10 – Breaking Through
The terrain grew more rugged as they crossed the foothills, the ground still slick with rain and littered with loose stones. Sylven and Whisker moved with practiced ease, his Sunshy training allowing them to navigate the narrow paths and crevices with agility.
Vikka followed close behind, her larger frame making for a tight squeeze at certain chokepoints. She kept one hand on the basket at all times, her eyes scanning the terrain for any signs of danger.
“Hold it!” Sylven said suddenly,
“What!? Where!?” Vikka, startled, crouched low to the ground in a panic.
“Firemoss,” Sylven grinned, pointing to a patch of red clinging to the base of a tree. “That should help with your story.”
Vikka shot him a glare but carefully harvested the moss anyway, packing it into the basket.
As they exited the outermost range of kobold territory, the telltale tapping of claws on gravel reached the Shy’s sensitive ears. Sylven directed Whisker to overtake Vikka, then held up a hand when he caught her attention.
“Kobold Scout,” he whispered, relying on their bond to amplify his speech.
Vikka nodded, her claws curling protectively around the basket. Sylven gestured for her to follow as he led her towards the thick aerial roots of a banyan tree. Whisker darted into the curtain of vines, his small form disappearing into cover.
Sylven kept watch, slingshot drawn, ready to launch a pebble as a distraction in case the scout got too close to their hiding spot. The kobold wandered past them without varying his path, his tongue flicking out for a cursory sniff of the air every few paces.
When the claw-taps faded, Sylven exhaled slowly. “Close one.”
Vikka didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, her grip on the basket tightening.
“Let’s keep moving,” she nodded.
Sylven nodded back, urging Whisker forward. Even if they weren’t exactly getting along perfectly, they were at least learning to watch out for each other.
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The landscape changed as they neared the caldera’s edge. The grasses of the lower plains gave way to denser rainforest and more uneven terrain. Thick tree cover formed a canopy over the area, with vines twisting across branches to take up the remaining gaps of sunlight. The faint hum of the magical boundary became more pronounced, a subtle vibration in the air that made Whisker twitch nervously.
Vikka paused, her gaze fixed on the horizon. A faint shimmer hung in the air ahead, like heat rising off sunbaked stone, but it carried a different energy—static, ancient, and strangely foreboding.
“The edge,” she murmured, more to herself than to Sylven.
Sylven pulled Whisker to a stop beside Vikka, his eyes narrowing as he studied the shimmering line. “That’s it?” she asked. “Looks… thin.”
“It is,” Sylven replied. “But it keeps the big, bad things out—and us safe.”
Vikka shook her head. “Let’s get this over with then. I won’t feel safe until this egg is beyond that line.”
She clutched at the basket slung over her shoulder, asking “What happens if we cross the edge?”
Sylven didn’t answer right away. He continued to soothe Whisker, giving him reassuring pats while feeding him treats of hay and berries. “We don’t,” he said finally. “Not unless we want trouble.”
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Approaching the boundary, time and weather seemed to lose their sway. The sun was still out over the caldera but below the dense forest canopy, layered with the rim’s shadow, there was only perpetual twilight matched by eerie silence. However, Sylven noticed signs of activity—subtle but unmistakable—trampled ferns, prints in the mud, and splinters of wood scattered across the forest floor.
“I don’t think we’re the first visitors here,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on Whisker’s reins.
The pika squeaked with unease. Sylven patted his neck, trying to reassure both Whisker and himself.
“We’ll be quick,” Vikka said, her voice firm. “We drop the egg and go back. No lingering.”
Sylven nodded, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
They followed the edge for a distance, trying to look for an opening in the foliage to toss the egg through. Perched on Whisker’s back, Sylven reared in alarm as they almost crashed into a rusted arrowhead protruding from the ground. What was odd was its size, larger even than an adult Shy’s chest.
“Hey, Vikka,” he called out, steering Whisker in a circle around the artifact. “Do you kobolds have any archers that shoot with arrows this big?”
Vikka squinted at the rusty piece of metal, its contours dulled by wear. “Looks more like a spearhead than an arrowhead to me,” she shrugged. “It’s way too large and heavy for our bolts and bows. But I’m no weapons expert,” Vikka paused, considering the implications. “And I didn’t think our scouts would get this far out.”
