Shadows of the Silent Rift

Celia Lumehart could still feel the warmth of Solaria's sun on her back when the city walls finally disappeared behind a low rise of farmland. The road had been peaceful for hours—just the steady crunch of gravel underfoot, the soft sway of the wildflowers framing the path, and Devran Stormclaw's footfalls beside her. As the day drifted into late afternoon, an inkling of tension brewed in the air, as though the land itself held its breath.

"I didn't expect it to be so quiet," Celia murmured. "Given all the rumors of strange sightings, I was expecting… more signs."

Devran glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was within earshot. "It's the hush before a storm, if you ask me."

They continued down the winding road, dust kicking up around their boots. Fields of wheat and barley stretched on either side, golden in the low sunlight. Occasionally, Celia spied farmsteads or grazing animals, but the farmers themselves seemed scarce. Shuttered windows and deserted lanes hinted at a population too uneasy to remain outside for long.

"Look there," Devran said, pointing. Celia followed his gesture to a distant farmstead where a lantern hung on a porch, flickering in the daylight—a sign of someone's vigilance, or fear.

"It feels like the farmland's in hiding," she whispered.

Devran nodded, expression grim. "Sometimes people sense trouble long before it takes shape. Don't let the calm fool you."

They pressed on, determined to reach Westwood Village by nightfall. Lady Eradine had indicated that Westwood, along with neighboring Amberfield, had reported flickering lights and missing livestock. As they approached a gently sloping hill, Celia spotted a small group of travelers in the distance—a merchant caravan, maybe three wagons strong. She looked questioningly at Devran.

"Looks like traders," she said.

He narrowed his eyes. "Let's pick up our pace. Could be nothing… or it could be trouble."

They walked faster until they could make out more detail: a man and woman riding in the front wagon, a second wagon laden with crates of produce, and a third carrying tools and barrels. Everything appeared normal—until Celia noticed the anxious glances the merchants kept throwing behind them, as though they were being followed.

She lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello! We're travelers from Solaria!"

The merchant up front, a grizzled older man with a well-trimmed beard, called back, "Blessed day to you!" He forced a smile, but the tension in his voice betrayed deeper worries. "Don't suppose you two are heading to Westwood?"

"We are," Devran replied. "Council business."

That piqued the merchant's interest. "Council business? Truly?" He exhaled in relief, as though that simple phrase gave him hope. "Then you should ride with us—strength in numbers."

Devran and Celia exchanged a glance. "We can do that," Celia said, moving forward to greet them more personally. "I'm Celia Lumehart, a scholar. This is Devran Stormclaw, a warrior with the Council."

"The name's Orlis," the merchant said, halting his wagon. His wife, presumably, sat beside him, her posture rigid. Two other laborers rode in the second wagon. "We've come from Amberfield, heading to Westwood and beyond. But after what we saw… we aren't sure if we'll make it."

"What did you see?" Celia asked gently, climbing up on a small step next to the wagon's front wheel.

Orlis hesitated, then said, "Strangest thing: a swirling glow… like a tear in the air itself, out in a barley field. And something moved through it, a big shape—boar-like but… changed. By the time we realized what we were looking at, it charged and disappeared into the woods."

Devran cast Celia a meaningful look. "And that was today?"

"Not more than an hour ago," Orlis replied. "We'd have turned back if we weren't already running low on supplies. But now every snap of a twig's got us jumping."

Celia's heart fluttered. This was the first direct account she'd heard in person, and it matched the rumors—and her own glimpses of the flickering Rifts. "We'll travel with you," she said softly, "until we reach Westwood at least."

Orlis nodded, relief evident on his face. "Thank you. We'll keep a steady pace. Let's just pray that… that thing doesn't come our way again."

They resumed their journey. While the caravans trundled along, Celia rode on the front wagon's small ledge, Devran walking alongside. The gentle rattle of wood and harnesses underscored the uneasy hush of the farmland. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the shadows stretched across the road.

