Vaelin, 31st of Caldris (Arday), 1675, Midday
Vaelin hissed in pain and gripped her wrist, waking from her nap in the old hunter’s cabin in The Oakenlands.
Star-seal above, she thought. What is it now?
[Rift detected.]
[Rift classification: Breach.]
[Role designation: Mender.]
[Direction: ↓ ]
Vaelin’s heart skipped a beat and a pit formed in her gut. Her insides coiled and knotted, like a rope constantly being wound around in circles by a bailer who was preparing to cast their line to save a sailor drowning in the sea.
So soon . . . why me?
She slid off of the leaf-and-moss-stuffed canvas mattress and pulled her cloak around herself, grabbed her meager supply pack that was hanging from the metal hook on the wall, and then set it down.
Should I even bother? They all died because I wasn’t good enough.
Guilds wanted Menders; they always wanted more of them because they were valuable to have on hand. Menders could gain Experience practically anywhere in the world, because everyone got injured. The Guild Vaelin had found herself a part of, in Reachwood, treated them as consumables—to be used for tasks. She was a tool, like a healing potion, to be applied and then discarded, or refilled for another use.
That was true for most Menders, anyways. Vaelin wrapped her arms around herself and paced the small cabin interior, hearing the wood creak under her feet. Mice chittered in the crawlspace beneath at the disturbance of their sanctuary’s roof bending downward under the soft, bootless tread of the Sionna woman’s padded footsteps. As Vaelin turned in place, her black tail swished and flicked outward, the white tip twitching with anxiety as she paced the other direction.
It’s a call, and if I reject it, I might not get another one.
Vaelin’s last Rift didn’t go well—her first Rift—everyone died except for her. They didn’t understand, even though she explained over and over again that she wasn’t a normal Mender, she didn’t just snap her fingers and make pain go away; that just wasn’t how her healing worked. She was a basic Mender, then when she had gained enough Experience became a Stabilizer, because she hated seeing others carrying pain.
So she chose to carry it for them.
Vaelin took on other’s pain, would reduce it in the process, and then ameliorate it over time. Eventually, she gained a Skill to cleanse that pain from herself, but that Party just didn’t understand despite her trying to explain. They rushed ahead, and she took on as much of their pain as she could, but they kept going, and going, without listening to her.
Why wouldn’t they listen? Will whoever else answers the call of the Rift listen to me? Or will—
She gripped her temples and crouched down. “Star-seal above,” she whispered, “I just don’t want to be responsible for more people dying.” She had gained more strength, now a Tier III Bond-Bearer, and more capable of cleansing the pain from herself that she took from others, she should be more capable of being a proper Mender in a Rift, but since the death of her last Party, and her expulsion from the Reachwood Adventurer’s Guild, she hadn’t been called to a Rift.
Vaelin had been traveling toward The Crossing, since she didn’t have the money to pay for travel down the coast to Shhiv’s Spear. She had to go on the longer, overland route through The Oakenlands, and had almost made it out of the forested region before finding this hunting cabin that had been abandoned to hole up for the night. On the way, she had made ends meet by doing tasks: healing people in towns, villages, and hamlets along the way.
Okay, she thought as she stood up and took a shuddering breath in, then let it out slowly. I need to at least look. I can go there and look. What’s the harm in going to the Rift itself. I can always reject the call if I get a bad feeling. Sure, I won’t be called again, in all likelihood, but I can just not be an Adventurer . . . just work in a hospital somewhere.
She hated the thought of that.
Taking a deep breath, she put on her studded leather armor over her clothes, grabbed her pack, slid her wooden shield onto her shoulder, and grabbed the Artifact spear she acquired from clearing that Rift. The others might have died in that final Chamber, but she had cleared it and smashed the Rift Core.
As she looked down at the weapon, she recalled the words she said as she attended their memorial. Vaelin whispered them as she held the sturdy Artifact in her grip. “I carry on their memories, now and forever, in the burdens I take upon myself.”
She exited the hut, closed it behind her, slid the wooden latch into place, and followed the arrow on her wrist.
Vaelin traveled until the evening, and she began to hear some talking. A deep, masculine voice that rumbled like thunder, and a higher-pitched, soothing voice that talked like one of the merchants who attempted to sell her poultices she didn’t need in the markets of Reachwood. Vaelin kept low and tried to sneak closer, to catch a view of whoever was talking.
She got into sight of the clearing, and was shocked at what she saw. A half-dragon, just like out of legends, stories, and myths: black scaled, with a purple shimmer and white horns, with white clawed feet and hands, carrying a brown-scale-covered mace and wearing armor covered with the same type of scales that kept his torso, upper body, and the top part of his lower body safe. He wasn’t wearing greaves or a helmet—rather foolish on the latter half, but, she did know that helmets restricted vision. He looked to be standing casually, waiting, but still dangerous. The type of Anchor people wrote warnings about.
