Brock and Lorne sat at a corner table in the hub cafeteria, the quiet hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes around them filling the background. Between them lay the maps, notes, and schematics of the Rends they planned to tackle in the next six months. Cira sat nearby, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, a small cup of tea balanced in one hand.
Brock leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I've been thinking about the girl I found—Ilyra. I'm worried about her safety. If Ian turns out to be a goose chase, she might be our only lead."
Lorne nodded slowly. "Then she's my responsibility. I'll go to Greyhaven and protect her. I'm Silver rank, so I won't be taking any missions right now. You and Cira, you focus on Rends—that's the fastest way to level up and upgrade your rank. We've got half a year left; we use it to strengthen ourselves. After that, we form a team to take on C-rank Rends and follow all the leads."
Brock shifted in his seat, thinking aloud. "Right. And the loot I got from those robbers—I never touched most of it, just the first-aid supplies, credits, and food. But the weapons, the transport vehicle, and that cheap space ring? Lorne, you should keep them safe with her. Live in the vehicle with her if you have to. I left everything at my mother's shelter behind a pile of rubble—hidden and secure."
Lorne smirked faintly. "Sounds like a plan. That way, if anyone comes looking, she's safe and we have a buffer."
Brock tapped the map lightly. "Exactly. That ring and the weapons could be crucial. Not just for defense, but for transport if we need it fast."
Lorne nodded and leaned back. "Also, during my missions, I made some connections. One of them is a team leader—I wanted to talk to him to see whether you and Cira could join their team temporarily. If it works out, you two will participate in C-rank Rends for four months. That'll give XP, reputation, and some combat experience in real situations."
---
The next day, Lorne made his way to the training grounds to meet Jim, the team leader he had spoken of. Jim saw him approaching and waved.
"Lorne! Long time no see," Jim greeted warmly.
"You've considered my offer?" Jim asked, stepping closer, his expression serious.
"I have," Lorne replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "But my answer is no."
Jim's smile faded. "I see," he said, turning to walk away.
"Wait," Lorne called after him, quickening his pace. "I have two people. Bronze rank, yes—but one at the peak of major level one, the other in the middle of major level one. They're disciplined, follow orders."
Jim paused but did not respond he continued walking away.
"I'll give you the core - the zombie core."Lorne continued
Previously Lorne had participated in C rank rend and managed to kill a high level zombie. It dropped the core the best quality one a C-rank Rend can drop and Jim wanted it. "You wanted it for an enchanted weapon, right?"
Jim stopped, turning fully, eyes gleaming at the mention of the core. "You'll give me the core?"
"Yes," Lorne said firmly. "You get the core. Thet get temporary placement in your team and free weapons."
Jim's frown dissolved into a wide grin. "Deal. I'll take them under my wing."
---
The following morning, Lorne returned to the hub cafeteria and found Brock and Cira already seated.
"They agreed," he said, taking a seat. "Team leader accepted. They'll set off in a week."
He warned them, "Do not trust anyone in the team, and conceal your abilities."
He turned to Cira, his expression serious. "And you," he said solemnly, "do not—ever—use your unique talent. Not once. No exceptions."
Cira nodded firmly. "Understood"
Lorne smirked slightly. "after four months, and we'll be ready to tackle the next big thing. Ilyra will be safe, you'll gain ranks, and the team can handle C-rank Rends. Nothing's left to chance."
Lorne told them that the team leader would provide weapons and supplies, and that all they had to do was follow orders.
With that, he left the hub. He went to Brock's old shelter, moved aside the pile of rubble, retrieved the transport vehicle and the rest of the stored loot, and then set off for Greyhaven.
.....
Lorne reached Greyhaven by dusk.
The outskirts were quieter than he remembered—too quiet. Broken fences, half-cleared rubble, and the uneasy stillness of people who had learned not to linger in the open. Brock's directions led him to a cluster of half-collapsed shelters near an old drainage corridor. That was where she was supposed to be hiding.
He spotted movement first.
A slim figure slipped between two ruined walls the moment she noticed him. No hesitation—just instinct. She bolted.
"Hey—wait—" Lorne started, but she was already running.
He swore under his breath and moved.
He didn't chase recklessly. One burst of speed, a sharp cut to the side, and he intercepted her path. She turned, panic flashing across her face, and nearly ran straight into him. Lorne caught her by the wrist before she could slip past again.
She struggled immediately.
"Let go!" she snapped, twisting hard. "I don't know who you are—"
"Ilyra," Lorne said firmly. "Stop. I'm not here to hurt you."
That made her freeze.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating despite the fear. "You know my name," she said. "That doesn't make you safe."
"Brock sent me," Lorne said. "He asked me to protect you."
She laughed once, short and humorless. "That's your line? Really?"
Lorne blinked, genuinely taken aback. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected at all. Brock had described her as quiet. Gentle. Sweet.
She yanked her hand free and took a step back. "I might be missing pieces," she said coldly, "but I'm not an idiot. People don't get sent to 'protect' me. They come to use me."
That… was not what Lorne had prepared for.
He exhaled slowly, then reached into his pocket. "Alright. Then let me prove it."
He pulled out a photo—himself and Brock, standing in front of the hub mission board, Brock mid-laugh, arm slung around Lorne's shoulder. He held it out where she could see.
Her gaze flicked to it. Then back to him. Suspicion didn't fade, but it shifted.
"That could be staged," she said.
"Fair," Lorne replied. He tapped his wrist device and initiated a call.