In the second wagon, a young woman—a traveling seamstress, from the looks of her pinned fabrics—tried to calm her baby, who squirmed and fussed in the growing twilight. "Shh," the mother whispered, "we'll be safe soon." Her words carried a fragile hope that seemed to reflect everyone's wishes.

A faint breeze rustled the wheat stalks, and Celia felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She glanced at Devran to see if he felt it too. He had stopped walking, face tight with focus.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

"Not sure. Did you hear that?" He slid a hand to the hilt of his longsword.

Celia strained her hearing, but the wind shushed through the fields, making any subtle noise hard to isolate. The wagons creaked onward, the horses plodding step by step. Then, she heard it: a distant snort, followed by a low, guttural growl that belonged to no ordinary farm animal.

Her heart fluttered. "That's… not right."

Orlis tugged the reins, halting the caravan. The travelers exchanged nervous looks. Another growl sounded, closer this time, emanating from the tall wheat fields on their left. The stems rustled, as if something large brushed through them.

Devran's eyes gleamed with alertness. "Stay with the caravan," he ordered, voice calm but urgent. "Celia, watch the right flank."

She hopped down, adrenaline spiking. All her reading about monstrous creatures fueled her imagination with dreadful possibilities. She inhaled, steadying herself. Verdant Bloom might help if they needed entangling vines or some quick defensive growth. But, deep down, she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

With the last rays of sunlight fading, the scene took on a tense ambiance. One of the caravan laborers lit a lantern, casting dancing shadows across the road. Devran moved forward, his footsteps eerily quiet despite his armor. He paused just before the wall of wheat, peering into the rustling stalks.

Suddenly, a massive shape burst from the field in a spray of golden stems—an enormous boar-like creature, but its eyes glowed with unnatural light, and patches of its hide were twisted into hardened, gnarled plates. A pungent wave of chaos-laced Essence radiated from it, making Celia's stomach churn. It stomped the ground and let out a roar that sounded half squeal, half demonic snarl.

The travelers gasped. Horses whinnied in panic. The monstrous boar's breath came in ragged blasts, saliva spraying with each exhale. Its tusks glinted under the lantern light—twisted, too large for any normal boar, crackling faintly with purple sparks of Essence.

Without hesitation, Devran stepped in front of the caravan, blade flashing from its sheath. "Stay back!" he warned over his shoulder. "Celia, any chance you can slow it down?"

Celia nodded, rushing to the side of the road. Verdant Bloom. She summoned a surge of her Essence and directed it at the soil near the boar's hooves. Immediately, thick vines burst from the dirt, winding around the creature's front legs. It let out a frenzied squeal and yanked, snapping one of the vines but staggering in the process.

The savage glare it turned on Celia made her blood run cold. She steeled herself, summoning another wave of growth to hamper its hind legs. But the beast was unnaturally strong, ripping free with alarming ease. Devran used that momentary distraction, dashing in low to strike at its flank. The boar squealed and twisted, one massive tusk swinging his way.

"Devran!" Celia cried. He ducked under the tusk, using the momentum to roll to the other side. When he came up again, he was behind the monster. He reversed his grip on the sword and drove the pommel into the back of its neck. The beast bellowed in fury, whirling to face him again.

"What is that thing?" Orlis shouted, voice cracking.

"Something twisted by chaotic Essence," Celia responded, though she had no time to elaborate further.

In the half-light, it was hard to see details, but she caught hints of purple veins spiderwebbing across the boar's hide, like corrupted lines of energy. The air around it felt distorted, almost crackling with power. If this was what devoured livestock, no wonder the farmers were terrified.

Devran's sword glimmered as he lunged again. The boar, in turn, charged with shocking speed for something so large, each stomp of its hooves sending up small clouds of dust. Devran shifted stance and swung horizontally. The blade struck its shoulder but glanced off the hardened plates. The recoil jarred Devran, forcing him back a step.

"Damn," he muttered. "Its hide is too tough there."

Celia clenched her fists, focusing on the boar's hind legs again. Another swirl of greenish Essence formed, pulling up wiry roots this time. They coiled around the creature's ankles, but before they could get a solid grip, the boar snorted and stomped. A pulse of that chaotic energy shattered the roots, leaving them shriveled on the ground.

