“Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious.

Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything?”

— Deftones, Passenger

----------------------------------------

Terra adjusted her position in the truck’s passenger seat, the rumble of gravel beneath the tires vibrating through the frame. The headlights pierced the dense darkness ahead, but the encroaching Douglas firs that passed by the window seemed determined to swallow the light whole. To make matters more confusing, the sun was beginning to peek up over the eastern sky—a whole two hours earlier than it should have, a fact she found to be almost as unsettling as the situation itself. She caught herself fiddling with the fraying cuff of her jacket and stilled her hand.

Beside her, Ryan gripped the wheel with one hand while twisting the radio knob with the other, chasing signals that didn’t exist. Static hissed back at him.

“Remind me why we’re doing this before sunrise?” Terra asked, her voice sharp with irritation.

Ryan didn’t look at her, his attention focused on the road as it wound steeply upward. “Goose needed it done,” he said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She raised a brow. “Left it in my bed, with my sanity.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “Pre-dawn missions build character, you know.”

“They’re overrated,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “And so are you.”

The truck bounced over a rut, and Terra grabbed the door handle to steady herself. The firs pressed in closer, their branches arching overhead like skeletal hands. Familiar as the banter was, a knot of unease settled in her stomach. She glanced at Ryan, who wore the look he always did when he was chasing the next big thing—half excitement, half recklessness.

The air around her shifted, subtly at first. It pressed against her, heavy and invasive, until she couldn’t ignore it. Terra gripped the armrest, her breathing quickening. A faint hum seemed to vibrate in her chest, almost imperceptible but growing stronger.

“Ryan,” she started, her voice tight.

The world tilted.

The truck was gone. The forest was gone.

Instead, she stood amid chaos.

Flames consumed the familiar facade of Coronation Square, the inferno roaring high into the sky. Strange soldiers surged across the parking lot in gleaming black armor like polished obsidian, their movements swift and merciless. Terra’s breath hitched as she watched them cut down fleeing townspeople without hesitation.

The doors of the grocery store burst open, the interior was filled with bodies—lifeless, broken, discarded. The acrid stench of blood and ash filled her nose, though she knew it couldn’t be real.

Then she saw Lily.

Her cries were sharp, desperate. Her face battered, but it was undoubtedly her. She reached out in futility toward Terra as a laughing soldier dragged her away. Terra’s heart lurched. Her feet refused to move, as though rooted in the ground.

“No!” The word tore from her throat, raw and useless against the carnage.

The edges of the vision wavered, and then it shattered entirely.

Terra blinked, the forest snapping back into focus around her. The hum in her chest lingered for a moment before fading, and the sounds of the truck returned. Her chest heaved, and her trembling fingers clutched the armrest like it might anchor her to reality.

“Terra?” Ryan’s voice broke through the haze. She turned her head to find him staring at her, his expression tight with concern.

“You okay?” he pressed. “You just… froze.”

Her throat felt raw, but she forced herself to speak. “I’m fine.” The lie was thin and brittle, but she clung to it.

Ryan didn’t buy it. “You’re not fine. Your eyes—Terra, they were glowing. Bright green. Like neon green. What the hell just happened?”

Her stomach dropped. “They were?”

“Yeah.” His voice wavered between confusion and alarm. “I mean it, you were like a human glow stick.”

She hesitated, the vision replaying in her mind with haunting clarity. The soldiers, Lily, the fire… Her chest tightened, but she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

Ryan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Shapes emerged on the road ahead, silhouetted against the pale dawn light. Terra’s pulse quickened. “Watch out!” she blurted, her hand shooting toward the windshield.

Ryan’s attention snapped forward as he slammed on the brakes. Gravel sprayed beneath the tires, and the truck spun on the gravel road before lurching to a halt.

Ahead, four figures stood in the middle of the road.

They were silhouetted against the growing dawn, but even from the truck, Terra could make out details that sent a fresh wave of unease through her. Three of them carried swords—long, polished steel that gleamed faintly in the dim light. One of them, a woman with flowing golden hair, stepped forward, her hand raised in a gesture that wavered between greeting and warning.

