Shadows of the Silent Rift

Dappled sunlight filtered through the orchard's leaves, drawing shifting patterns on Celia Lumehart's cloak as she and Devran Stormclaw headed back toward Westwood's small main street. The midmorning air felt crisp, laced with the scent of cut grass and distant woodsmoke. A subtle tension permeated the village—like a drawn bow waiting to loose an arrow—and Celia sensed that everyone, from the reeve to the stable hands, shared the same uneasy undercurrent of fear.

They had spent the dawn hours questioning more townsfolk about the warped boar they'd slain and the rumors of flickering Rifts. Despite the early bustle—farmers visiting the well, a handful of villagers repairing palisade gaps—there was a hush beneath it all. Celia hugged her satchel to her side, notebook inside brimming with clues. But as she reviewed her notes, none spelled a clear path forward. She glanced at Devran, who appeared deep in thought.

"Something's on your mind," she said, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the solemn quiet.

He nodded, scanning the orchard. "I was thinking about that boar last night—and the chaotic Essence it gave off. I've seen monstrous beasts in wilder parts of Aetheria, but none felt quite like… that." His jaw tightened. "We need to find out who—or what—is causing these Rifts to open."

"That's why the Council sent us," Celia replied, though even she couldn't keep the worry from coloring her tone. "But if the problem is bigger than a few random Rifts, we might have to call in more help."

Devran gave her a sidelong glance, considering her words. "You might be right. Let's see what the reeve says, and if there's any new information this morning."

They entered the village proper, passing a few laborers stacking crates outside the modest tavern. One of them, a stocky man with a bandaged hand, cast the pair a grateful nod. Word had spread fast that Devran and Celia had protected a caravan the night before. Celia forced a small smile in return, but guilt tugged at her. They could only do so much, and the farmland's problems clearly ran deeper.

At the heart of Westwood, the reeve's makeshift command post bustled with activity. A simple wooden table stood near the village well, covered with loose parchment, a quill pot, and a half-eaten loaf of bread. Lorial—the reeve—looked up from examining a tattered map. Her eyes brightened when she spotted them.

"Morning, you two," she greeted. Though her voice was brisk, Celia heard a subdued relief there. "I'm glad you came back. We've got ourselves a… situation."

Devran leaned forward, resting a hand lightly on the table. "What sort of situation?"

Lorial's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Some villagers reported strange lights just before dawn—a glow on the horizon near the old farmland to the northwest. It matches the stories we've heard before, about flickering Rifts. But here's the troubling part: Our foraging party found tracks that suggest more than one creature might have emerged this time."

Celia felt a chill spread across her skin. "More than one?"

"Yes." Lorial tapped the map. "Tarin, one of our best trackers, followed the footprints until they vanished near the woods. Whatever it was, it weighed more than a standard animal. Possibly more than one creature, according to multiple tracks. We don't know if they're still roaming around or if they disappeared back through another Rift."

"That's… unsettling," Celia said, scanning the rough lines on the map. She noticed a cluster of circles marking farmland boundaries, then the curving edge of a forested area. Westwood sat to the southeast, Amberfield to the north. The distances looked short, maybe a few hours' walk if the terrain was gentle.

Devran exhaled through his nose. "This could escalate quickly if each Rift brings more corrupted beasts."

Lorial nodded grimly. "We fear the same. It's why I plan to send a messenger to the Council, requesting more immediate assistance. We're farmers, not soldiers—last night's boar was proof enough we can't handle these abominations alone." She paused, glancing between Celia and Devran. "But I gather you two aren't just passing through anymore. You mean to see this through."

"We do," Celia said, meeting the reeve's gaze. "At least until we have enough information to make a formal report to the Council. And if that means traveling to the forest's edge to see what's happening, we will."

Lorial's shoulders relaxed just a fraction. "Then I ask you a favor: Will you take Tarin with you? He's a reliable tracker, and he knows that woodland area well. If these creatures are slipping in and out, Tarin might spot subtle signs you'd otherwise miss."

Devran and Celia exchanged looks. It made sense to have local help. "We welcome the extra set of eyes," Devran agreed.

"Good. He's gearing up near the stables," Lorial said. "Thank you. I'll keep everyone calm here… as best I can."

Celia placed a reassuring hand on Lorial's arm. "We'll do what we can to bring clarity. And if anything changes, send a runner after us."