"It repelled my magic," she murmured. She'd never encountered an animal that could throw off her Verdant Bloom so easily.

The creature roared again, its breath visible under the lanterns like a purple-hued steam. It pawed the ground, preparing another charge. Devran set his stance, sword at the ready. His brows furrowed with determination. Celia caught a glimpse of something intense in his eyes, as if he was reaching inward for a deeper skill.

Suddenly, the boar leapt forward—a terrifying mass of muscle and tusks. In a fluid motion, Devran lifted his free hand, and a swirl of faint, translucent shapes appeared in the air around him. It happened so fast Celia almost missed it: multiple spectral blades—no, more like shards of Essence—materialized in a wide arc. Then, with a snap of Devran's wrist, they shot forward.

Bladestorm Array. Celia recognized it as a potent martial skill fueled by raw Essence. Each blade found a chink or unprotected patch in the boar's twisted hide, striking with jolts of shimmering energy. The beast let out a deafening squeal of pain, stumbling. Devran closed in, sword raised high, and with a decisive slash, he cut deep into the creature's flank.

Celia stared in amazement. She'd known Devran was skilled, but witnessing a Unique or high-tier technique like Bladestorm Array was something else. The boar staggered, purple sparks dancing around its wound, as if it couldn't hold its warped shape any longer. It squealed again, more weakly this time, then collapsed onto its side in a final, heaving breath. The chaotic energy faded from its form, leaving behind a battered, oversized boar.

For a moment, all was still. Then the night air filled with the sounds of shaky sighs of relief, quiet sobs, and the unsettled whinnies of the horses. Orlis hopped down from his wagon seat. He approached the creature warily, stepping around the pools of glistening blood.

"Gods above," he whispered. "I've hunted boars before, but never… never anything like this."

"That's because it's not natural," Devran said, sheathing his sword. He put a hand against his ribs, catching his breath. "It's been corrupted by something. Likely the Rift you saw."

Celia swallowed, heart still thudding. "This proves the Rifts aren't just illusions. They might be warping normal creatures into these… monstrous forms." She knelt near the boar, reaching out gingerly to examine one of the twisted plates. Her hand hovered over it, the last vestiges of purple energy dissipating like steam. "If left unchecked, these Rifts could produce far worse."

No one spoke for a moment, the weight of that realization pressing upon them. Then Orlis cleared his throat, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "Thank you. You both saved us." He glanced at the caravan behind him, at his wife and the other travelers, who were still too shaken to descend. "Any chance… we can travel on together?"

"We'll go with you to Westwood," Devran agreed. "It's safer to remain in a group."

Celia stood and nodded. "Yes. We have our own reasons to investigate, but your safety matters too. We can regroup at Westwood, share our story with the local guard."

Orlis let out a shaky breath. "Thank you. They must be warned if other creatures like this are roaming about."

The group set about moving the carcass to the side of the road. Devran helped drag it onto the tall grasses, so it wouldn't block any travelers that might come behind them. Celia used her Verdant Bloom to grow thick vines that, while not strong enough against a rampaging boar, were more than enough to shift a heavy corpse. The group worked quietly, each mind swirling with the memory of that savage attack.

Night had settled fully by the time they resumed travel. Devran scouted ahead, while Celia lingered near the second wagon to offer reassurance to the frightened seamstress and her child. She softly murmured calming words and even conjured a tiny swirl of glowing flower petals—an offshoot of her Verdant Bloom skill—that floated around the baby, eliciting a brief giggle.

Despite the darkness, they made decent progress. Small talk emerged in hushed tones, mostly out of a need to feel normal again. One of the laborers told a story about how, in quiet winters, the farmland usually bustled with neighborly gatherings, bonfires, and warm cider. The thought of communal comfort felt distant on a night like this.

Finally, after another hour, they glimpsed the first lights of Westwood Village. A wooden palisade ringed the settlement, more decorative than defensive, though it still offered some protection. The caravan's approach was met by a watchman wielding a lantern at the open gate. He stiffened when he saw their cautious expressions.