Ryan’s hand hovered over the gearshift, tension coiling in his shoulders. He looked over to her. “You good?”

Terra’s eyes narrowed as she studied the group. “I’m… I’m fine, but those people…” She trailed off. Their clothing was strange—rugged yet ornate, with layers of leather and cloth that spoke of another time entirely.

Ryan turned his attention back to the figures. “What the hell are they doing in the middle of the road?” He opened the door and stepped outside.

Terra’s heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to stop him, to tell him not to go, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pushed her own door open, her mind a storm of questions and her gut warning her they were about to get answers she wasn’t ready for.

----------------------------------------

The metallic beast loomed in the clearing, its predatory stillness unnerving against the natural rhythm of the forest. Its glossy surface reflected the dappled sunrise, making it appear more alive than anything entirely inanimate should. The strangers who had emerged from it stood tensely, their strange clothing and wary expressions marking them as utterly foreign—not just to the Disputed Lands, but perhaps even the continent. From across the Belted Sea?

Nalya’s grip on her sword remained steady, though her thoughts churned. She had learned long ago to read intent in eyes and movements, and these strangers, while odd, did not seem immediately hostile. Still, this was unlike anything she had encountered. And she’d seen enough of the Pactlands’ horrors to know when something defied even those.

The dark-haired man—lean, sharp-eyed, with a nervous energy barely concealed beneath his calm exterior—raised his hands again, palms outward. “Look, we didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice laced with that same strange rhythm. “Are you guys okay?”

“Do we look startled to you?” Bayne’s voice cut through the clearing, sharp as his smirk. He leaned against a tree, casual as ever, though his hand rested near the hilt of his blade. “The better question is, what in the Maw are you doing here? And what is that thing?”

“Bayne.” Nalya’s voice was cold, her focus not shifting from the strangers. Aggression would yield nothing but chaos here, she realized. This needed to be handled with precision and care. She gave Bayne a sharp look. “Let me handle this.”

The man glanced at the red-haired girl beside him, who stood rigid, her green eyes darting between Nalya’s group and the forest beyond as if weighing their chances of escape. She didn’t move, but there was a tautness to her frame, a tension ready to spring.

“It’s a truck,” the man said carefully, gesturing to the beast behind him. “It’s... I’m sorry, do you not know what a truck is?”

A bark of laughter escaped Bayne. “Oh, lass, this is going to be fun.”

Nalya’s brow furrowed. Truck. The word was meaningless to her. “And it follows your command?”

“Well, yeah,” the man said, blinking at her as if she were the one speaking nonsense. “It’s not alive, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It moves,” Nalya countered. “It growls. It—”

“Is a construct?” The Terramancer’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like the jagged stones she commanded. Her pale green eyes fixed on the man, her suspicion plain. “If it’s not alive, what powers it? Your mantle?”

The man’s confusion seemed genuine. “What’s a mantle?”

Bayne snorted, the sound rich with derision. “And here I am thinking this couldn’t get more interesting.”

Ignoring him, Nalya studied the strangers. Their reactions—startled, hesitant, yet oddly resolute—didn’t feel like lies. But the absence of understanding in their words unnerved her. They spoke the Aegis Tongue, clearly, if a little strange. And yet they used different words. New words that she suspected that weren’t inscribed in the Lexicon. Words the High Magus Council were unlikely to appreciate. Furthermore, she had met those unskilled in magic before, even those untrained, but to not even know the of the mantling?

The Terramancer was less patient. With a flick of her wrist, a jagged stone rose from the earth to hover above her palm. “This,” she said, her tone flat. “Magic. The currents. You wield this—or something like it—to power your construct, yes?”

Both strangers stared at her, their faces shifting from disbelief to outright shock. The man took an involuntary step back, while the girl’s lips parted as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“How did you do that?” the girl asked finally, her voice quiet but firm. Her eyes flickered with something deeper, something raw. Recognition? Fear? Nalya couldn’t tell, but the sight unsettled her.