The artifact, whatever it was, fit right into Sylven’s rucksack, which was now otherwise unoccupied.
“What are you doing?” Vikka asked, her tone wary.
“Collecting,” Sylven replied as he stuffed the arrowhead into the rucksack and fastened it shut. “Even if I don’t bring back an egg, whatever we find out here could still help my tribe. At least to better understand what’s out there.”
Getting closer to the edge, they came across an even more alarming relic almost swallowed by thick tangles of kudzu vines. An old spear, its wooden shaft rotting but still mostly intact, its head half-planted into the forest floor. What was worrying about it, again, was its size. It was almost twice Vikka’s height, and combined with the weight of the spearhead, would have been far too hefty for even the largest, strongest kobold to throw any decent distance.
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“Do you think kobolds left this here?” Sylven asked, eyeing the weapon warily.
Vikka crouched to inspect it. She tried wrapping her claws around the shaft, but it was far too thick for her to get a good grip. “No. This definitely isn’t ours,” she said, flicking the spear aside with her tail.
“Wait,” Sylven insisted, “notice the angle at which this spearhead, and also the arrowhead we picked up earlier, pierced the ground?” the Shy asked.
“They’re both pointing up?” Vikka suggested.
“Yes, up. But at an angle,” Sylven explained, his voice growing serious. “Which suggests they were thrown in this direction, but came from beyond the barrier.”
Vikka kicked the spear aside, her tail swaying nervously. “I’m beginning to think we shouldn’t be here,” she muttered.
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Whisker’s thoughts were simpler. The strange smells and sights unsettled him. His ears twitched at every unfamiliar sound—the groaning of trees swaying in the wind, the distant cries of predators unlike any he’d ever heard. The jungles that ringed the caldera presented very different flora and fauna compared to the central prairie.
He didn’t trust the giant creature who loomed over him and Sylven. Her movements were too loud, her scent too sharp. But the bond with his rider kept him anchored. Sylven’s presence calmed the edges of his fear, though the instinct to flee always lingered just beneath the surface.
When Sylven dismounted to investigate another strange piece of debris, Whisker pawed at the ground nervously, his nose twitching as he caught a faint, metallic scent on the breeze. It smelled like blood, but not like any he’d known.
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The shimmering boundary loomed before them, the air growing heavier with each step. Vikka’s pace slowed, her claws digging into the ground as she hesitated.
“This is it,” she said, her voice low. She crouched, setting the basket down carefully and uncovering the egg. Its smooth shell gleamed in the faint light, unmarred and pristine.
Sylven dismounted. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the egg. “You’re ready to say goodbye to it?”
“Yes,” Vikka snapped, her tone sharp. “It’s better this way. No one will know. No one will care.”
Sylven’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
Vikka glared at him. “What do you know about it? You don’t know anything about how it’s like.”
Sylven took a step back, his expression hardening. “Maybe. But I’m not the one throwing away something perfect.”
Vikka’s tail lashed, her claws curling into fists. “You don’t understand!”
“At least now I know better what it means to take a risk on somebody,” Sylven shot back.
The bond between them flared with tension, the shared frustration crackling like static in the air, mingling with the barrier’s effect.
Vikka and Sylven turned away from each other and moved cautiously toward the caldera’s edge, the terrain growing increasingly precarious with every step. The jagged rocks and dense jungle gave way to a wide, rocky cliff with sparse vegetation, jutting out towards a murky, obscured horizon. A faint, oppressive stillness hung in the air.
“Are you sure this is a good spot?” Vikka muttered, her claws still tightly gripping her basket.
“I’m as sure as we could ever be,” Sylven replied, his voice clipped. “This is the edge.” He hesitated, trying to find the right words to do justice to what they accomplished together. “The edge of our world… the caldera. Beyond this, everything changes.”
Vikka’s scales prickled at the thought, but she didn’t respond. Her gaze swept towards the edge of the cliff, the faintest traces of a trail cutting through the dirt. Strange markings lined the ground—scratches and grooves that didn’t match any creature she’d ever seen.
“Is this kobold work?” Sylven asked, pointing to a what looked like an overgrown row of gouges in the earth leading outward.