"Travelers, and… Council folk?" he asked, noticing Devran's bearing. "Everything all right?"

Orlis hopped down. "We were attacked. A beast… twisted by some foul magic. We—these two saved us."

The watchman's eyes widened. "You'd best come in, speak to our reeve. We've had trouble enough these past few weeks, but it sounds like it's only getting worse."

Within the palisade, Westwood Village consisted of about thirty modest homes, a tavern, a smithy, and a handful of barns. An air of dread clung to the place. Even the tavern's usual lively chatter was hushed. Devran led the group to a central gathering area near a well, where a handful of villagers huddled around torches for warmth. The reeve, a middle-aged woman with sharp brown eyes, quickly joined them.

Her name was Lorial. She wore practical clothes stained from field work, and the lines on her face hinted at many sleepless nights. After Orlis and the caravan laborers relayed their account, Lorial turned to Celia and Devran. "You have our thanks. We've lost livestock and even a few farmhands recently. Folks are terrified to go out at dawn, let alone at night. And now I hear you suspect these Rifts might be the cause."

Celia nodded. "We're here on behalf of the Council of Catalysts to confirm the existence of these Rifts and assess their threat. Based on what we saw tonight, it seems… quite real."

Lorial exhaled a slow breath, taking that in. "The question is, what can we do about it? Westwood isn't equipped to fight monsters. We're farmers and craftspeople."

Devran crossed his arms. "First step is to figure out if the Rifts are forming close by, or if creatures are simply wandering here from somewhere else. We also need to gather enough proof so the Council can send more substantial help."

She tilted her head in thought. "We have heard rumors from Amberfield that a few farmers spotted tear-like lights above their fields in the early morning. It lines up with what Orlis saw. My guess is, the next place to check is that farmland between Westwood and Amberfield."

Several villagers exchanged uneasy looks. One man muttered, "That's exactly where we lost our best milking cow… and old Branson vanished."

Celia felt a wave of sympathy for these people. Their livelihood was under siege by something they couldn't hope to fight on their own. "Let us speak to anyone who's witnessed these lights or creatures. The more info we have, the better prepared we'll be."

Lorial nodded. "I'll arrange a meeting in the tavern tomorrow morning. You can ask questions. For tonight, we can offer you a place to rest—an empty home near the orchard. Simple, but it's shelter. Also, you might speak to Wren, our local herbalist. She's been trying to concoct warding salves to protect livestock, though her success has been… limited."

"Thank you," Celia said softly, relief and gratitude filling her. She was exhausted, but determined.

As they broke from the gathering, Orlis lingered behind to finalize arrangements for his caravan's stay in Westwood. Devran gave him a parting handshake. "We'll see what we can find out. If you continue on tomorrow, keep your guard up."

"Aye," Orlis replied. "And thank you again—for stepping in when that thing attacked. I don't want to think about what might've happened without you two."

Devran merely nodded, his stoic demeanor saying what words could not.

Celia and Devran then followed one of Lorial's men to a small vacant home on the village outskirts. It had a single common room, a fireplace, and a pair of cots. The roof bore signs of recent repairs—new thatch covering older beams. The man lit a candle on a rough-hewn table and gave a polite bow.

"Not much, but it'll keep the rain off you," he said. "We'll have some bread and stew in the morning."

"That's perfect," Celia replied. "Thank you."

Once they were alone, Celia let out a long exhale, sliding onto one of the cots. She set her pack beside her, rummaging for a small flint to start a fire in the hearth. "Feels like we left Solaria a week ago, but it's only been a day."

Devran shrugged off his light armor, propping his sword against the wall. "A battle has a way of making time feel longer." He rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

He shook his head. "Nothing serious. The boar grazed me with its tusk—my mail took most of it. Just a bruise."

Celia rose, crossing over to him. "Let me see." When he hesitated, she offered a reassuring smile. "I'm not a trained healer, but I can do some minor aid with my Essence."