“How d’ya think she did it?” Bayne’s grin widened.

“Enough,” Nalya snapped, her sharp tone silencing Bayne’s amusement. She turned her attention back to the strangers. “You clearly don’t understand what you’ve stumbled into. But that makes two of us. If you truly don’t know where you are, then you need to explain where you came from.”

The man hesitated, then said cautiously, “Ladysmith. It’s a town. On... Vancouver Island?”

Vancouver Island. He phrased it as though he hoped they would understand, but the names meant nothing to her. However, the weight with which he said them struck a chord. He wasn’t lying—she could tell that much—but the truth was no less baffling.

“You’re not from here.” It wasn’t a question, though the declaration hung heavy in the air. “Not from the Disputed Lands. Not from any place touched by the currents.”

“No,” the girl said, her voice hardening. “We’re not.”

Nalya’s chest tightened. This was no simple chance meeting. These people—and the monstrous thing they rode in—were unlike anything the Pactlands had ever seen. And the crimson-haired girl... her uncles words gnawed once more in the back edges of her mind, a thread too tangled to fully grasp. I simply must have her for tea. There was something about her, a faint, unsettling recognition that Nalya couldn’t place.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“We need answers,” Nalya said firmly. “Where is this Ladysmith?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “Not far,” he said. He gestured down the road. “We’ve been cut off from… well, as weird as this sounds, I think we’ve been cut off from the rest of our world.” He craned his neck, looking to the polished granite surface near the slope they’d descended. “This… cut. It goes all around us. We were up here trying to find out if it extended everywhere.” He then pointed to the Azure Dream, which was now beginning to fade in the light of the rising sun. “And then there’s that… planet?”

“The Azure Dream?” Bayne asked. “You’ve not seen it before today?”

The man shook his head. “No. Outside of movies, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

More words she didn’t understand. She moved closer to the man, taking a more critical look at him. He was strange. The image on his shirt depicted four butterflies, resting on a decaying stump. There were two words on his shirt, also written in the letters of the Aegis Tongue. They were shaped differently, but she could read it clearly.

“Sleep Token,” she repeated. “What does this mean?”

The man looked down to his shirt. “It’s a… uhh. It’s a band. Like… you know, music? You… you have music, right?”

Bayne let out another sharp laugh. “Of course we have music, lad. We’re not beasts.”

“Right. Right. Sorry.”

“What is your name?” Nalya asked.

“Ryan,” he replied. He gestured toward the crimson-haired girl. “This is Terra.”

“Ryan,” Nalya repeated. She looked to the girl. “And Terra. And you are not alone? There are others? Like you?”

Ryan nodded.

“How many?”

“Hard to say,” he said. “Town’s population is about eight thousand people, but—”

“Eight thousand!” Bayne exclaimed. “Lad, you’re telling me there are eight thousand of you? Here? In the Disputed Lands?” He looked to Nalya, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Lady, if that’s true, this changes more than we know.”

Bayne was right. If Vector were to discover this—if they weren’t already aware—it would significantly change not just the balance of power within the Disputed Lands, but may spill out into the rest of the Pactlands itself. There were tens, if not hundreds of thousands of the Free Folk. But they were scattered across the lands in villages and camps of no more than a few hundred souls. Eight thousand people were approaching the size of a city.

“The light which brought you here, Ryan. What was it?”

Ryan and Terra exchanged a glance. “Well,” Ryan began. “We were kind of hoping you might be able to tell us about that because we have no idea.”

Nalya nodded. As she suspected, like the people of Stone’s Mouth, these were innocents caught up in the trappings of fate. “Ryan, Terra, my name is Nalya. Nalya dels Myssandra el Ruus.” She motioned to Bayne. “This is Bayne Dalon. You can consider him as something of a retainer.” She then turned towards Keltz. “And my most trusted Lieutenant, Keltz Wicket. We hail from a Kingdom far to the north called Halen.” She turned toward the Terramancer. “And this…” she trailed off. The girl never spoke her name.

