“I can’t stand him,” Lyra said, arms crossed, as she faced her grandfather. They, with Eamon, were in one of the guild's training rooms. “And now you’re saying we have to work together? With him as my senior?” She balked out as if it was a wild concept for him to come up with.

“Grandpa,” she clasped her hands together, the tip of her fingers touching her lips as she breathed through her nose. “I’ve been training more as a Locksmith while he was gallivanting as an imperialist.”

Eamon sat on the floor, legs crossed, and cringed at her statement.

Hmph. Good. Lyra snidely thought. It serves you right to side with them.

Ealdred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Now, Lyra, let us not judge a person but by their actions, yes?”

“Uh, I am. He joined the Argonian Empire’s military. The same Empire that annexed small businesses and residentials, and then, to make matters worse, they thought bribing those same people with land and money would make them forgiving?” she said as she counted off the heinous acts. “I can go on. Chancellor Viktor Radovinov is a narcissist Veilspawn in disguise that would even make Lumos blush.”

Ealdred sighed once more. “What colorful vocabulary you picked up over the years. I shouldn’t have let you listen to the radio with me when you were younger.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m well informed.”

“Well,” he clapped his hands, looking between his two students. “Aside from everyone’s background. You are both my students at the Ashen Vanguard guild and will honor and respect one another as fellow Locksmiths. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master,” They both said.

He nodded. However, some of him wasn't sure if he should believe them. “Good. I must attend to the other students for the day. So please maintain the chores, train, and be ready when a Rift appears.”

Again, they replied, “Yes, Master.”

Ealdred started to leave but turned back around. “Oh, and before I forget Eamon. I kept your weapons away for safekeeping. You’ll find them in a lock box in the closet.”

Eamon’s eyes widened. He was surprised he had kept his weapons from rusting after all these years. “Thank you, Master,” he said with a bow.

Ealdred left the room, leaving Lyra and Eamon alone.

The silence was awkward and loud; you could hear a pin drop, but Eamon bravely spoke to break the ice: “So, how should we tackle these chores?”

Lyra sucked her teeth with a roll of her eyes. “Just split them half and half, then after we spar, you show me what the ‘great Imperial soldier’ has learned.”

Eamon frowned. “You know your grandfather is our Master.”

“Yup,” she said, expressionless.

“And my adoptive father,” Eamon pointed out.

“Yet, you left him.” She dryly retorted.

Eamon pursed his lips. There is no getting around this girl. “And we’re more than students but family. He wants us to work together.”

Lyra crossed her arms. “And am I not? I said we should do half the chores, so what’s your point? I am working with you, yet I see you making no effort to apologize for your comments the other day.”

Eamon’s shoulders sagged. He sighed.

No matter how he felt about Riftblade ending up in someone else’s hand, he knew his master did things for a reason, or at least, he was telling himself that.

“Fine. I apologize for my insensitive comments when I’ve only just returned. I shouldn’t have made boastful demands like that.”

Lyra’s brow rose. “So an imperialist can apologize. Alright, guess we can make this work.”

“And can you not call me an imperialist? It rubs me the wrong way.”

She placed her hands on her hips and stuck her neck out. “As it should, given all they’ve done, but fine. No imperialist…Soldier Boy.”

He sighed. I swear there’s no getting around with her.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

•†•

After finishing the chores, they needed wood and scaffolding to fix the wall. They headed toward the back of the guild to chop some wood.

Eamon watched Lyra swing the ax down and slam into the wood. She swiped her forward, free of the sweat that fell into her amber eyes. Her usual wild afro pushed back with a headband.

He barely remembered the little girl who would follow him as a kid. The person in front of him was different. She still seemed like she had an air of yours about her from her passion and how she fought, but like Master said, a determination layered there.

“Why do you hate the Argonian Empire and the Imperial Military?” he asked.

She snorted. She was looking at him with a noticeable glare. “Is that a trick question? Well, maybe not since you left for them.” She rested her elbow on the thick end of the ax. “Though I’m curious why you returned after all this time.”

Eamon pressed his lips together. His eyes twitched at the thought. “I’m not ready to divulge that information yet.” However, a part of him asked that himself. He was always left confused and struggling to answer why he returned, let alone left initially.

She hummed. “Right. Just like an imperial to diverge the truth. But to answer your question, it’s exactly that—diverging from the truth.”

Eamon said nothing. Watching her shoulders cinch, then loosen.

