The world on the edge of the Rift was rotting.
The three kilograms that had felt weightless just a week ago now dragged me down with monstrous force.
"Why the hell did I even mess with that group of four hunters?" My anger at myself burned hotter than any wound. "What an absolute idiot."
My left arm hung down by my side like a useless rag. Everything near my neck was burning and throbbing so badly that my fingers were completely numb—I couldn't even twitch them. And with every deep breath, something clicked dryly and uncomfortably deep under my ribs.
The grass beneath my boots gave way to a gray substance that crunched underfoot. The sky overhead had taken on the hue of an old bruise—purplish-crimson, choked by stagnant, heavy clouds.
Ahead, against the backdrop of this horizon, lights appeared.
The "Last Breath" Settlement
It was a cluster of sagging stone hovels surrounded by a palisade made from the bones of some giant creatures. It was populated by "vultures"—people who risked their sanity scavenging magical junk spat out from the depths of the Rift during spatial storms.
"Why can't they come up with normal names?" the thought flashed through my mind.
I entered the village. The only building emitting noise and light was the tavern. I pushed the door open. The hum of voices died down for a moment as I stepped over the threshold.
I sat in the darkest corner, near a hearth that gave off almost no heat.
"Ale. Your cheapest," I tossed to the barkeep, trying not to move my left shoulder.
"You ought to lie down, traveler," the old man behind the bar grunted, sliding a chipped mug toward me.
I opened my eyes.
A man was sitting across from me at the same table. He wore a traveling doublet made of expensive dark blue fabric, embroidered with gold thread that, despite the surrounding filth, appeared clean. His hair was neatly trimmed. On the table in front of him lay a strange object—a matte sphere the size of a large apple, pulsing from within with a soft amber light.
"My name is Kaelen," he introduced himself, pushing a plate of dried meat toward me. "And I've been watching you for five minutes. You aren't drinking your ale. You're barely breathing. Calculating how many calories you'll burn if you lift that mug?"
I looked at this idiot.
"The mana density in this sector has increased by four percent over the last hour. You're too relaxed for a guy sitting with a fifth-order artifact in plain sight of a bunch of cutthroats."
Kaelen chuckled. "Oh, so you know your stuff. That's a rarity in these parts. Listen, I need a partner. My previous traveling companion decided that jumping into a gravitational vortex was a great way to take a shortcut. As you can see, I'm flying solo now."
"I'm heading to Dornheim. Alone."
"To Dornheim?" Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "Through the Rift? In your condition? You won't even make it to the first distortion."
A howl rang out from outside.
"It's started," Kaelen sighed, his demeanor instantly transforming. He grabbed his sphere, which immediately flared brighter.
The tavern door exploded into splinters.
Rift Outcasts poured through the breach. Former wolves, mutated beyond recognition by magical radiation. Their fur was patchy, and through their flesh jutted bones glowing with an unstable blue flame. Luminous saliva dripped from their maws, burning right through the floorboards.
Panic erupted in the hall. The vultures grabbed their knives. One of the monsters leaped onto the table in the center of the room, tearing out some poor bastard's throat.
I tried to stand. The pain in my back flared with a sharp spasm, making my vision go dark. My left arm wouldn't move. The joint on my right elbow, damaged by the recoil from the Guardian, had jammed in a half-bent position.
Kaelen darted forward. His sphere shot up into the air, tracing an arc above his head.
"Back!" he shouted as beams of solid light erupted from the artifact, throwing the nearest beast aside.
He manipulated gravitational vectors, forcing the monsters to miss, crash into each other, or become ten times heavier, slamming them into the floor. But the Outcasts kept pouring out of every crack, and Kaelen's sphere began to pulse red.
Overheating... I whispered.
My brain, ignoring the pain, initiated calculations.
Will to Live.
"Kaelen!" my voice cut through the roar of the battle. "Thirty-degree angle toward the fireplace! Hit it with an impulse on a descending trajectory!"
Kaelen froze for a fraction of a second. He didn't turn around. But he corrected the trajectory, unleashing a charge at the exact moment the pack leader—a massive three-eyed beast—leaped, exposing its unprotected underbelly. The beam of light shot perfectly along the vector I had called out, resonating flawlessly with the creature's magical core.
The leader was atomized. The shockwave hurled the remaining Outcasts against the walls. Kaelen's sphere emitted a low hum and returned to his palm. Deprived of their alpha, the surviving beasts shrieked and bolted back into the darkness of the Rift.
I instantly deactivated the Skill.
Kaelen stood in the middle of the wrecked tavern. He was breathing heavily, and his doublet was singed. He slowly turned to me, walked over to the table, and stared intently at my face.
"Th... that was impressive," he said. "Listen, friend. I don't know what school of magic teaches tricks like that, but you should have seen yourself."
"What's wrong?" I grunted.
"Your eyes," Kaelen said, sitting on the edge of the table and turning the sphere over in his hands. "They've turned gray... or no, white. Well, it's hard to tell."
"Doesn't really matter," he said, holding out his hand. "You saved my skin." My offer still stands. You be my eyes, I'll be your hands, and... your shield. The Rift is restless right now; you won't last a mile on your own."
"Tomorrow at dawn," I said, ignoring the gesture and closing my eyes.
"Deal," he laughed, tucking the sphere into a hidden pocket.
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