With that, they headed to the village stables, a modest structure behind the tavern. Two stable-hands were busy brushing a pair of chestnut mares, while a lean, dark-haired man stood to the side, checking the tension of a shortbow's string. He wore travel-worn leathers and had a quiver slung across his back. When Devran and Celia approached, he straightened, giving them a polite nod.

"You must be Celia and Devran," he said in a subdued baritone. "Name's Tarin. Reeve Lorial asked me to be your guide."

Devran sized him up briefly. "We appreciate it. Heard you're an experienced tracker."

Tarin shrugged. "I've hunted in those woods since I could walk. I can spot boar tracks and deer prints blindfolded." His voice took on a grim note. "But these footprints we found at dawn… they're nothing like normal creatures. Deep impressions, multiple sets of them. No sign of normal patterns. We might be dealing with something large—or at least heavy—and a few smaller companions."

Celia's stomach clenched at the idea. "If it's anything like that monstrous boar we fought, we need to be ready for a real confrontation. Are you prepared to handle a fight?"

Tarin managed a small half-smile. "I'm no soldier, but I'm decent with a bow, and I know how to disappear in the underbrush if it comes to that."

"Good," Devran said, adjusting the strap around his own shoulder. He carried minimal gear—just water, some dried rations, and a bedroll strapped near his sword scabbard. Celia had a similar setup, plus her stuffed satchel of notes, salves, and vials from the herbalist, Wren.

They set off, stepping through Westwood's gate and onto the rough road that led northwest. The farmland greeted them with rolling fields and scattered trees, though the land's peaceful veneer didn't fool any of them now. Every so often, Celia glimpsed a broken fence or an abandoned patch of farmland that might once have been thriving but now lay untended. She tried to picture how life here used to be: farmers chatting in the lanes, children running through the fields at twilight. It must have been a warm, welcoming place—until the Rifts brought their menace.

Tarin walked several paces ahead, bow slung across his back, posture alert. Whenever they spotted fresh animal tracks, he crouched and examined them, shaking his head if they proved ordinary. Celia's gaze traveled often to Devran, who maintained a vigilant stance at the rear, scanning their surroundings as though expecting an ambush. She herself alternated between taking notes on local plant life—some of which showed odd discoloration that might be residue of chaotic Essence—and listening for the slightest rustle that could herald danger.

Before long, they reached a gentle rise crowned by a few wind-bent trees. From here, the farmland sloped gradually toward the forest's edge. The place was eerily beautiful: tall grasses shimmered in the midday sun, and a subtle breeze rustled the leaves of distant birches.

Tarin motioned for them to join him behind a narrow thicket. "This is where we found the tracks earlier," he said in a hushed voice. "Look."

Celia crouched beside him, and Devran followed, scanning the ground. Multiple indentations scarred the otherwise soft earth. Some were large, circular prints with elongated claw marks at the tips; others looked almost like deep hoof imprints—possibly from a goatlike creature, but bigger than any goat she'd seen. She remembered the boar's warped hooves, how they left abnormal impressions.

Kneeling, Celia hovered a palm just above the earth. She closed her eyes, focusing her Essence, attempting to see if any chaotic residue lingered. A faint prickling sensation tingled her fingertips. "There's definitely some leftover energy here," she murmured. "It feels… distorted, like a ripple that hasn't fully faded."

Devran's gaze hardened. "Then these creatures passed through recently. Could be last night or early morning."

Tarin nodded. "I suspect they may have gone into those woods." He gestured to the tree line a few hundred yards away. The forest looked deceptively tranquil—branches swaying, patches of midday sunlight dancing. "We can follow, but we should be careful. If these things are out there, we don't want to stumble into them unaware."

Devran exchanged a look with Celia. She felt her pulse quicken but nodded. "We came here to find answers. Let's move quietly."

They descended the gentle slope, stepping off the farmland's boundary and into the woodland fringe. Immediately, the air felt cooler and more still. Thin beams of sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating motes of dust. Fallen leaves carpeted the ground, muffling their steps. Tarin took the lead, expertly navigating around branches and undergrowth. Devran trailed behind, each hand close to a weapon—the sword at his hip and a dagger at the small of his back.

Celia inhaled the forest's scent, a mix of damp earth and decaying leaves. It reminded her of the times she'd ventured into Valemyst Glades to study rare plants for the Grand Archive. But this wasn't a research expedition under normal circumstances; fear and tension coiled in her gut. If a twisted pack of beasts was roaming these woods, they had to remain vigilant.