Behind him, the Rift was wide open, a yawning doorway that waited for her to enter.
The half-dragon wasn’t just standing still, though, he was glancing sideways, checking out the vehicle nearby.
To the left was a wagon, covered with a tarp that concealed most of it, save for the front that was facing her direction. There was a Guild Hall Quest Board with the name DRAGONTRAIL across the top in golden lettering.
It . . . what? Is . . . a mobile Guild Hall? That’s the only thing that makes sense, but why would you ever do such a thing? How would you build a reputation and get consistent clients?
But, as she thought about it for a few seconds, it made a bit of sense. They weren’t geographically restricted, could take on Quests that covered large areas—like escort missions or courier objectives which other Guilds wouldn’t be able to do, and head to places like The Oakenlands to find more common Rift manifestation locations.
It’s either a brilliant idea no one has ever tried or absolutely insane.
Atop the wagon was a half-sea-elf who was keeping watch, scanning the forest-line. She was dressed in cleaner, newer studded-leather armor than Vaelin was, and had a variety of tools around and on her. She had light-blue skin, pointed ears, coral-blue-green hair, light-green eyes, and was softly smiling. Her eyes were sharp, her hands were near weapons—a rapier and a dagger—and Vaelin met her eyes, knowing that they saw one another.
Damn.
Vaelin activated her HUD, and glanced at both of them.
Mass Dragon [III]
Infiltrator [III]
They’re my same Tier, Vaelin thought, feeling that coiling in her chest loosen and begin to unwind. This is an opportunity. There’s no reputation here, no hierarchy of dozens of Adventurers, if this is anything to go by. Just two Adventurers, trying their luck on the road with a new idea—its new . . . maybe they’ll let me be useful before judging my type of healing.
The half-sea-elf shouted out. “Hi there!”
Vaelin stood up and walked out of the edge of the clearing. The half-dragon tensed up and took up a slightly defensive pose, but not a hostile one—just a ready one. Vaelin respected that—he was ready to defend at a moment’s notice. Perfect for an Anchor. Promising.
“Kryos,” the half-sea-elf said as she looked at the half-dragon, “Less hostile. She’s not going to bite.”
This Kryos, the Anchor, relaxed his posture. “Apologies,” he said as he slung his shield. “We heard that this region was filled with monsters. I haven’t met one of your Species before.”
That made Vaelin pause for two reasons. First, the Anchor listened to the Breaker, which boded well—it implied that he wasn’t reckless like the Party she had been with which had led to their deaths—perhaps this Anchor would listen to her, too. And second, who in the star-seal had not heard of a Sionna?
Vaelin put her spear into her left hand and waved with her right. “I’m Vaelin Rescarn. Tier III, Bond-Bearer.”
The half-dragon walked forward and held out one of his hands. “Kryos, Guildmaster of Dragontrail. Tier III, Mass Dragon.”
Vaelin reached out a hand and shook Kryos’. The Guildmaster’s hand dwarfed hers, but his grip was gentle, as if he knew his strength and was intentional about its application. They let each other go.
The half-sea-elf hopped down from the wagon, pulled the tarp with her to cover the vehicle fully and make it appear as part of the surrounding environment—almost fully blending in—and then walked over with her hands still on her weapon’s hilts. “Leona Bitterbrine, Treasurer of Dragontrail, Tier III, Infiltrator. We split rewards after accounting for expenses. Exact shares can wait until we survive.”
Vaelin nodded. I don’t have much of a choice, she thought. They hold the cards, and I can at least respect that they know their leverage and are using it. If I’m intending to prove my worth, and this is an opportunity to join them, shares won’t matter as much in this Rift.
“I am not a regular Mender-role individual like you may be familiar with,” Vaelin said as she grabbed her shield and began to affix it to her arm. “I do not erase wounds. I move damage, delay it, absorb some of it, and purge it when I can. If you treat that as invulnerability then you will kill me first, and yourself second.”
Kryos’ gaze narrowed, and those honey-colored eyes stared at her—not judging, but calculating. He was analyzing her in some way. After three seconds he said, “Tell me exactly what that means and what your limits are. My last Mender was a Biomancer, and I had no idea what he could do until he did it.” A shadow of guilt crossed his face before vanishing.
Vaelin knew the look. This Guildmaster had lost that Mender, she had no doubt. Kryos’ response also loosened the coiling rope in her chest entirely—here was an Anchor who actually wanted to take into account the full composition of a Party instead of just charging ahead recklessly and expecting a Mender to heal them as they were traditionally expected to because of a label alone.
She thought, I suppose the stories and legends about them being warmongers and greedy, selfish bastards aren’t necessarily true in all cases.
Leona added, “Tell me what it looks like when you’re about to collapse, so I know when to stop listening to you if you say you’re fine.”