He lifted an eyebrow, but obliged by lowering the upper part of his cuirass, revealing a shallow, purpling mark on his left shoulder. Celia concentrated and summoned a faint glow of green Essence around her fingertips. She placed her hand gently over the bruise. While Verdant Bloom didn't directly heal wounds the way dedicated healing skills might, it could promote regenerative properties if used carefully.

Devran winced at first, then relaxed as the glow seeped into his skin. "That's… soothing," he admitted quietly.

She offered a small, shy grin. "Nature's blessing. It won't fix a deep wound or broken bone, but it can ease bruises and help the body mend faster."

He studied her for a moment. "You're full of surprises."

She ducked her head, cheeks warming. "I doubt I'm the one with surprises after witnessing your Bladestorm Array."

A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That. It's a skill I've been honing for years, a manifestation of my own Essence. I used to keep it under wraps, but… well, no choice tonight."

"That boar…" Celia's thoughts wandered back to the fight. "It was unlike anything I've read about in typical bestiary tomes. I mean, we do have big boars out in the wilderness, but this was… unnatural."

Devran replaced his cuirass, rotating his shoulder tentatively. "The farmland around here isn't known for monstrous beasts. That must mean the Rift is near. Maybe the boar got exposed, twisted. It's a sign that the threat is definitely real."

Celia frowned. "This must be why the Council is worried. If these Rifts spread, or if more creatures get corrupted… entire villages could be wiped out."

Silence settled over them, the crackle of the small hearth providing the only warmth. Celia closed her eyes, exhaustion tugging at her. The day had been long and harrowing. Yet a spark of determination glowed in her chest. She opened her eyes and found Devran watching her thoughtfully.

"We should rest," he said. "In the morning, we can gather what info we can from the villagers. Then see if we can locate any sign of an actual Rift."

Celia nodded, grateful for his pragmatism. With a quiet yawn, she banked the fire to a low glow and settled on her cot. Devran did the same, resting near the opposite wall. The small cottage felt safe, but outside, the farmland was dark and silent.

Still, Celia couldn't quite shut off her mind. She drifted in a haze of half-sleep, haunted by flashes of the monstrous boar. Twice, she stirred at the faint sound of wind rattling the shutters, heart jumping until she realized it was only the night breeze. Eventually, sheer fatigue pulled her into deeper slumber.

Dawn broke with a gentle light filtering through the cracks in the shutters. Celia awoke to find Devran already up, quietly sharpening his sword by the hearth's embers. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "You rise early."

He shrugged. "Habit from traveling alone. Sleep is a luxury I don't often trust." Then his tone softened. "But we have a busy day. We should see to the villagers."

Celia stretched, packing her gear. Her mind flitted to the morning's tasks: speak to witnesses, visit the herbalist, maybe check the outskirts for any sign of a Rift. She hoped for tangible clues, though a part of her dreaded what they might confirm.

By the time they stepped outside, Westwood's main street was awake with cautious activity. A pair of villagers poured water from the well; a few children chased each other around the palisade, giggling in that way only the young—blissfully ignorant of danger—could manage. Devran inclined his head toward the cluster of people near the tavern. "Let's see who Lorial gathered for us."

The tavern was small, its sign depicting a half-sun, half-tree emblem. Lorial stood out front, speaking with an elderly man who wore a nervous expression. At the sight of Celia and Devran, she beckoned them over. "Morning. This is Horim. He was out in the fields two nights ago when he claims to have seen… well, something."

Horim bobbed his head in a hasty greeting. "Yes, yes. I was hunting rabbits, see—my family's hungry, crops not doing well. And suddenly, the air shimmered, like heat rising off a summer road. But this was near midnight. So I crept closer, and… I swear I saw a hole in the sky. Not big, but big enough. Then this screeching noise started, and… a creature, spindly and unnatural, crawled out. I ran as fast as these old legs could go. Didn't look back."

Devran exchanged a glance with Celia. "Another direct Rift sighting," he murmured.

Lorial grimaced. "He told us in the morning, but few believed him. Until the livestock started vanishing. Now everyone's on edge."

