Val awoke to the ruckus of a tent being dragged open. Silann stood by the entrance, lips pursed together in an attempt to hold back a smile. Amusement danced in the Support's green eyes, imploring Val to search for the cause. One look around the room and Val was in the same boat.
Kylee fell asleep on her left shoulder, Caro doing the same on the right of the pillow. Jesal leaned on the bed frame on the floor, his head resting on Caro’s lap. Otis mirrored him, shoulder-to-shoulder, although his back was ramrod straight against the frame, his straw hat—Val didn’t have the energy to begin to compute how it was here in the rift—covering his face. Ekon was all the way at the feet of the bed, his feet just touching Otis’ knees. This was what Val was trying to protect, a warm fuzziness she couldn’t particularly name taking residence inside.
Silann huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll come by later,” was all she said before slipping out. Before long, Val dozed off without remembering when, woken up some time later by Caro’s cackling.
“You snooze, you lose, Gale!”
“Luck,” Val heard the Hunter fire back as she groggily rubbed at her eyes.
“I don’t know man,” Jesal chuckled. “That’s her fourth straight win in a row.”
“It was close,” Otis offered, always the ever-placating force amongst them.
Kylee snorted, as if denying his claim with no words. The entire squad sat in a circle on the floor not too far away, a hand of cards in their hands and a lot more on the floor in an organized mess. They seemed to have just wrapped up a round, Val guessed, as she swung her legs off the bed. “Yeah I didn’t even see it but, if I had to guess, Caro wiped the floor with you guys.”
“Val!” Caro didn’t waste time in tackling her fellow Striker in a hug. “You’re awake!”
“Thanks to somebody,” Ekon grumbled.
Caro simply stuck her tongue out in answer, saving her words for Val instead. “That’s it. You’ve used your yearly quota of giving Carielle Hayes a heart attack.”
“It’s September though,” Val got out through the tight embrace, unable to stop her smile.
“Exactly my point.”
“You still have one more in my books,” Jesal added, also standing up to give her a one-armed hug. “Please don’t use it.”
“She won’t be.” Kylee was the one to respond. “Not on my watch.”
The two shared a secret, small smile. Though no one besides them could understand the distinct meaning behind her statement, just the sight of either of them smiling—and especially so in Kylee’s case—had the squad breaking their own secret truce.
“Alright, alright,” Caro began, looking at Kylee with somewhat wide eyes. “I know we agreed to wait until after Val rested up a bit more, but I need to know like now. What in the heck happened to you two? You guys were the last pairing I had in my mind ending up in trouble.”
And so, with a quick glance at Kylee, Val dived into all of it. The mysterious cloud of blue, the molting elemental, the broken mask—everything. It was something to see a look of horror slowly dawn on each of their faces as the retelling continued. They too explained how they scurried about finding them after Ekon found her Metal Spike, as well as how Kylee came to with a modicum of help whereas Val needed the dedicated work of a healer due to the poison.
Otis had carried her over to the primary rendezvous point, which was where she was for three days. As they all arrived toward the end of their stories, she had to drown the strong urge to ask both Jesal and Kylee about a certain name. Before her curiosity could win out, however, a familiar face popped into the tent’s opening.
Silann wasn’t lying about returning, and she brought news with her. “The Expedition Lead is calling for all squad leaders. Jes, Val, let’s go.”
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The ‘new’ Command Centre wasn’t as glamorous as the previous one, if she could even call the original one that. It wasn’t large and there was no table nor carpet—just four long blocks of solid, raised earth someone deemed good enough to act as benches. So, the pair followed the lead of other captains rolling in and plopped at the second-most rear one. Val was happy to say she felt only a bit of the shards digging at her lungs, and none of the numbness in her limbs.
Silann sat beside her cousin, and a broad shadow covered the trio before Rick took his seat beside his Vice-Captain. Versetti and her orange-coloured teammate, Grayson, walked in, one of the last few to join the gathering crew. They offered a nod, which was returned by not only Val and Jesal, but also Rick and Silann. They’d been a pod, and they only survived their ordeal because of every one of them. The least they could all give was respect, especially after Versetti’s half-apology. Half because she won’t tell me what she saw, Val mused with some frustration.
Two crisp claps settled the withdrawn talking amongst the captains, drawing their attention to the experienced Bulwark, Pierce Whitten. “Welcome back, everyone! I am happy to say that we’ve lost no captains or squadmates in our endeavour to clear Bloom’s Essence. Please, if you will, give yourself a round of applause.”
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And they all did just that, granting those in the vicinity easy smiles, some even going so far as to say “congratulations” and “glad you made it.” Val would’ve thought it unnecessary fanfare if not for almost having missed this meeting herself.
“Okay!” The Expedition Lead said, standing akimbo. “I’ll keep this as brief as possible. The plan was well-made, but it wouldn’t have worked without your pristine execution. Deliver my thanks to your squads. However, our work is not done yet.”
He dropped a metal disk onto the floor in front of himself and the gathered adventurers, walking around to stand in front of the projected IBR-screen that sprouted from out of the device. The monotone map of the rift had twenty darkened paths, with the convergence—where all paths met up—the only spot left in a lighter shade. “We’ve dealt with all the aether creatures on our way here, so ideally we should only have the Core Curator—the big bad, as I like to call them—left to fight.”