Vaelin cast a sharp, sidelong glance at the half-sea-elf Treasurer. She appreciated the comment, but the way it was phrased was transactional and cut dry instead of sounding tactical like Kryos’ words. Vaelin cleared her throat and spoke calmly, saying, “I rely on a few Skills Traits. First, like all Menders, I can see HP and MP at a glance if you’re an ally or I consider you a friend. I also regenerate MP faster.”
Kryos nodded slowly. “Alright. What about the take-on-damage healing bit?”
“I can stop you from being hurt,” Vaelin continued as she looked past Kryos at the Rift, feeling that bit of anxiety return. “While it’s ongoing, harm you suffer is converted into a stored damage buffer, which is then reduced by a minor amount before being inflicted over the course of ten seconds, until the buffer is empty.” She looked at Kryos. “Think of it like instead of being punched, the same force is applied as a slow constriction.”
Leona crossed her arms. “Huh. That’s pretty unique. Never heard of a Skill like that. Constant?”
“Yes,” Vaelin replied, impressed at her guess. “It is my primary Skill that I place upon an Anchor during combat. Then, I can transfer damage that the group suffers to myself, but I reduce that damage.”
Kryos frowned. “So you have to hurt yourself to heal others?”
Vaelin tightened her lips into a grimace. “Pain exists in our world. Some can eliminate it entirely, some can delay it, and some live with it. I take it on for others so they don’t have to deal with it.”
Leona tapped Kryos’ shoulder. “It is potent healing. She can do bigger healing at once, effectively, at the cost of harming herself.” She then looked at Vaelin. “Correct?”
“Effectively, yes,” Vaelin replied. “I then have a Skill which allows me to purge part of the pain I have taken onto myself from others.” She then tapped her Artifact spear’s haft on the ground. “With this, I can channel the harm I have taken to others if extra damage is necessary—though the MP cost is great.”
Kryos put his head to his chin in thought, then looked up. “Okay. I understand everything you’ve said. How do you prefer to utilize your Skill set?”
I was right, Vaelin thought as her lips curled into a tiny smile, he is willing to let me give instructions and will listen to reason.
“Well,” Vaelin began, “Ideally, a fight starts, and I put a damage buffer onto you. Then, when you reach, say, three-quarters of your maximum HP as injury suffered, I transfer the damage from you to me, to restore your HP, to keep you fairly full, and not harm myself too much. Then, I immediately use another Skill to restore half of the harm I transferred to myself.”
Kryos smiled. “Then we have a plan. Well, Vaelin, are you ready?” He grabbed his mace from his belt and made sure his shield was in place with a few up-down motions of his arm.
“Ready, Kryos,” Vaelin replied. Kryos turned and led the way into the Rift, and Vaelin followed, with Leona right on her heels.
This isn’t redemption, she thought as they passed through the grey void and into the transitional space of the Rift. That’s not the right word . . . this is a temporary place to stand. If things go well, and we all synchronize, perhaps this seemingly new venture—and it has to be these two if its Guildmaster and Treasurer together in one place—will want to sign on a Secretary to round out the main roles to run a Guild?
Kryos
[You have answered the call of a Rift.]
[Rift Classification: Breach.]
[Role designation: Anchor.]
[Name of Rift: The Wheelgrave.]
[Number of Chambers: 6]
[Primary Objective: Escort the Last Caravan to the Final Waystation.]
[Failure Condition: All caravan wagons destroyed.]
[Secondary Objective: Preserve the Route Charter.]
[Secondary Objective: Keep the Burden-Binder Alive.]
[Secondary Objective: Prevent Warlord Ascension.]
Kryos emerged onto a desolate, flat landscape. The skies above were a charcoal grey, with dark, black clouds and a smoke-covered, ruddy orange sun in the skies that cast the world in a dim glow. His claws clacked on a broken, once-paved stone road that used to be four wagons wide, with channels along either side to allow for water runoff. The ruins of buildings and remnants of old towns and civilizations lay crumbled and destroyed off in the distance.
Glancing back, he saw Vaelin, the white-fur-covered, floofy-tailed, two-pointed-ears-on-top-of-head, fox-wolf-person, step out of the Rift. Leona was close behind her, and then the Rift snapped shut.
Vaelin shivered, and she said. “This place feels broken.”
“I’ve never heard of a Rift with multiple objectives,” Leona muttered. “But, this is only my second one I’ve personally done.”
What is a Warlord Ascension? Kryos thought.
The road they were standing on was empty, and as the rift snapped shut behind them, he saw an odd sight. The Dragontrail wagon appeared—but it wasn’t fully there. It was somewhat there. Spectral, in a way. “Uhm, Leona?” Kryos pointed with his mace.
She looked back. “What?” She walked over and poked it with her finger, and Kryos saw her finger touch it, but also push into it a bit. “It is squishy, as if it is there, but not.”
Vaelin was about to say something, but went quiet as more spectral forms manifested alongside the group, in a large column along the road.
