Val couldn’t see.

Drenched from head to toe, she struggled to catch anything past the wet hair plastered onto her forehead. Violent showers pelted her face from above, and the guild-issued cloak failed to drown out the moisture, leaving her two battle braids more than frizzed.

Her clothing stuck to her like a second skin, brutally peeled off every time a gust ripped through the dying forest of Storm’s Keep. The trees stood on end better than scarecrows amid the strong drafts, though they didn’t look much prettier. Eroded over time by the weather, all that remained were scored trunks and branchless boughs that seemed to have never bore a single leaf.

An outburst of light blinded Val for a brief instant, and she blinked rapidly at the sudden discomfort. She heard a thump that sounded a lot like someone losing their footing.

“Oh for fu—!”

An ear-shattering thunderclap rumbled, quite conveniently interrupting Caro’s complaint. She flinched, sprawled on the water-laden ground, ignoring the rain droplets catching onto her curls and dripping onto her armour. Val outstretched a hand and helped her up, twisting behind to glance at Otis. “Where’s this waypoint already?”

“From what I’m seeing, we’re thirty minutes out,” Otis hollered over the storm, a couple of paces behind the vanguards. “We’re coming up on the bridge soon!”

They came across a river sooner, and the fast-flowing water alone gave Val pause. The rapids crashed into rocks so harshly, a few of them chipped. Stranger, though, was the steel shafts jutting out of the cavity, odd in their placement, odder in their stillness amid such brute force.

After what felt like an eternity, Val glimpsed a stone-hewn bridge through the rainfall. A few let loose relieved sighs and one in particular hooted, causing a crackle of amusement to underline the exhaustion soaking each and every one of their bones. Val’s eyes flickered to the corner of her vision, making sure to note the place’s key attributes and memorizing the landscape.

Since the structure spanned the gap, bridging the border between the waypoint and the woods, she considered it as critical as the place they planned to settle in. More so, the water it hovered over were uncrossable by the greatest measures. The mini-map thankfully unveiled the mystery behind the metal rods—lightning rods, according to what she saw.

In a place as lightning-prone as Storm’s Keep, guaranteeing security against the weather seemed almost obvious. That didn’t make it solely critical—it was paramount.

> Fun fact, Wielder!

A notification slashed through her thoughts. Val pushed the message aside in favour of noting down the second bridge not too distant from her current location—although, much narrower—when Aster went and expanded on the fact anyways.

> Garrison's Hold is a famous bridge! Aether creatures have tried to break it down, to no avail. Legends denote this fact to an unknown power supply.

“I thought you couldn’t use any information I, myself, didn’t know,” Val muttered.

> Correct. Wielder-bound Encyclopedia is in effect.

Which means I’m right, Val mused, trudging behind Caro’s lead. She took the time to rest an arm on the guardrail, admiring the thrilling beauty found in such a difficult place. The pitter-patter of the rain, the permanent dark-grey sky, the white froth coating the turbulent river—you could only find sights like these in a rift. Which also means, Val continued on internally, I’ve seen that fact before.

As usual, Kane didn’t dare let his squad leave without his notorious debrief. The inch-thick file he summoned seconds after he lifted their ban wasn’t for him. No doubt she read it somewhere off his digital presentation, or the personal copies he dismissed them with.

“What’s this power supply, Aster?” she asked the artifact, adding the tool’s name in order to guarantee a response.

> Exact answer denied. Rumours imply an energy crystal at work. Location and/or confirmation cannot be given.

A response might be promised, but making it satisfactory wasn’t part of the deal. Good enough, I suppose. She deemed it better than the few answers she’d gotten for the millions of questions swarming her head. Val learned, however, to take it one at a time. One step at a time. One hardship dealt with at a time. One aether strand at a time. A marathon, not a sprint.

Past the bridge, a group of adventurers were kind enough to clear a trail ahead, guiding them toward a wall of warbling, never-ending blue. Is that a—

“A weather ward?” Otis wondered, and Val exhaled out of both nostalgia and relief. Once used as a guard against the snow during the Tripartite Trial, she now saw it in Storm’s Keep, blocking the winds and precipitation. A stone arch marked the trail’s end, and also the waypoint’s entrance, recognizable runes inscribed on every block. Notify. Close. Strengthen, three read.

“We’re here!” Jesal confirmed from behind. “Remember everyone. Keep your weapons down. The gatekeepers have it rough guarding a place with no defence measures. Let’s not make their lives any harder.”

Caro threw him a thumbs-up without turning around, as peeved with the weather as she often was with a chatty gamer online. Val followed after the Striker’s long-limbed stature through the barrier, keeping a cautious hand on her hilt.

Silence greeted her.

In the absence of the roaring skies and bright flashes, a calm forest emerged. Sure, walkways have been cleared, pillared smoke rose from the various campfires set up and pop-up stores bordered the visible settlement. In between, though, towering oaks stretched for the dome above, branches lush and full. Hammer Squad shuffled out into a dry clearing, transforming the dust underneath into a muddy mixture.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Badges,” a gruff voice demanded. Twisting her neck to the left, Val faced an ancient-looking Striker. A speckled beard framed his frowning lips, and a hooded poncho obscured all except the two sheathed swords peeking over his shoulders. They aren’t the only ones peeking. She picked up on the subtle interest brewing amongst the adventurers nearby, lounging on whatever rocks they could find.

Obliging to the request, Val used the time to scan the crowd. There were ways to tell mages apart. Anchors kept their heads on a swivel, while Supports kept their heads high, and so on and so forth. Nowadays, she settled to activate Vague View to make her life easier and use her time wiser.