“Ariella,” the girl replied. “My name is Ariella.”

“Kingdom?” Terra asked. “Like with a King?”

“That is what the word Kingdom implies, lass,” Bayne quipped.

Nalya ignored him. “Two months ago, the Empire of Vector began to occupy these lands, and I believe they may represent a profound threat to you and your people. A threat you must be prepared for, because if I’m right, they will not take kindly to your presence here.”

Ryan and Terra exchanged glances at each other. “We’re no threat to anyone,” Terra explained. “We’re just… we just want to survive, is all.”

“Survival is often the first step to war,” Nalya replied. “You say your town is not far. Will you escort us there, that we may see it for ourselves and inform your leaders?”

Ryan appeared to considered her words carefully. “It’s… uh… it’s just down the mountain,” he said. He looked to his construct—his truck. “I’ve got room for three inside. But one of you would have to ride in the bed.”

“I’m not getting in that thing,” Bayne insisted.

Nalya shot him a glare that told him she wouldn’t suffer him. “Then you can walk,” she said. “But we’re going with them either way.”

Ryan nodded, then opened up the side of his truck. As Bayne and Keltz moved forward to inspect its interior, Ariella lingered, her gaze fixed on the truck. She looked back at Nalya. “This is no simple accident,” she said quietly. “Whatever brought them here... it was deliberate.”

Nalya didn’t respond, though the words settled uncomfortably in her mind. She cast a glance at the crimson-haired girl. There was something in Terra’s stance—something coiled, elusive but insistent. Questions swirled unspoken, but one thing was certain.

The world had shifted. And Ladysmith was at its heart.

----------------------------------------

The camp lights in the council chamber struggled against the deep shadows, their flickering glow creating a jittering dance of light on the walls. Battery-powered lanterns and mismatched candles clustered in corners or perched on tables, like weary sentinels holding back the creeping gloom. Morning light seeped through the high windows, but it was a pale and sickly thing—strange in hue and unnervingly early, as though even the sun had decided to play tricks on them.

Was it even the same sun? Cale somehow doubted it. Alien moon, alien sun, alien… world, it seemed. He leaned against the wall near the door, one foot propped up behind him, the weight of the scene resting heavily on his shoulders. The mug of coffee in his hand was hot enough to warm his fingers but not scalding, suggesting it had been brewed only minutes before. Whoever had managed that in short order without electricity deserved some sort of medal.

He sipped slowly, letting the bitter taste anchor him. Around him, the chamber was an orchestra of chaos.

“You don’t get it,” Jimmy Coombs barked, his hands smeared with grease as he jabbed a finger in the air. “It wasn’t an EMP. If it was, none of the electronics would be working, right? No phones. No handhelds. But pacemakers? Gone.”

“I’m saying the light affected the body,” Elena Varga, the head Physician at the Acute Care Centre on Fourth Avenue countered. Her calm tone was just sharp enough to cut through Jimmy’s tirade. She crossed her arms, her lab coat stained and rumpled, a sign she’d been working without rest. “You’re assuming the same mechanism affected everything. What if the light was acting as a kind of biological disruptor—something that interfered with implanted devices but left simpler systems untouched?”

Jimmy threw his hands up. “Biological disruptor? What does that even mean? And why would it hit pacemakers but not disrupt a simple electrical circuit?”

Cale’s gaze flicked to Elena. She didn’t answer right away. He could see the tension in her jaw, the way she held herself just a little too still.

“Because the body isn’t a machine!” Elena snapped, her patience finally cracking. “Maybe it used us as a conductor or reacted to the metals—”

“You’re both wrong,” Maggie Wyse interrupted, her walking stick tapping sharply against the floor as she stepped forward. The First Nations Elder’s presence quieted the room like a spell, her tone calm but unyielding. “You’re arguing about how the rain falls when you should be building a shelter. Stop theorizing and start solving.”

Cale couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. Maggie had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. He’d seen it dozens of times before, and it never failed to impress him.