An entire caravan of people and wagons, with hustling, bustling, shouting, and clamor. Five wagons in total, with labels on the side of each. At the front was a wagon labeled with LEAD, and it was damaged, with a broken axle that had caused the whole caravan to stop.
Behind it was one labeled SUPPLY, with a canvas covering, and behind that was PASSENGER, which was open topped and filled with people. After came one with MEDICAL on the side, which was currently empty, and lastly was an armored wagon, much like the Dragontrail one, labeled with CHARTER. Not everyone was riding on wagons—some were walking.
Each wagon was pulled by two bulky, stout, quadrupedal hooved creatures with two horns jutting from the sides of their skulls that had been filed down. They brayed and chomped at bits, and shaggy fur bristled with flies.
“Oh,” Vaelin said. “Well, one objective makes sense. We have to keep the last wagon intact.”
Kryos was about to reply, but a middle-aged man, wearing a tight-fitting outfit of black cloth that had a bit of loose fabric in the joints, and swathed in a cloak that fluttered behind him, leaped from the top of the CHARTER wagon and came over to the group. He walked right up to Kryos and crossed his arms.
“Ah, Guildmaster,” the slightly pale-blue, translucent man said. He was Humanlike, with a hawkish nose, broad chin, salt-and-pepper hair, scruffy beard, and had feathers poking out of the top of his head. “Good, you’re here. Ready to escort us?”
Kryos looked to Leona, then Vaelin, and then back to the man. “Remind me of your name,” Kryos said, playing along.
“Marn Vell, Caravan Speaker,” the man said as he put on a small frown. He looked to the front of the line of wagons. “Well, hopefully, we can repair that lead wagon. I’d hate to leave it behind. Anything you can do to help with that? We have supplies to repair it, but if we spend too long here, we’ll catch attention of the wildlife.”
Kryos put his mace through his belt loop and slung his shield over his shoulder. “I can lift it. Can you get a few of your folks to repair it quickly?”
Marn whistled, and a few of his caravaneers jumped off the PASSENGER wagon, went to the SUPPLY wagon, and carried the gear over to the front-most, disabled vehicle. Kryos looked back to Leona.
Leona moved to the Dragontrail wagon and climbed up top. “I’ll keep watch for this wildlife. Vaelin, mind checking everyone over for injuries? I would bet the rewards we get in each chamber are improved if we have the most people and wagons survive.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Right,” Vaelin replied. She moved over to the PASSENGER wagon and asked, “Anyone hurt?” A few people replied in the affirmative, and Vaelin dipped into the crowd and out of Kryos’ immediate line of sight.
Kryos got to the wagon, lifted it, and held it in place while the axle was replaced and the new wheel was put on. The task was easy, and within five minutes they were ready to move out. He wiped his hands on one another, moved over to the Dragontrail wagon, and went to grab the harness—only to realize there wasn’t one. “Uhm, how do we move it?”
Leona looked down from her perch. “Oh, there’s another thing here next to the steering column.” She sat down, and pushed something on top of the wagon. It began to roll forward, and Kryos had to dash out of the way as it lurched faster. “Whoa!” Leona said as she was almost flung back but maintained her balance. “Okay, looks like I don’t need you pulling it. I can control it from up here!”
Kryos grinned. He could keep an eye on the caravan as a whole. As Leona moved the Dragontrail wagon to the front of the column, he walked to the back and did a loop around the whole group. He didn’t see anyone else who would be performing any type of guard duty.
It’ll come down to us if there’s an attack, he thought. We succeed as long as at least one wagon survives to the end. Ideally, we also meet these other objectives. Who is the Burden-Binder?
Kryos reached the PASSENGER wagon and called out, “Who is the Burden-Binder?”
Vaelin popped her head out of the crowd, and she looked a bit tired. She extracted herself from the cluster of people in the back, and stepped down onto the ground. An older gentleman was right behind her. “This man,” she said.
The man looked at Kryos and dipped his head. “Guildmaster. The name’s Orin. Want a bagel?” He held out a circular piece of bread. The man had shaved bald, one eye was milky-white from blindness, the other was a piercing purple.
“I’m good,” Kryos replied. He looked at Vaelin, at her bit of a haggard expression, and walked close to her. Quietly, he said, “Don’t push yourself. We just started.” He looked over the shade-like people, and whispered, “Don’t spend your resources before we know what this Rift is going to cost us. We’re real, they look like . . . things made for the Rift as part of the whole setup.”
Some emotion crossed her face that Kryos wasn’t familiar with, but she nodded. “I’ll go join Leona at the front.” She headed that direction.
Kryos elected to stay near the back, since the Route Charter was an objective that needed protecting as well. “Okay! Let’s get moving!” he called out.
The whole column began to move, and Kryos kept his eyes peeled as he scanned the environment around them. The caravan moved faster than he anticipated, and he had to take a few lumbering steps before hopping onto the back of the wagon and clinging onto a rail as they rattled down the cracked road.