Elemental traces told more about someone through an aura’s quirks rather than colour. Energy flared out of Supports like a torch, as if ready to be unleashed in a massive spell. For Bulwarks, the hues condensed into a firm outline, solid and heavy.

She pinpointed a fire Support in the forefront, talking to a buddy, and outright winced at how pale the crimson flaring off his body appeared. He’s got lots of work ahead of him. In past weeks, she figured out that the transparency of elemental trances denoted mages’ elemental affinity, and the spectrum available to Novices were… a little on the low side. Val witnessed only two types: near-invisible or translucent.

Once the gatekeeper gave them the all-clear, they didn't delay for one second.

“I need a shower, I need food, and I need…” Caro’s lists of necessities trailed off as her gaze latched onto something—Val couldn’t tell—into the crowd. Interested in whatever actually shocked the loud Striker into silence, the rest of the squad followed her gaze. Val easily caught sight of a teal colour amid hundreds and, upon further inspection, let out a silent gasp.

“My word,” Caro muttered, and soon her silent huff morphed into a disbelieving chuckle. “Val, are you seeing what I’m seeing? That’s Williams, no?”

Staring into the sleek Erydian frozen in the hectic roads like her, dazed, she nodded. “Mike, you mean.”

“Same difference.”

“So…” Jesal asked as the old friend—or, what Val would’ve called an apparition if not for having her teammates confirm his existence—waded through the crowd. “Is he Mike or Williams?”

Noting the identical surprise in the Erydian’s expression—happy surprise—Val let a small smile slip. “He’s a friend.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Nightingale pointed out, frowning. “How do we address him?”

“Go with the flow,” Otis offered, making headway in the bustling pathways. More than a head over the sea of adventures, many gave him space without question, and he easily sifted through the traffic to find an outdoor food court. Several chatted over packaged meals in the rock-formed seats available, slipping by the aisles to get to one place or the other.

“What flow,” the Hunter spat. “A conversation is a practiced exchange.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Caro snapped. “Leave your uppity self behind for once.”

“He’s here,” Lenson said, and the bickering vanished so quickly, Val might’ve believed it a mistake.

Dodging a large throng headed for an open grill, Mike stopped a meter away and dipped his chin, his cold grey irises scratching off her glazed green. “Val. I thought it was you.”

She deactivated Vague View, glad he returned her smile with one of his own. He sported a white cloak that seemed too short for an Anchor, yet too long for a Hunter, his dark hair swept to the side. “I must admit, though. It was Caro’s red hair that caught my attention.”

“Of course it was,” Caro grinned and flicked her curls out of her face. “I’ve gotta re-dye it soon.”

“Dyed or not, I am glad to see you two,” he said. “Well—” he shot a look at Caro “—partially.”

The magma mage rolled her eyes.

“Thanks.” Val gave him a soft punch on the shoulder. “Glad to be near home, even if it's for a little while.”

“So,” Caro’s gaze flickered to her teammates. “Do you want a quick introduction?”

“Let’s do it someplace a bit quieter,” he replied, not waiting for confirmation before leading the way.

By now, she realized the waypoint acted as a place to gather and disperse rather than a place to stay and sleep. A bus stop, if you will.

Pathways were designed to work effectively exclusively, losing out on the charms Darkshaft’s camp held in the glowing trees and the esoteric carriages. Even still, Val glimpsed an empty square through the gaps in the crowd, elevated by half a meter. No one dared step into it like the moment they touched the battleground, someone would step up immediately for a challenge.

Second by second, Val bumped against fewer shoulders and shouldered past scarcely anyone. Her gaze roamed the area, and she failed to mask her frown. Whispers began first, then came the badly-hidden glances, and finally, the extra breathing room none of them asked for. She would’ve squirmed in the midst of it all if not for being so used to the same kind of treatment. This time around, she didn’t detect disgust, pity or disdain.

Reverence. In the eyes glossing over the navy-blue cloak and the tree woven between her shoulder blades, she detected reverence.

“Mike! There you are,” a shrill voice cut through the sudden quiet against the whiplash of sighting yet another old face. Val physically recoiled, muscles straining in her neck as she whipped toward the sound. Hammer Squad stopped a few steps ahead, belatedly noticing that one of their members ceased any and all movement.

“Valory…?” Nightingale said her name—her given name, Val would realize tomorrow—as a question, the first to notice her hand tremor. “Are you coming?”

Damn it. Val knew her past would catch up to her. Here, in the Second Halo already marked by her parents, she knew it better than anyone. The more she heard about the old rumour, the more she felt it start to circle her every move, she understood it was just a matter of time before it resurfaced. I’m the one that came back here. I told myself there was always a chance of this happening, but still…

Something about rifts called to her—about adventuring, in general. She grew up, after all, with parents as adventurers. The best thing about it wasn’t the thrilling bedtime stories or the extra help in sparring she frequently asked for. It was the iron-strong bond held within a squad, and it bled into Val’s life, resulting in extra aunts, extra uncles, and extra friends.

Those connections split in a matter of days when people remained dead set on blaming Dad for the misfortune that befell the six families that day.

Val had spent months burying the reality and adjusting to a jarring life without her parents in the picture. Her efforts disintegrated in moments as Leah Versetti, daughter of Dad’s second-in-command, pushed her way past the bodies.

She didn’t need up to three seconds to make Leah out in the crowd, not when there was a time the pair were inseparable. So much years passed in a blur, she often forgot that she once called Dad’s entire squad family. In the end, most moved to Nocelle City after the event and never looked back. Hurting and grieving and young, Val decided it all worked in her favour. Until today.