Goose Payne, leaning casually against the edge of the council table, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He looked like a man weighing his moment, his characteristic humor held in reserve as he watched the debate unfold. Boone, on the other hand, wasn’t waiting for anything. He stomped across the room, his boots heavy on the wood floor.

“Enough,” Boone barked. His voice cut through the air like a whip. “Maggie’s right, we’ve got bigger problems than guessing on what killed pacemakers. None of this changes the fact that we’re up to our necks in a situation no one understands.”

“You don’t understand it,” Jimmy shot back.

Boone stopped mid-step, fixing him with a glare that could’ve melted steel. “You want to try running things, Coombs? Be my guest. Let’s see how long it takes before you’re begging for someone with a badge to handle it.”

Cale shook his head, sipping his coffee again as the exchange continued. Boone’s temper had flared more than usual since the Blacklight, but who could blame him? The town was a pressure cooker with no relief valve, and Ladysmith’s residents were unraveling in real time. Scenes like the one he was watching were no doubt erupting all over town, and all Cale wanted to do right then was finish his coffee.

Amid the fraying tempers and overlapping arguments, Cale caught movement in the doorway. He turned his head slightly and spotted a somewhat familiar face standing there, his slim frame half-hidden by the shadows. He placed him almost immediately. He was a musician—and not a bad one by Cale’s estimation, but the kid’s neighbors would have disagreed with how often they’d called him out to tell them to keep it down.

Ryan cleared his throat, softly at first, then louder when no one noticed. “Uh, hey…”

No response. Jimmy and Elena were back at it, and Boone was busy scowling in Goose’s direction. Ryan looked around, briefly making eye contact with Cale, who shrugged in response.

“Hey!” he called out again, his voice cracking slightly but still loud enough to cut through the noise.

The room fell silent, dozens of eyes swiveling toward him. Cale watched as Ryan’s shoulders stiffened, clearly uncomfortable under the sudden attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ryan began, his voice steadying. “But, uh… Goose? I think there’s someone you need to meet.”

“Someone?” Goose asked, his tone light but cautious.

Ryan nodded, motioning for Goose to follow him. “Outside. You’ll want to see this.”

A ripple of unease moved through the room as people exchanged wary glances. “Is this going to be another alien thing?” someone muttered.

Goose straightened, stepping away from the table. “Lead the way, kid,” he said.

Cale decided he wasn’t staying put. He followed the growing crowd as they shuffled out after Ryan and Goose. The cool morning air hit him as they stepped outside, its sharpness a welcome contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the chamber.

Ryan led them to the parking lot up the hill just above City Hall, where four figures stood, bathed in the strange, fractured light of the sunrise. As they came into focus, Cale caught his breath. Their clothing was… off. Layered fabrics in muted earth tones, strange insignias stitched into sleeves, and weapons—actual swords—strapped to their sides.

One of them, a woman with golden hair braided neatly down her back, stepped forward. Her posture was regal, deliberate, and her gaze swept over the assembled townsfolk with an intensity that sent a chill up Cale’s spine. She stopped a few paces from Goose and, to his shock, dropped to one knee.

The townsfolk froze.

“My name is High Captain Nalya dels Myssandra el Ruus,” the woman said, her accent crisp and formal, yet distinctly foreign. “I come as an emissary from the Kingdom of Halen, and I seek an audience with your leader.”

Cale’s coffee felt cold in his hand as the words registered. Kingdom of Halen? Emissary? His mind scrambled for context, but none of it made sense. Even her voice—calm, clear, and poised—was entirely out of place in Ladysmith.

Goose scratched the back of his head, visibly thrown off balance. His eyes flickered toward Ryan, then back to the kneeling woman. “Well, uh… hi,” he said, his usual humor tinged with uncertainty. “I guess that’s me.”

Nalya rose smoothly, her movements precise. Up close, her sharp features and piercing blue eyes gave her an air of command. She studied Goose for a moment, then inclined her head slightly. “I am grateful. Your people’s presence here has caused great confusion for us, but I come not with hostility. Instead, I bring hope that we may... establish understanding.”