Brock's face appeared a moment later, half-lit and confused. "Lorne? What is it—"
"Tell her," Lorne said, turning the screen toward Ilyra.
Brock blinked again, then recognition hit. "Ilyra? You're alright?"
Her breath caught—just slightly.
"…You sent him?" she asked.
"Yes," Brock said immediately. "I did. He's solid. Trust him."
The call ended a few seconds later.
Ilyra stood there in silence, staring at the dark screen long after it went blank. Finally, she looked up at Lorne.
"…Fine," she said. "I'll go with you."
Lorne nodded. "Good. I'll keep you safe."
She tilted her head. "How?"
Instead of answering, Lorne gestured behind him.
The transport vehicle sat partially concealed behind a broken structure—armored panels dulled by dust, reinforced wheels, clearly modified.
Ilyra stared at it. Then she snorted.
"Oh," she said dryly. "So when the attackers come, you'll just show them the vehicle and they'll immediately run away. That's nice."
Lorne felt a vein twitch in his temple. By the abyss…
Without a word, he walked to the back, keyed in a sequence, and opened the storage compartment.
Weapons. Secured, organized. Firearms, melee tools, emergency supplies.
Her sarcasm paused—only for a second—but Lorne caught it.
He closed the compartment and turned to her. "Since you're so headstrong," he said, "do you know how to fight?"
She didn't even look at him.
She walked past him and climbed straight into the vehicle.
Lorne stood there, staring.
She leaned out from the open door, eyebrow raised. "Are you going to stare all day," she said, "or are you going to get in and drive me to safety, Mr. Protector?"
Lorne glared at her, then got into the driver's seat, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. "We'll be residing in the vehicle for the time being," he said flatly.
"I will be residing," Ilyra cut in immediately. "Or we will be residing?"
Lorne paused. "…We will."
She nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then just so we're clear—I sleep in the vehicle. You can find somewhere else."
Lorne stared straight ahead, jaw tight, and started the engine.
Lorne drove in silence, steering the vehicle away from Greyhaven and toward the outskirts where the land dipped and trees thickened. The road gave way to dirt, then to a barely visible path that only someone familiar with the area would dare use.
Greyhaven's pond lay ahead—artificial, old, and deliberately hidden. It sat near the forest's edge, its surface calm, reflecting the darkening sky. Lorne guided the vehicle off the path and into the trees, carefully positioning it where branches and foliage concealed the bulk of the transport. From a distance, it would be invisible.
He shut off the engine.
"This place?" Ilyra asked, peering through the window.
"There's water," Lorne said, stepping out. "Fish too. If supplies run low, we won't starve."
She climbed out more slowly, watching him. He continued, matter-of-fact. "The Gray Hounds have a base nearby. Mercenary group. That means no thugs, no scavengers, no opportunists. People don't trespass where they operate."
Ilyra nodded faintly, filing the information away.
Lorne motioned for her to follow and started deeper into the woods, moving with practiced ease. After a short distance, the trees closed in, the sounds of the road disappearing entirely.
"Where are we going?" Ilyra asked.
"To work," Lorne replied, tossing a bundle of baggy clothes back at her without slowing.
She caught it clumsily. "Work?" she scoffed. "Why should we work? We have water, food, weapons."
Lorne stopped and turned to face her. "Put on the clothes," he said evenly. "If you can stay in one place and do nothing, I can't. And since I'm here to protect you, you go everywhere I go."
She stared at him for a second, then let out a snort and said nothing.
They continued on.
A few minutes later, the trees thinned, opening into a small clearing. At its center stood a cabin.
"Is that where we're going to work?" Ilyra asked, eyeing the cabin warily.
"Yes," Lorne replied without hesitation.
She stopped walking. "That's the hideout of the Gray Hounds, isn't it?"
"It is," he said.
Ilyra let out a sharp laugh. "You preach about protecting me, and the next thing you do is shove me right into danger."
Lorne shook his head. "We won't join them in their expeditions. They're mercenaries—meaning they'll have a lot of loot moving in and out. We'll arrange it for them simply, We'll work for them."
"Work?" she echoed skeptically.
"We'll be their maids," Lorne said bluntly. "Sorting, cleaning, hauling. In return, we get accommodation and food. If we stay in the vehicle all the time, we'll attract attention. A wanderer with a motorcycle is already a target. A wanderer with a transport vehicle?" He paused. "That's an invitation to be looted."
He gestured back toward the forest. "The vehicle stays hidden. It's for emergencies only."
Ilyra clicked her tongue but didn't argue further.
As they drew closer to the clearing, a figure suddenly stepped out from behind a tree, rifle raised and aimed squarely at them.
Lorne stopped instantly and raised both hands. "We don't mean to trespass," he said calmly. "We want employment. Me and my brother over here are homeless. We're willing to work in exchange for shelter."
Ilyra stiffened but said nothing. With her short hair and baggy clothes, she passed easily as a boy—thin, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed.
The guard studied them for a long moment before lowering the weapon. He motioned for them to follow.
They were led past the cabin to a smaller structure off to the side. "You'll stay here," the man said curtly, then turned and walked them to another clearing nearby.
A massive pile of mixed materials lay there—scrap metal, crates, tools, broken equipment, and unsorted supplies.
"Sort everything," he ordered. "By type. No stealing."
Then he left.
They started working immediately.
Ilyra made sure to complain the entire time—about the weight, the dirt, the smell, the unfairness of it all—never once actually slowing down.
Lorne ignored the noise and worked steadily.
And just like that, their working period began.