After a few minutes, Tarin held up a hand. They froze. He dropped into a crouch, pointing to a patch of ferns where the ground had been disturbed—uprooted and scattered. A few splatters of dark fluid stained the soil. Devran edged closer, brow furrowed.

"Blood?" Celia asked quietly.

Tarin pressed two fingers against it, then sniffed. His grimace answered Celia's question. "Definitely blood. Not fresh, but not too old either. Maybe from last night. Could be an animal was attacked… or one of those twisted creatures was wounded."

Devran kept watch, scanning the undergrowth. "We should follow any trail we can find."

They pressed on, the occasional birdcall sounding strangely distant. The deeper they went, the denser the foliage. Soon, Celia found herself stepping over twisted roots and ducking beneath sagging branches. A part of her kept expecting to hear the snap of a twig behind them, some monstrous shape lunging from the shadows. She forcibly slowed her breathing, trying to trust that Tarin's experience would keep them from walking into an ambush.

Suddenly, Tarin froze again, holding his breath. Celia strained her ears, and there—a faint moan, almost like the whimper of a hurt animal. Tarin pointed ahead, indicating they should proceed slowly. Devran moved up to take point, sword partially unsheathed. They crept through a thick stand of bushes, the moan growing clearer with each step.

What they saw beyond made Celia's heart clench: a young deer lay on its side at the base of a large oak, flank marred by a grotesque wound. Even from several paces away, Celia could sense the warp of chaotic Essence in the blood that seeped from it. Purple veins spiderwebbed across the deer's body, an all-too-familiar sign now.

"It's corrupted," Celia whispered, clamping a hand over her mouth. The deer was still alive, chest heaving in labored breaths. A sheen of fear glinted in its dark eyes.

Devran's jaw tightened. "Something attacked it and left it to suffer."

Tarin exhaled softly, stepping forward. "Should we… put it out of its misery? Or try to help?"

Celia swallowed, kneeling beside the trembling animal. Her instincts told her that healing magic might not do much if the Essence corruption had taken hold, but she couldn't simply turn away. She placed a gentle hand near its neck, focusing her Verdant Bloom skill in a soft, supportive flow.

The deer's eyes fluttered, and it let out a feeble bleat. Leaves and thin vines stirred around them, responding to Celia's Essence. A hint of greenish glow outlined the deer's wound, but the purple corruption didn't abate. Instead, it hissed and crackled, like oil meeting water. Celia felt a stab of despair—her nature-based magic was fighting something far more insidious than a simple injury.

Devran crouched, touching Celia's shoulder. "It's no use."

Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. She knew he was right; each second the deer's shaking grew weaker. Tarin frowned, the lines around his mouth etched with sadness. "Poor creature," he muttered. "I'll end it quickly, if you allow me."

Celia nodded, rising with trembling legs. She turned away, leaving Tarin the grim task. A soft thump behind her told her it was done. The forest seemed to hold its breath in that moment, a hush settling over them like a funeral shroud.

"It's just an animal," Devran said gently, sensing her turmoil. "But I understand—it's wrong. All of this is."

Celia steadied her voice. "We can't let more creatures suffer like this. We have to find the source."

Suddenly, a flash of movement—a shape darted between the trees some twenty yards away. Tarin hissed, "Movement!" He raised his bow, nocking an arrow in one fluid motion. Devran pulled Celia behind him, unsheathing his sword fully.

They caught a glimpse of it through the foliage: large, crouched, with spindly limbs. A faint violet glow pulsed along its twisted form. It let out a keening hiss, then darted deeper into the shadows with unnatural agility.

"After it!" Devran barked.

Tarin bounded forward, arrow at the ready. Devran followed, his footfalls surprisingly quiet for someone armed. Celia came right behind, heart hammering. They zigzagged through a cluster of pines, the canopy blotting out much of the sunlight. Branches scratched at her cloak as she struggled to keep pace.

Occasionally, she glimpsed the creature—pale flesh mottled with shadow, elongated arms ending in vicious claws. It seemed neither entirely bestial nor humanoid, something caught in a dreadful in-between state. She remembered Horim's account of a "spindly, unnatural" shape emerging from a Rift. This had to be one of those same horrors.