“The Imperial Military, Chancellor Viktor Radovinov, even his secret police: The Führers. They go behind the public's back, make businesses sign deals with promises of a fair deal, but it’s not.” The last part of her sentence hardened as her eyes pinched together.

“Most, if not all, of Lysandrian Kingdom dislike Argonian, but the Chancellor has the Empire wrapped around his finger.”

Her eyes blurred with tears that she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t upset but frustrated and tired of the apparent lies no one saw.

“Hey,” Eamon said. He approached her, surprising Lyra so that she jumped at their closeness. She would have smacked him, but a solemn look on his face held her back, one that wasn’t pity. “I may not be able to tell you what happened, but I do understand what you mean…the imperials make things enticing that you fall in step with whatever they say because they make you feel…seen. Like you can do more to help the world.”

Lyra wiped at the tears on her face. She studied the man before her, hoping to get a read on him. “Care to elaborate on that? What could they possess that we, Grandpa, our Master, couldn’t?”

Eamon couldn’t say anything and lowered his head to avoid meeting her questioning eyes. “I…I'm not…it's complicated.” His brow furrowed as if trying to recall something made his head hurt.

Lyra hummed. “I see. Complicated. Well, we should train now.”

She slammed the ax into the pile of chopped wood and began to stretch.

“Wanna dust off those weapons, or do you think you’ll have to hold off on fighting me?” she grinned after stretching.

He smirked. “I promise you, I’m far from rusty.”

She laughed. “Alrighty, Soldier Boy, I like that fire. Let’s see what you got.”

But as they were about to get ready and get their weapons, Lyra stopped and looked up. Eamon turned back around to see she was no longer moving.

“You okay?”

“You don’t sense that?” She asked, still looking up at the sky.

Maybe I’m rustier than I gave myself credit for. He focused this time, and a strong surge of electricity coursed through his body.

They both looked at each other simultaneously, nodding, as they thought the same thing: There were Rifts.

•†•

Lyra sprinted back into the guild and grabbed Riftblade off the wall, shouting to him, ‘Hurry up!’ Eamon ran to his room down the hall and grabbed the red garnished wood lock box that held his weapons: Long, metal Escrima sticks with a steel blade at the ends.

Eamon was unsure if he'd be able to handle using the weapons again since he had been used to using a rifle for so long during his time in the military. Despite that, he could still feel an aura of Essentia flowing through the weapon into him from the root of the Geiser Wellsprings.

He rushed out of the guild to catch up with Lyra. Looking up at the sky, he saw a trail of red smoke from the Rifts.

Those dark veils existed for five hundred and eighty-five years since the Primal Chaos, a time of discord and disarray when the Essentia of the Wellsprings was non-existent. Locksmiths didn’t exist, and darkness roamed the land. It was recorded as a dark age era.

No one knew the true reason for the Rifts' existence; they were malevolent forces that threatened Aurum and produced the malignant shadowy Veilspawn creatures.

Eamon ran through the residential district and onto Main Street. The smoke trail led him far away from people and into the forested area. Once in the forest, he was amazed at how far Lyra had run up the rough hill. The uneven terrain was nothing to him, as his experience in the military tripled his endurance.

He finally reached the end of the smoke trail, as the source was forming a chaotic black and red mass tornado above the roof. The Rift was at an abandoned warehouse, and right at the entrance, Lyra was forcibly trying to close the building door, where the gaping black vortex was trying to release itself onto the world.

“Lyra, I’m coming!”

The moment he started to reach her, dark figures emerged from the shadows, and lanky, oblong creatures with clawed hands and red eyes blocked his path.

The Veilspawn–the antithesis of discord and negativity–was born from the Rifts. It was attracted to negativity and sought out the life force of humanity.

Eamon readied into a fight stance. This was the duty of a Locksmith: close the Rifts and eradicate the Veilspawn that they produced.

“Can you hold on for a little longer?’ He called out to Lyra. She clenched her teeth as her Essentia aura swirled around her as she used the Wellsprings elemental power.

The Veilspawn let out an odd-sounding rattling noise.

“Please,” she strangled out a haggard breath. “I’ve been doing this since you left Soldier Boy, but if you want to assist me, be my guest.”

Eamon grinned. “All you have to do is ask, you know? Guess you can’t smash your way out of this one.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha, just come on if you’re going to help.”

“With pleasure.”