A few minutes passed and the column came to a halt. Kryos got off and walked alongside the caravan. “Why’d we stop?” he asked. Then, he saw why.
In front of them, a massive ravine opened up, easily fifty feet wide. Leona said, “First chamber challenge, I bet.”
Vaelin was already off the wagon and stood next to a partially cracked bridge. She squatted down and peered down. “It’s just a ditch, with a cracked support. The bridge might be able to take a wagon at a time? Fifteen-feet drop to flat dirt, like an old river bed that has dried up.”
Leona snapped her head back toward the rear of the caravan. “Shit.” She climbed down and moved to the side of the road, looking back. “I see shapes in the distance, moving fast.”
“What?” Kryos asked as he wheeled to face that direction.
“Some type of predator?” Leona offered up. “Some type of howling or yelp.”
Marn, the Caravan leader, shouted out. “Those are called Routejackals! They’re canids! If only the elf can hear them, we’ve got maybe five minutes until they get here!”
Kryos looked at the bridge, the ravine, then the beasts of burden who had balked at the nearly collapsed span. He climbed up the Dragontrail wagon, got on top, and saw the steering column, the brake one, and a new button near his foot. Applying a light tap of pressure, the vehicle lurched forward.
He drove it across the bridge, which creaked ponderously under the load, then once it was across, moved it a few wagon-lengths ahead to make room, locked the brakes, and then dismounted, and ran across the bridge. “Next one!”
The driver flicked the reins, and the steeds began to move, only to balk as they sensed the partially broken span. “Guildmaster, they won’t move! They sense the danger, and I don’t think the bridge can hold the animal’s and the wagon’s weight!”
Kryos gritted his teeth and moved toward the tongue that connected the beasts of burden to the wagon. “Then I’ll just drag them across.”
Leona ran over to him and put a hand on his abdomen. “You can pull one wagon across, maybe, and then the bridge will collapse. You can’t pull panicking animals across that’ll buck and maybe break the wagon, tongue and yoke, or bridge entirely. Then we’re done for.”
Vaelin came over, her voice calm and measured. “Look at the people as well.”
Kryos looked back along the caravan, and tuned in to what was happening among the shades of people. He could see and hear the panic, worry, and concern amongst them as the threat came closer. The creatures were maybe four and a half minutes away, if the Caravan leader’s words were true. Kryos frowned and looked at Leona. “Plan?”
Vaelin said, “Leadership isn’t just strength, but in this case, strength can provide the road to lead.” She went to the ledge and pointed down. “There’s one specific pillar, I think, if you can brace it and hold it together—given your wingspan you can probably wrap your arms around it—you can stabilize it for everyone to cross.”
Kryos walked over and looked where she was pointing. The bridge was supported by wooden pylons set into stone bases, and while several had rotted, they were still fixed in place with metal plates that had been hammered in. One of those plates had come loose. “I think I see the one you’re talking about.” Kryos lowered himself over the ledge and dropped the remaining ten feet, landing in a crouch. He moved over, activated Singularity Stance III for extra stability, and wrapped his arms around that section to act as the nails holding the plate in place.
Leona
“Okay!” Leona said as she moved down the line. “I want all the passengers to get out! You’re going to cross separately, just in case.”
There were protestations, and she raised her voice to a yell—which she hated doing because she knew it rose to a shriek that pierced her own ears—and screamed out, “Listen or you’re going to be torn apart by fucking dogs!”
They scrambled to listen then, and Vaelin looked at her. “Rather harsh, don’t you think?”
Leona looked at the Mender. “It’s this or we don’t clear this in time. Chamber reward or not? Come on, help get them out quickly, and then coordinate them into groups to cross by weight. Try to equalize by distribution.”
The Mender nodded and set to the task. Leona turned to hers.
People are like the cargo, she thought, then grimaced. No. Wrong. People have weight like cargo.
They weren’t cargo, but weight was what would break the bridge. She began moving down the line of wagons and ordered people to move supplies and redistribute the weight as she saw fit.
We need to get the heavy cargo displaced out so that we don’t overburden Kryos or the remnants of the bridge. We need to try and keep as much as we can.
Her eyes flickered to a large chunk of stone—marble. “Why the hell are we transporting a chunk of marble?” she asked.
One of the spectre-people replied, “It’s for a project, Treasurer.”
“We’re abandoning it,” Leona said. “Dump it.”
“But—”
“No buts!” Leona replied. “We can’t afford the weight.” Cuts had to be made. She needed to ensure equal distribution, and had already calculated the average weight she needed each wagon to be placed at. This was resource allocation and survival.
It’s what she had been practicing and training for with her ledger of supplies—albeit this was very scaled up and trial-by-fire—hence why she was being harsh with removing supplies she saw as superfluous, such as the marble, a pile of scrap metal that was to be melted down for farm tools, and other items she deemed non-vital or replaceable at a destination.