"Cut it off that way!" Tarin gestured, pivoting to flank it. The creature emitted a shriek, vaulting over fallen logs at an impossible speed. A rancid smell wafted in its wake, reminiscent of decay and raw chaos. Devran cursed under his breath, pushing himself to move faster.

They burst into a small clearing rimmed by towering oaks, the ground mottled with sun and shade. The creature skittered to a halt at the far edge, its limbs twitching. In the fleeting moment, Celia saw it clearly: a twisted face with no discernible eyes, only hollow sockets that glowed purple from within. The mouth was too wide, lined with uneven teeth.

Tarin loosed an arrow. The creature jerked sideways with unsettling fluidity, the arrow snagging only a tuft of matted fur or hide. Devran lunged in a low stance, sword flashing. The thing opened its jaws in a soundless shriek, then sprang backward as if gravity barely bound it.

Celia, panting, mustered her Verdant Bloom to try entangling it, much like she'd done with the boar. This time, vines and roots shot forth from the forest floor, aiming to snare its legs. But the creature contorted unnaturally, slipping free before the vines could coil fully. A savage hiss erupted from its throat, and it bounded left, heading for the tree line once more.

"Not so fast," Devran growled. He concentrated, and Celia recognized the shift in the air—Bladestorm Array. Translucent blade-shapes flickered into existence, circling him like a halo of steel. With a thrust of his arm, they streaked forward. The creature twisted away from most of them, but one spectral blade sliced across its torso, drawing a spurt of inky, blackish fluid. It screeched in fury.

Tarin seized that opening, firing another arrow that lodged in its thigh with a sickening thunk. The thing staggered, clawing at the arrow. Celia dared a few steps closer, adrenaline flooding her veins. If they could wound it enough, maybe they could subdue it. But the creature thrashed, yanking the arrow free in a splatter of dark fluid. Then, to their horror, it sprang into a half-dead oak's hollow trunk and vanished from sight with an echoing hiss.

Devran reached the trunk in two strides, brandishing his sword. No sign of it inside—only rotten wood and half-eaten mushrooms. Tarin circled the tree, eyes wide. "Did it… slip underground?"

"It must've found some opening," Devran muttered, face hard. "We've lost it."

Celia's heart pounded in her ears. She scanned the clearing, searching for footprints or cracks in the earth. It was as if the monster had melted away. A foul stench lingered, mixing with the tang of its spilled blood. She swallowed back a wave of nausea.

"At least we wounded it," Tarin said, though his voice held little comfort. "If it's bleeding like that, maybe it won't get far."

Devran exhaled sharply. "I'm not so sure. We should sweep the area, but there's a chance it knows these hidden nooks better than we do. Or—" He glanced at Celia. "Or it might vanish back through a Rift. The boar did that once before it attacked the caravan, apparently."

Celia closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. If these twisted creatures could appear and disappear at will, the farmland was far from safe. She forced herself to focus. "Let's search a bit more, but we shouldn't stray too far. We need to report back."

Tarin nodded. "Agreed. We'll circle around the clearing, check for openings."

They spent the next half hour combing the vicinity, prying aside loose stones, peering into thickets, and pressing their ears to the forest floor in case there was some tunnel or warren. Only a few drops of blackish fluid trailed into a dense patch of brambles. After that, the trail vanished.

"Gone," Devran finally said, grim acceptance lacing his tone. "We can't track it in here. The best we can do is alert the Council and the villagers that one of these horrors is running loose."

Celia gathered her composure, though the memory of that eyeless face would undoubtedly haunt her. "At least we have undeniable proof. Another twisted creature—clearly not a normal beast." She tried to keep her voice steady. "We should let Lorial know. And the Council, too."

Tarin checked the fletching on his arrows. "Then let's head back. Once the messenger rides to Solaria, hopefully they'll dispatch a bigger force."

They turned around, carefully retracing their steps through the woods. The hush felt heavier now, as though the trees themselves withheld judgment. Celia kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting the creature to reappear. But the forest remained silent, empty of any sign of life except for the occasional rustle of a squirrel or bird overhead. Even those sounds seemed subdued, like the wildlife sensed a predator unlike anything they'd known.

Eventually, they emerged onto the farmland slope where the sun was lower than before, casting elongated shadows across the fields. The hike back to Westwood was quiet, punctuated only by Tarin muttering curses under his breath about letting the creature slip away.