Her phrasing was careful, measured, as if she were testing the words. Behind her, the three figures exchanged subtle glances. The largest of them—a broad-shouldered man with a warrior’s posture—stood stiffly, his eyes darting between the vehicles and the infrastructure surrounding the parking lot. His expression was a mix of wariness and quiet confusion.

Goose, clearly still trying to process her words, spread his hands. “Look, uh, High Captain, right? That’s what you said?”

She nodded.

“Well, Captain, you’re saying you’re confused about us?” Goose let out a dry laugh. “Because, trust me, you’ve got nothing on how confused we are about… all of this. What’s the Kingdom of Halen, for starters? Where even is that?”

Nalya frowned faintly, her gaze sweeping over the gathered townsfolk and the unfamiliar surroundings. “The Kingdom of Halen lies far to the north, perhaps a week’s journey on foot.”

“Right. Yeah, can’t say as I’ve heard of it,” Goose said. “What I have heard of, though, is that big ol’ light show in the sky—the Blacklight, as we’ve been calling it. Any chance you’ve got an idea what that was about? Because we’ve been stuck scratching our heads since it showed up and dumped us here.”

Nalya’s composure faltered ever so slightly, her fingers twitching against the pommel of her sword. “I… do not know. The rift appeared in the sky without warning, a wound between our realms that threatens the balance of our world. We had hoped you might have answers.”

Goose blinked, his shoulders sagging as though some faint hope had been dashed. “So, you don’t know what it is, either. Great.” He rubbed his face with one hand and muttered, “Guess we’re both flying blind here.”

“Flying?” Nalya repeated, tilting her head in confusion.

“Never mind,” Goose said quickly. “Look, you came all this way. You said you’re here to, what, understand us? What do you mean by that?”

Before Nalya could answer, Ryan cleared his throat. “Uh, Goose,” he said nervously, “there’s more to this.”

Goose turned toward him, confusion now tinged with impatience. “More?”

Ryan motioned toward the group. “Ariella,” he said. “Can you… show them?”

The youngest of the newcomers, a slender woman with wavy chestnut hair, hesitated. Her pale green eyes darted between the townsfolk and Goose, as if seeking permission. At last, she stepped forward. The murmurs of the crowd swelled as she raised her hands, her expression taut with focus.

Then the ground trembled.

The asphalt underfoot rippled like water before splitting apart. A jagged spire of stone erupted from the parking lot with a deafening crack, shooting upward in a sleek, unnatural column. Gasps and cries of alarm erupted from the crowd.

“Jesus Christ,” someone whispered.

Cale’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes locked on the spire, his mind racing to grasp what he was seeing. The stone was impossibly smooth, its edges sharp as though freshly carved by tools. But there were no tools—only the girl’s hands.

His pulse quickened, the instincts he’d honed in law enforcement pushing him to act, though he had no idea what to do. It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t some theatrical stunt. It was… real.

Beside him, Boone cursed under his breath. “What the hell is this?” he muttered, his voice low but filled with tension.

Goose, for once, seemed at a loss for words. His eyes darted between the stone spire and Ariella, his usual levity replaced by a rare seriousness. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice steady. “That’s… a hell of a trick.”

“It is not a trick,” Nalya said sharply, stepping to Ariella’s side. “It is her mantle. One of many currents gifted to the magi by the Broken Choir.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, their unease palpable. Cale could feel the tension crackling in the air like a live wire. Magi? Broken Choir? Whatever it meant, it was clear the townsfolk didn’t like it. Fear was taking root.

Goose raised his hands, his voice cutting through the growing murmurs. “All right, let’s take it easy,” he said, his tone firm but calming. He glanced at Nalya. “Let’s get this discussion out of the open, yeah? Inside, where we can all talk without freaking each other out.”

Nalya studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

As the crowd began to disperse back toward City Hall, Cale lingered, his gaze shifted back to the spire one last time as others began to close around it, inspecting it. The rational part of his brain urged him to find an explanation. The rest of him, though, whispered a single, unsettling thought: We’re not in charge here anymore.