Celia put a gentle hand on Horim's shoulder. "Thank you for telling us. Can you point to roughly where this happened?"

"Northwest side, near the treeline," he said shakily. "Closer to Amberfield."

"We'll investigate," Devran assured him. "Is there anyone else we should talk to?"

Lorial gestured to a handful of villagers inside. "A few more have had sightings. Or have heard strange noises. You're welcome to ask them anything."

The morning passed in a steady stream of testimonies—some contradictory, others disturbingly consistent about flashes of violet or lilac light. By late morning, Celia's notebook was full of scribbled details: approximate times, descriptions of twisted animals, unusual lights, and at least three accounts of the Rifts themselves forming or closing. She frowned at the pattern emerging: most phenomena clustered at dawn or late night, and always near fields or forest edges rather than within the village proper.

When the last villager left, Devran tapped the table thoughtfully. "All these stories point to a region of farmland between Westwood and Amberfield, near a patch of dense woods. Sounds like we should head that way."

Celia nodded, shutting her notebook. "We should also talk to Wren, the herbalist, before we go. She might have details about warding or about odd injuries on animals."

Lorial, who had remained present, nodded. "Wren's shop is just outside the palisade. Look for the wooden door painted green. She's had the most direct contact with wounded animals."

"Thank you," Celia said with genuine gratitude.

Before leaving, they stepped outside to find a small crowd of hopeful villagers. A few asked if the Council would send help. Others just offered them bread and wishes for good luck. Celia felt the weight of their expectations, though she tried to maintain a reassuring smile.

As they made their way beyond the palisade, the orchard came into view—apple trees lined in neat rows, leaves rustling with a gentle breeze. Just beyond that, a small cottage sported a bright green door and a sign carved in the shape of a mortar and pestle. They found Wren inside, sorting dried herbs into ceramic jars.

She glanced up, surprise flitting across her features. "You must be Celia and Devran. Lorial said you'd drop by."

Celia offered a friendly nod. "We heard you might have information about these… attacks. Possibly even about the Rifts."

Wren set down her jars, pushing back a stray lock of curly hair. "I'm no fighter, but I know animals. I've treated more twisted livestock in the past three weeks than in my entire life combined. They come back cut, burned, or warped somehow, like the very air changed them." She sighed. "Some times, a mild salve or poultice helps, but the corruption runs deep."

"Any consistent sign? Purple veins, hardened skin?" Devran asked.

"Yes, exactly," Wren replied, eyes wide. "Like the flesh is fused with some otherworldly power. I tried to craft protective charms using runes, but the effect was minimal."

Celia remembered the monstrous boar from last night. "We encountered a boar that exhibited similar signs. It was extremely strong and radiated chaotic Essence."

Wren grimaced. "So it's not just livestock. Well, if you're going to that farmland, be careful. I have a feeling this will get worse before it gets better."

Devran's voice was steady. "We'll do our best to stop it."

"Here," Wren said, grabbing a small pouch and handing it to Celia. "It's a mixture of herbs that dampen Essence sensitivity temporarily. Might help if you come face-to-face with something that uses chaos as a weapon."

Celia thanked her, tucking the pouch safely in her satchel. "We appreciate it, Wren."

With their preparations complete, they left Wren's cottage. The sun had climbed toward its zenith, warming the farmland. Beyond the fields, the silhouette of a forest rose in the distance—a patch of dark green that seemed to beckon them toward the unknown.

Celia took a steadying breath. "Ready?"

Devran tested the weight of his sword at his side. "Ready. Let's hope we find answers… and not another abomination."

They set off, forging northward. Behind them, Westwood receded into a cluster of wooden buildings and a protective palisade. Ahead, the farmland stretched toward what they suspected might be a nest of Rifts. Clouds drifted overhead, casting fleeting shadows on the land. Now that Celia had seen a monster firsthand, heard the villagers' testimonials, and glimpsed the dreaded corruption up close, there was no doubt in her mind: Silent Rifts were real, and they were far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.