Now, what else can we afford to lose?
Vaelin
Vaelin had finished grouping the civilians, and the last of the few save the drivers came over to her. “Okay, you go there,” she said, “and you . . . go there.”
She had clustered them well enough, and then leaned over. “We’re sending the people over in a single-file line. It shouldn’t be too much weight.”
“Understood,” Kryos replied. The man sounded like he was ready, his abdomen tensed, given the way his voice came out in a near-hoarse growl despite not having shouted himself to that level of lost-voice.
Vaelin came back up. “Okay, group one. Single file.”
The group began to move across. Vaelin watched to make sure people were waiting their turn.
“Awoooo!” The howls began to reach their ears.
“They’re coming!” one of the people shouted.
“Run!” Another screamed.
A child began crying, and their mother picked them up and ran across before her turn.
Vaelin tried to get them to stop and stay in order, yelling, “Wait!” But it was too late, the floodgates of panic had opened, and people stampeded across, hoping for the safety of the other side of the ravine.
Kryos let out an “oomph” of tension, but seemed to be able to hold up to the weight. “Calm down!” he shouted from below. “They’re minutes away!”
He’s keeping count, Vaelin thought. Thinking tactically despite the pressure.
She tore her attention to the crowd and tried to calm them, but a scream forced her to move. She moved onto the bridge, and found one of the spectre-people had broken through—their leg had gone right through, down to the hip, and an artery had been severed. Glancing at their HP, she saw they had a sliver left.
“I’m not letting you die!” she said as she activated Cease Feeling II and then immediately used Damage Transfer II. She bit back a scream as the pain bloomed along the inside of her thigh, right above her right knee, but the man’s whimpering and cries of pain lessened. “Come on,” she said through clenched teeth. “Get out of there.”
She helped him up, and managed to help him limp across. Glaring at one of the other people involved in the stampede, whose eyes were wide with fear, she said, “He can walk, but he won’t be doing strenuous work. Don’t ask him to do any. Got it?”
The Caravan leader, who had been caught up in the rush—not panicking, but more-so caught in the flood and now trying to maintain order—began to say, “Well, I can’t guarantee—”
Kryos’ voice emanated from below the bridge. It was a low, guttural, near-terrifying growl. “You heard her. Listen to my Mender.”
Vaelin glanced back at the ravine, then looked at the Caravan leader, and handed the injured man to him. Then, she activated Stabilizer’s Reprieve, and felt the pain along her leg lessen. She moved back across the bridge, taking care to dodge the hole in the center. “Okay, the people are across! Let’s get the wagons!”
Kryos
Kryos heard the ominous creaking overhead, the “Hyah!” of the wagon drivers pushing their animals onward, and counted down the seconds in his head as the minutes inexorably passed by. He could feel the soft, pliable wood beneath his fingers begin to splinter and give way. “How many more?!” he shouted.
Leona replied, “Two!”
Kryos extended his claws and dug in deeper, but the bottom of the pole slipped, and he was suddenly bearing the whole weight of the pillar, with him as the base instead of the wood resting on the stone. He had to keep it as steady as possible, and as the wagon moved overhead, he felt the most strain he had ever felt on his muscles in his life. He was puffing in breaths, sweat rolled down his brow and back in rivulets, and his arms and thighs were trembling from the weight.
Finally, the weight was gone, and he accidentally bucked that section of the bridge up. “Crap!” he let out, as he tried to pull it back down to keep the bridge level. He was able to get it back in place before the wood splintered fully—but the bridge would be touch-and-go. “Get the last one across.”
Kryos could hear the howling, the injured braying of the pack beasts above, and Leona calling out, “I can hold off a few!”
They’re here already? he thought. Do I let the bridge go, or do I go and help? If I let the bridge go, we lose the last wagon with the Charter.
An idea struck him. He activated Pressure Field III, which thankfully only affected creatures, and thanks to its thirty-foot spherical shape around him, it extended up through the bridge. Kryos yelled out, “Get the wagon across! Lure the monsters into the aura!”
Leona
The Routejackals were indeed quite dog-like. Lanky, with heads that came up to Leona’s waist—but her rapier was long enough to keep them at bay. She kept out of their range and poked them with ease, and they did not get anywhere close to hurting her. They were not able to jump up to attack the driver, as he was too high up.
But the beasts of burden were another matter entirely. Some of the creatures had gone around Leona and were nipping at them, biting at their legs. The moment Kryos’ words of “Get the wagon across!” echoed out, the driven drove the beasts on—and with the monsters at their heels, they didn’t need further encouragement.
Leona hopped backward and grabbed onto the wagon, and used wide slashes of her rapier to keep the Routejackals at bay. Glancing to her right, she saw Vaelin, spear extended to keep another at bay, as she stood on the edge of the bridge.
Then the wagon stopped suddenly. “What happened?” Leona asked.
