the counter he had been sitting behind, I stood there, examining the medium grades once more and picked another one up.
Instead of growling, I heard faint screeches emanating from it that reminded me of a goblin. Concealing the disquiet I felt, I placed it back in its cradle as the merchant returned and glared at me while I refocused on him. He placed a box down with a heavy thud on the counter, and I noticed some crude runes illuminate before a loud click sounded and he opened it, pulling out a large stone that shone with greater luminance than the other stones I had inspected.
“You’re lucky; I only received it a few hours ago,” he wheezed, gazing at it as if it were his pride and joy.
As he reached out to handle it, he glared at me before slowly extending his hand and gently placing it into my grasp. I tried not to shiver as his long yellow fingernails brushed against my skin. The moment it touched me, I could feel the presence within the stone, shouting incoherently, but I recognised it as a goblin without a doubt. The only goblins possessing mana stones of this grade were shamans and chiefs, and judging by the chanting, it was undeniably a shaman—a powerful and dangerous monster mage.
A lightning bolt of pain shot up my arm, forcing me to drop the stone with a heavy clunk on the countertop. On the bottom, I noticed a large crack running up the side of the stone, and it seemed as though a blue mist was seeping out— a damaged crystal, crudely extracted by the collector, or perhaps the heart had been harmed when it was killed and the crystal formed. I wasn’t sure what I desired from this as I stood there, but I was intrigued to find that I could seemingly feel their presence. If I could hear them, perhaps I could converse with them, but I would need something less deranged than a damaged crystal.
“That one is splintered,” I said, pointing to it, and he looked as though I had stabbed him in the heart. “How long do you think it would take to find one that is undamaged?”
Hurriedly replacing the stone in the box, he resumed glaring at me as if his face knew no emotions but distrust. “What do you mean undamaged? This is a perfectly fine mana stone of the highest grade.”
Clenching my fist, I heard one of my knuckles crack as I pulled out my wallet and slammed my licence down on the counter for him to see. “I want a high grade; stop trying to sell me rubbish.”
Upon seeing my name and the logo of the Rune Hunters emblazoned on my licence, he swept the box containing the mana stone onto the floor behind him as if it were suddenly worthless and scrutinised my licence. “Oh, a Whittaker. What brings a member of such an illustrious family to my humble abode? Does your grandfather know that you have been stealing from him?” he wheezed, sliding my licence back towards me.
“I wouldn’t say it’s stealing," I growled as he visibly recoiled at my voice. “High grade. Can you get one?”
Pausing for a moment, he leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin in contemplation. “Three months,” he finally said before glancing back at the box he had sent tumbling to the floor. “No, two months.” Holding up three, he dropped one and then crossed his arms with an insincere sneer.
“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll be back.”
Walking away, I stood in the alley and glanced back, seeing him clutching the box close to his chest as if cradling a baby. This nameless alley housed several other less than reputable merchants and had an infamous reputation, but I pulled my hood up and began walking back towards the main road.
Towards the end of the alley, I found two Caretakers huddled together, and as I drew nearer, they moved from where they had been standing and walked off. I hesitated as I watched them depart, wondering if one of them was the person I had accidentally bumped into earlier.
As I joined the throng moving towards the Spire, I noticed a larger number of Caretakers bustling about. While it was not uncommon to see a pair on patrol, upon entering the main plaza around the Spire, I realised there were dozens of them either moving about or standing guard at the corners of buildings, scanning the crowd. Those attempting the Trials continued to approach the Spire, disappearing in a brief flash of light, while others stumbled out from another flash when they emerged. The atmosphere of the Isle felt no different than usual, but the noticeable increase in their numbers was certainly apparent. Across the plaza, I spotted the main entrance to the Library and began to weave through the crowd to reach it.