The tower loomed ahead, a massive structure perched on the edge of a stone ledge. Around it, makeshift camps sprawled, travelers and mercenaries resting before their journeys continued. Smoke curled from distant fires, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the dust and sweat of the road.
We left the carriage—now little more than battered wood and torn fabric—beside the tower and stepped inside.
The sight before us was breathtaking. The interior stretched impossibly, like space itself had unfurled within the stone walls. A vast, boundless expanse. The walls, if they could be called that, rippled faintly, as if reality itself was straining to hold this place together.
A young woman greeted us, her presence calm and practiced. She led us forward, toward the gate. The rift stood before us—massive, unnatural, protruding from the stone like a wound in reality itself. Its surface shimmered, twisting and shifting like ink in water.
The noble's butler stepped forward, handing her the payment. And then, together, we crossed the threshold.
I had always known what it meant to traverse a rift. But knowing and experiencing were two different things.
The white void swallowed us whole.
The air was thick—too thick. It pressed in on me, clinging to my skin like unseen hands. My body floated weightless, yet my limbs felt heavy, sluggish. There was no sound—no breath, no heartbeat, no footsteps—just an unnatural silence, as if the void itself was listening. Watching.
Something shifted at the edges of my vision. A flicker of movement. A shape, or the absence of one.
Then, a whisper.
Not words. Just a presence.
The blonde girl clung to my arm, fingers digging into my sleeve. She was shaking.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended.
Reality snapped back into place like a wound being sutured shut.
The world reassembled itself around us, forming a space much like the one we had just left. But something was different.
People lay collapsed on the ground ahead of us, groaning in discomfort. Their faces were pale, some clutching at their heads as if trying to shake off an unseen force. A few staggered to their feet, their expressions blank, lost.
It seemed this rift was not as benign as I had once thought.
Outside the tower, a well-dressed, armored man stood waiting. He scanned the crowd until his eyes found us. His voice rang out.
"Brother!"
The noble's eyes widened. Though the weight of what he had seen still clung to him, a flicker of relief passed through his features.
"Argon? Are you here under Father's orders?"
"Yes. He ordered me to escort you—since you lacked proper guards."
Argon's gaze shifted to us. He studied our tattered forms, the bloodied bandages, the exhaustion in our eyes. His mouth pressed into a thin line.
"I take it you were the mercenaries who escorted my brother… judging by your condition, something must have happened."
The knight stepped forward, dropping to one knee.
"I am sorry, Sir Argon. We were ambushed—twice. But these men fought bravely to protect us."
Argon exhaled, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on me a moment longer than the others. Measuring. Judging.
For a brief moment, I wondered if he would press further. If he had already realized something was… off about me.
But then, he simply sighed.
"I see… give a full report to Father when we return."
The noble glanced around, frowning.
"Where is the carriage?"
His brother crossed his arms.
"You'll have to walk like the rest of us."
The noble's face twisted.
"What?! Why? Are we that poor?"
His voice lacked the conviction it once carried.
We did not linger. The road ahead was safer, though we remained vigilant. The butler and the knight carried backpacks filled with supplies—food, fire starters, and the essentials for the remainder of our journey.
The grey landscape stretched endlessly before us, barren and unwelcoming. A dry wind kicked up dust, carrying the scent of something distant and metallic—faint but ever-present.
Then, a sound.
A low growl.
We heard them before we saw them—wolves, moving like shadows along the ridge. Their eyes caught the dimming light first, flickering red like dying embers.
The first lunged.
I met it mid-air, but it was faster than I expected. Too fast. Its jaws snapped shut inches from my throat before I twisted, driving my blade up through its ribs. The impact sent me stumbling.
A mistake.
Another wolf was already on me. I barely turned in time, its claws raking across my arm. A flash of pain.
I exhaled sharply. Focused.
Then, I cut through them like dead branches.
When the last wolf crumpled, silence stretched between us.
My breath was steady, but my clothes were drenched in blood. And with no river in sight, the discomfort was unbearable.
As night fell, we set up camp one last time. We still gathered around the fire, but the lightheartedness of the first night was gone. The noble threw a hollow tantrum about having to sleep on the ground before retreating into silence.
When dawn arrived, the towering wooden gate of the lower city finally emerged on the horizon. The noble let out a sigh of relief as we passed through its massive doors.
The city offered no comfort. The same misery clung to the air, a stain that could not be washed away.
We crossed the bridge into the high city, where the guards eyed us with disdain. Here, the streets were cleaner, the buildings grander—but the rot still lingered beneath the surface.
The noble's home was large, though it had clearly seen better days. The grass was overgrown, cracks lined the walls, and one of the windows was missing entirely. A long-forgotten banner, its edges frayed and tattered, still hung above the entrance, swaying weakly in the wind.
As we approached, a round man with the same fiery-orange hair greeted us. His demeanor was warm, but his eyes… his eyes told a different story.
They studied us carefully—measured, assessing, as if weighing something unseen.
Without hesitation, he invited the knight into another room to deliver his report, while the rest of us were left to wait.
The noble's father eventually emerged, his expression grim. He knew now—someone was after them.
The large man ran a hand across his neck, deep in thought. Then, without another word, he handed us our payment—50 gold pieces each.
And just like that, my first mission was over.
The three of us left the high city, descending toward the streets below. The girl turned to the rough-looking mercenary, her voice light but curious.
"So… what are you gonna do? Are you staying a mercenary?"
He forced a smile, but it couldn't hide the weight in his eyes.
"Nah. With only one arm, I can't do much in a fight anymore."
He exhaled, rubbing his temple.
"I think… with this gold, I'll try to find work in the city."
He looked defeated.
The girl then turned to me.
"And you? What are you gonna do?"
I thought for a moment.
"I don't know… but I definitely need to get stronger."
She smirked.
"Why? Aren't you already, like… crazy strong?"
I met her gaze.
"Not strong enough."
For the first time, her expression shifted—something thoughtful, almost calculating.
Then, after a moment, she shrugged.
"Guess I'll stick with you, then."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
She grinned.
"Because I want to see what 'strong enough' looks like."