Vaelin glanced back, and her eyes went wide. “One of the caravan beasts went down!” She moved out of Leona’s line of sight and shouted, “I can fix it!”
Leona cursed and hopped down, knowing that she needed to take all of the monsters’ attention—but then stopped. She recognized the hue surrounding her. She was just on the edge of a flickering, slightly-purple sphere. This time, though, it crackled with black sparks, and the edges of the Routejackals flared with a reddish light as their fur began to peel away and skin began to fizzle.
The creatures leapt down into the ravine, and she went after them.
Vaelin
Vaelin got to the beast of burden and, thankfully, the Routejackals dove off the edge of the bridge for some reason. She was able to get next to it, and use her combination of Skills to remove the injury fully. She yelped in pain as her ankle tore open, but then soothed her injury. “Move!” she shouted to the caravan driver.
The driver flicked the reins and the mounts moved off, going past her.
Vaelin followed, and then looked back. Leona was gone, there was a weird aura that poked up through the bridge, and she could hear the yelping of injury from the monsters down below, Kryos cursing, and Leona grunting in exertion.
Oh no, Vaelin thought as she staggered over to the edge.
Kryos
The fresh-hatched-wyrmling sized creatures all descended into the ravine and charged at Kryos. Their fur and flesh began to fizzle away as the black sparks of his area-of-effect Skill encouraged foes with low or bestial intelligence to prioritze attack him, while also tearing away at the matter comprising their forms.
A minor amount of damage, but damage nonetheless, and it was going exactly as Kryos planned. The wagon was moving across, the monsters weren’t attacking his allies, and he was the focus. He was being the perfect Anchor in more ways than one. Which also meant he was in for a world of hurt, as the wagon was stuck up above him while Vaelin fixed something with the pack animal.
The monsters leapt at Kryos, and began biting into him. Their teeth were long and sharp, and while his armor took a lot of hits, some of them wriggled their teeth into gaps and found flesh. He bit back curses as best he could, but one of the monsters managed to get its teeth into his collarbone, and Kryos let out a foul curse. He rapidly moved his head to that side, smushing the monster’s snout against his shoulder plate and cheek, which didn’t dislodge the monster but made Kryos feel a lot better since he was inflicting pain in return.
Finally, the bridge was clear, and Kryos could let go of the support. He saw Leona drop into the ravine and begin to attack the monsters from behind. He couldn’t get at his shield and mace, but his claws were already out, and he set to grabbing the monsters and slicing into them with reckless abandon, tearing and ruining them.
Then, something odd happened. The pain stopped entirely. He saw a little stream of silver, and glancing back and up, saw Vaelin on the lip of the ravine. A thread of silver connected him to her, and there was a sphere forming between them.
Cease Feeling? he thought. She’s halting the damage, and that sphere is the buffered damage. It’s reduced, then applied—
He felt the pain set in a moment later. It was like a dull ache that spread through his bones, like when he was recovering in the hospital from the Tremorleeches. It wasn’t piercing, and immediate.
Kryos turned back to the carnage at hand and with a roar ripped one of the monster’s head from its body. That seemed to turn the tide, as the remainder of the creatures began to turn and flee. Almost out of instinct, he grabbed another by the hindquarters, digging his claws in, and bashed it into the now-broken support strut of the bridge, impaling it on the fragmented splinters and remaining metal bracket.
Stopping, he stood up, puffing in breaths, and looked at Leona, who was also breathing deep recovery breaths. “You hurt?” She shook her head. Then he looked at Vaelin, and at the sphere between them. “So what happens now?”
Vaelin grimaced. “Well, you’re going to feel all the pain I prevented over the next ten seconds. Better to get up here first.”
Kryos went over to the wall and first offered a hand to push Leona up and out. Then, once she was out of the ravine, he clambered his way up. The whole time, he felt the deep-set pain become a more throbbing, harsher pain, and he groaned and curled up as he laid down in a recovery position.
-----
HP = 98 / 260
-----
Vaelin knelt next to him, on both knees, with her legs folded under her. She ran a hand across his temple, and brushed some hairs out of his face. “I can take on some of your pain, but not all of it right now. It’s just too much for me to bear. But, little by little, we can alleviate it.”
Leona clicked her tongue, seemed like she was about to say something possibly harsh, but then turned away.
Kryos looked at Vaelin and met her oddly pale blue eyes. “Go ahead. Don’t take more than you can handle.”
Vaelin
Vaelin let out a breath and nodded. She spent much of her remaining MP and took on a large portion of Kryos’ wounds.
Oh! she thought. Bad idea! He has such pain tolerance!
She groaned and immediately used Stabilizer’s Reprieve. The pain alleviated substantially, and Kryos was able to relax, and he stood up.
With a gentle, blood-soaked hand which didn’t have claws anymore, he helped her up. “Good. Thank you,” he said.
“Of course,” Vaelin replied. “It’s my job. Thanks for listening to me.”