Vikka shook her head. “No. Again, it’s… something else. Nothing we’ve seen around here is kobold.”
Neither of them voiced their growing apprehension, which just made it worse.
Before either could speak again. A faint click echoed, followed by a sudden snap.
A net burst from the other side of the barrier, springing through with enough force to knock both Vikka and Sylven off their feet. They landed with a thud, the net smothering them into the ground. Whisker tried to dodge, but the weighted edge caught his hind legs, yanking him down with a squeal.
Sylven struggled against the ropes, the net’s fine mesh digging into his arms and legs. “What in the—?”
“Traps!” Vikka hissed, her claws slashing at the threads. “They’re coming from across the edge!”
Sylven tried chopping at the knots with his axe, but they seemed to be reinforced with metal wires, impervious to his axeblade. He also noticed that his Arclith had gone dull.
The net tightened further as they struggled, their movements only causing the knots to further entangle them. They began to feel the net slowly being pulled towards the other side. Above them, the shimmer of the boundary glinted mockingly in the faint light.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the distance, from creatures who seemed much larger than kobolds. Vikka’s eyes widened, her claws stilling as the first shadowed figures appeared on the horizon.
“We’re being pulled across the barrier!” she groaned, her voice tinged with fear.
Sylven’s heart pounded as he twisted in the net, his mind racing. Whoever had trapped them was coming, and they had no way to escape. His mind raced. If they were captured, no one would know what happened to them. No one would come looking past the edge.
His hand darted to his rucksack. He tore it from his shoulder and rolled it into a cylinder, the tapered shape of the arrowhead inside barely fitting through a hole in the net. With a final, desperate, glance at the caldera side of the barrier, he flung the rucksack back inside as far as he could.
“Someone will come looking for us,” he tried calling out to Vikka, trying to reassure her in the middle of a hopeless situation.
Vikka roared, her claws still trying to tear through the net. She and Sylven thrashed fiercely, but the ropes weren’t made of anything she recognized—they were too smooth, too fine, with an odd metallic sheen. Their captors surrounded them, their lumbering but coordinated movements unlike anything either of the caldera-dwellers had ever seen.
Whisker squealed in panic as a second rope caught him, the tension snapping tight around his midsection. Sylven used all his tricks, from tools to Arclith magic, but the net was too finely woven.
As the trio was dragged beyond the edge of the caldera, the last remnants of the world they knew began to vanish from view behind them. As they drew further away, Vikka’s gaze darted to something familiar on the ground. There, partially hidden by the undergrowth, was Sylven’s rucksack containing the giant arrowhead.
He’d tossed it deliberately, she realized. A marker. She cursed that she couldn’t do the same, neither the egg nor basket would fit through the net. If only she’d already thrown them out and turned back around a few paces earlier, they wouldn’t even have gotten trapped.
The vast unknown loomed ahead, and with it, a future none of them could predict.
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They didn’t have to wait long to find out who had set the traps. In the distance, faint, rhythmic sounds reached Vikka's ears. It wasn't the soft patter of rain or the wind knocking branches together. This was heavier, more deliberate. Footsteps.
She bared her teeth, her body coiling like a spring as the figures emerged from the shadows. They were enormous, towering over her. Their shapes were strange and bulky, their bodies encased in coverings that gleamed faintly in the fading light.
Vikka’s mind raced as she watched the giants. They weren’t predators, at least not in the traditional sense. Moving on two legs, they wielded tools that gleamed with the sharpness of claws but were clearly not part of their bodies.
Sylven hung limply in the snare, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. “What are they?” he whispered.
“Quiet,” Vikka hissed, her gaze locked on their captors.
The giants moved with purpose, their voices low and unintelligible as they inspected the traps. One of them approached Whisker, prodding the tangled pika with a long stick. Whisker let out a frightened squeal, his ears flattening against his head.
“Leave him alone!” Sylven shouted, struggling against his bindings.
The giants didn’t react as if they understood his words, but the sharpness of his cry made one of them glance his way. The human tilted its head, as if puzzled, before motioning to the others.
They began dismantling the traps and restraining their captives with practiced efficiency, binding both Sylven and Whisker with additional ropes and string, and hauling them into a cage bolted onto a flat, wheeled platform.
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