“But that’s not quite the case…” Val muttered, a hand on her chin.
“Exactly!” Whitten pretty much shouted in agreement, and Val started, raising an eyebrow in turn. That’s twice now, she thought, and the spattering chuckles in the group told her she wasn’t the only one who noted it.
“As you’ve all noticed, Bloom’s Essence is… off.” His eyes once again met Val’s —he must’ve heard about Hammer Squad's predicaments—before travelling to a few other particular adventurers, who likely also had their own share of run-ins. “Certain creatures are not supposed to exist here. Creatures are lingering in the very walls. This presents us with a special problem, especially with the Core Curator.”
“Because of its Cry,” Val said, her voice carrying over the tent intentionally this time around. “It’ll rally the beasts in this rift at a major threat, which is why we cleared every aether creature in sight to avoid that. But if there are surprises in every corner…?”
Val let her question hang, half because it answered itself, half as a challenge to Whitten. She was poked and prodded a bit too much in the past few days, it was time she did the same. The grin on his face told her that she failed at the latter, as he gladly took her up on it. “Then we’ll meet them at the convergence, and will likely not win. Yes. Which is why this final fight requires much planning. What would you propose?”
Val didn’t miss Silann’s wicked smirk as the Expedition Lead threw her straight into the fire. Forty pairs of eyes turned to face her, curious. No one was a novice at their job here—well, not too much of one. If the CAU brought them here, there must’ve been a correct answer here, even as the forty-plus brains here worked to come up with their individuals answers.
A Cry was an aether creature’s call for help, where the rift’s residents for once ally themselves to protect the core—their crown jewel. Adventures witnessed a Cry most particularly from a Core Curator, and there remained a fifty-fifty ratio for it to have one. It was a powerful, tide-changing move. Except, as she’d previously voiced, they only used it when faced with a perceived powerful threat. If it wasn’t threatened, it wouldn’t use its Cry, and they wouldn’t have the whole proceeding mess. So, they’d just have to…
“Blitz it,” Val said after a beat. “You haven’t told us what the Core Curator is, but if we can dispose of it quick enough to not give it a chance to utilize its Cry, well…” she scratched at the back of her head, her sudden beat of confidence faltering. “It would avoid the problem?”
There was a brief pause before Pierce Whitten nodded with a—if Val saw correctly—proud smile? “It would. The remaining, dormant aether creatures would die off soon after we remove the core, and first the Core Curator. Which is why we’ll need to have another meeting with all the Supports and adventurers capable of conjuration. This will be done in two major groups. The first will be responsible for hitting the Core Curator with every offensive attack in the books, as well as having Anchors keeping it moving. The second group is responsible for watching the twenty entrances in case something appears.”
Whitten went on to elaborate as far as he was willing to go, stating that he would request another meeting shortly for each of the two separate teams. “Dismissed!” he called, and at that, the forty captains rose to their feet and began filing out. “Except you, Efron. Hang back a bit.”
Val blinked at her name, turning around to find the Expedition Lead scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Yes, sir,” she answered, ignoring the piercing stares even as she turned to Jesal. “I’ll meet you in a sec.”
“Sure thing,” he said, joining Silann and Rick at the exit, where the pair waited for them. He must’ve relayed her message as the three, with a few words from him, left the Command Centre not too long after.
Only when silence remained did Whitten finally speak. “I held you back because I would like to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Val parroted, unable to keep her shock inside. The Expedition Lead. Apologizing to her. She guessed that would be another thing crossed off her imaginary list of impossible things to accomplish, right next to meeting—and refusing—an Archon.
“I’ve been pulling your leg in these meetings far too much and, I must admit, it was due to habit.”
Habit? This time, Val managed to keep her rhetorical question to herself.
“I knew your father, worked alongside Raven actually,” he grinned warmly at the name, defusing the cold that grew in Val’s chest. It had been a long, long time since she’d heard anyone say his name with even a modicum of positivity.
“Howcome—?”
“You’ve never met me?” Whitten finished. “This was before he met your mother. Before he formed his squad actually, saints rest their souls.” He allowed a moment of silence for the six departed adventurers. “Guilds sometimes refer adventurers directly to an employer, and the employer makes the temporary teams. I used to drift around, he used to drift around, and we partnered up more times than not during those days.”
“I… I didn’t know,” Val whispered.
“Figured,” was his response. “He was a Wind Striker, and I’m also a wind mage, even if I’m a Bulwark. We got along well, and I would’ve attended his funeral if I wasn’t stuck in a damn rift.” He planted a hand on her shoulder. “I know this does nothing, but I’m sorry. For everything.”
Val took in a shaky breath. “It does help. Thank you.”
Then—to her shock—he ruffled her hair. She stepped back with a small laugh, out of both warmth and surprise. “Hey!”
“You may not have his eyes or hair, but you do have his spirit,” he said, a strong grin across his face. “And the glare. Could’ve cut the poor Versetti girl in two with how sharply you looked at her.”
They both shared a laugh at that, soon settling into a reminiscent, if a touch sad, smile. He threw a thumb at the door. “Now get. You’ll have to be here soon enough and I think you’ll shortly cherish the time you have left. It’s about to get very, very busy.”