And he listened, she added mentally. He’s doing what I was hoping. This might be a good group. Star-seal above, this might be an amazing opportunity.
Leona glanced back at the two. “We cleared the Chamber. Deal with your Experience, then we should move on.” She then frowned. “Oh, right. Vaelin, you won’t know this, but Kryos doesn’t gain Experience like you or I. He’s special.”
She looked at him. “That’s interesting. How does it work?”
Kryos shook his head. “Sorry, Guild secret.”
Fair enough, Vaelin thought. Now, let’s deal with my Experience. SAVE System, if you please.
[Your Experience has reached the Threshold to qualify for a level up!]
[You have gained 5 levels! Level 24, Level 25, Level 26, Level 27, Level 28!]
[Choose 5 Stat Points to Allocate!]
I’d like to place two into Vitality, two into Essence, and one into Agility.
[Confirmed!]
[You have reached a level increment of 5!]
[You have gained a Skill point!]
[Unlock a new Skill, or Enhance an existing Skill?]
Cease Feeling to max out the Skill, if you please.
[Confirmed!]
[Cease Feeling III.]
[Damage entering the ‘buffer pool’ is now reduced by 5% per Tier instead of a flat 10%.]
Oh my, she thought. That is far better. Instead of a flat amount, it scales? That’s amazing! At Tier X, I could reduce buffered damage by fifty percent?
She would have leapt for joy if not for the soreness along her body. Thankfully, Kryos was still supporting her. “Thank you,” she said. “We should get everyone back onto the wagons.”
Kryos nodded. “Looks like Leona’s already on it. But I agree. Let’s make sure everyone is calmed down.” His face tightened into a frown. “And maybe remind them that running in blind fear is not how you survive.”
For a moment, Vaelin was reminded of the stories of half-dragons of his type. The way he spoke just echoed the warnings of childhood stories of evil conquerors and warlords. But, she had seen his actions, and the altruism he displayed, literally willing to take on wounds and injuries to ensure other’s safety—even constructed, fake-people in a Rift . . . despite telling her not to push herself too hard in helping them because they weren’t real.
No, she thought, he is still trying to find his balance of using the intimidation that comes from what he is and how people see him, and his innate goodness.
Leona
Leona looked back at Vaelin and bit back her comment. What type of Mender can’t just heal someone easily?
She had to admit the woman was good at keeping a level head, following instructions, sticking to a plan, and keeping focus. That was beneficial. But, Leona had yet to see the woman in a true, pure-combat scenario—she would save her real judgement for that point.
She began shouting out orders to re-distribute the supplies to their proper places and get people back onto the wagons, focusing on the children and the ones who looked like they wouldn't be able to walk as well onto the PASSENGER wagon. The rest could walk. As she did so, she multi-tasked with her SAVE System in her mind.
As expected, and just like the last Rift she had been in, regardless of role designation, a chamber gave Experience to people—well everyone except Kryos, apparently, given his unique setup.
Hopefully, Leona thought, we’ll find some loot soon so he can catch up. Okay, SAVE, let’s see it.
[Your Experience has reached the Threshold to qualify for a level up!]
[You have gained 5 levels! Level 24, Level 25, Level 26, Level 27, Level 28!]
[Choose 5 Stat Points to Allocate!]
I will put two into Agility, two into Essence, and one into Strength.
[Confirmed!]
[You have reached a level increment of 5!]
[You have gained a Skill point!]
[Unlock a new Skill, or Enhance an existing Skill?]
Hmm. Well, Hazard Sense is the only Skill I have that is not at its full potential. But realistically, what could it upgrade to? A general sense of intent and danger? I have that with Read the Room already. I think I should get something new. Let’s go with a new Skill.
[Confirmed!]
[Shadowstep (Class: Infiltrator) [Active, 1 MP/foot traveled]]
[You teleport from any shadow you can see to another shadow. They must be connected to one another by other shadows. Areas in darkness count as shadowed.]
That is extremely useful, she thought as she grinned.
Looking back at Kryos, he saw her deposit Vaelin at the MEDICAL wagon, and then he walked over to her. “How are you after all that?” he asked.
“I’m great,” Leona replied. “I should be asking you the same.”
His face was set in a frown. “Someone needs to get these folks in line. We can’t have them running off again in fear. It’ll ruin a chamber—I’m sure of it. It can’t happen again.” The way he put emphasis on that word almost made Leona shudder. For a moment, she saw a flicker of the half-dragons talked about in legends.
“Right.”
Leona heard a cracking noise, like a piece of strong timber on a ship had been snapped in two from an anchor dropping from one of the shipyards right onto the deck of the vessel. Kryos must have heard it, because as he looked back, the most wondrous and terrifying sight occurred.
Behind them, the broken bridge vanished. The whole world vanished. It folded into the distance. There was nothing but a black void—and it slowly crawled toward them.
“We have to keep moving,” Kryos said.