When they arrived at the village gate, a small crowd had gathered—farmers, children, elders. Their expressions spoke volumes: worry, hope, curiosity. Lorial pushed through the throng, reading their faces at once. "That bad, is it?"

Devran nodded curtly. "We found a twisted creature in the forest—partially wounded it, but it escaped. It's unlike anything the farmland's ever seen."

Celia explained more about the spindly arms, the black fluid, and the Rift-like aura she'd sensed. The crowd's anxious murmur rippled. A few villagers looked on the verge of tears; others clenched fists in anger.

"We'll double the watch," Lorial said grimly. "And I'll send the messenger to Solaria tonight. Enough waiting. We need the Council's help in force."

Celia opened her satchel, retrieving a parchment she'd hastily scribbled notes on. "Let your messenger take this summary. It outlines everything we've discovered since arriving. With luck, it'll convince the Council to prioritize the farmland's defense."

Lorial accepted the paper with a shaky nod. "Thank you. We'll have the messenger ride out before sundown."

The reeve ushered them away from the crowd, lowering her voice. "I know you both have limited resources, but if you can stay a bit longer until the Council responds… we'll be in your debt. Folks here trust you."

Devran glanced to Celia, who nodded. "We'll stay," she assured Lorial. "At least until we receive word from Solaria." She cast a determined look at Devran. "Maybe we can do more scouting, figure out if there's a stable Rift somewhere in the farmland. It might be the key."

"Agreed," Devran said. He straightened, turning to Tarin. "You up for helping us again, tomorrow maybe?"

Tarin gave a wry smile. "I'll rest up, but yes. Westwood's my home—I won't see it overrun by nightmares."

"Then that's the plan," Devran concluded.

Lorial's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Bless you," she murmured. "We can arrange lodging for as long as you need."

A distant rumble in the sky drew everyone's attention. Clouds gathered on the horizon, dark and rolling. "Looks like a storm," someone muttered in the crowd. Indeed, the farmland would soon be soaked, and the roads might turn muddy. Celia suspected traveling to Amberfield or beyond would become more difficult. She only hoped the weather wouldn't hamper the messenger's ride to Solaria. Time, after all, felt increasingly precious.

They parted ways, Celia and Devran returning to their borrowed cottage by the orchard. The tension in the air followed them, a silent reminder that twisted creatures might be mere miles away. Inside, the meager warmth of the hearth and the soft glow of a single oil lamp did little to dispel Celia's lingering dread.

She sank onto one of the simple chairs by the table, rummaging in her satchel for the dried herbs Wren had provided. While she placed them in a small dish, intending to grind them to calm her nerves, Devran began unbuckling his sword belt.

"We made progress today," he said at length, voice subdued. "But this place is on the brink. And we've only encountered… two? Possibly three of these twisted creatures total, counting that monstrous boar."

Celia bit her lip. "Who knows how many more lurk out there? Or how many new ones will appear if more Rifts keep opening."

Devran drew a hand across his face. "We need a new plan. If the Council's reinforcements don't come quickly, Westwood will remain vulnerable."

Celia turned the mortar in her hands, methodically crushing the herbs. Their fragrant aroma rose between them, mingling with the faint crackle of the hearth's embers. "I just hope the Council takes our report seriously. I tried to detail the boar attack, the twisted deer, this spindly creature, the footprints… it's more evidence than we had two days ago."

"I'm sure it'll help," Devran said, though a note of worry colored his voice. "In the meantime, we can keep exploring. If we find the main Rift—assuming there is a 'main' one—we might at least contain or disrupt it."

Celia nodded. "Agreed." She kept quiet for a moment, working the herb paste into a small cloth pouch. Her hands trembled slightly, a physical manifestation of her swirling anxieties. "I hate feeling so powerless," she finally admitted. "I'm not a pure healer, or a frontline fighter like you. My Verdant Bloom helps, but it's not enough to stop these monsters."

Devran paused, eyes studying her face. "You're not powerless, Celia. You're the one gathering critical information, forging connections, keeping the villagers calm. Without you, I'd just be swinging a sword at shadows." A small, earnest smile played at his lips. "Besides, from what I've seen, your power is unique. If it evolves further, it could become an Ascendant Title someday."

She flushed at the compliment, uncertainty tangling with a flicker of hope. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "I've witnessed powerful warriors, and I've heard rumors of people whose skills grow into Titles like 'Arcane Oracle' or 'Eternal Guardian.' If you keep pushing your abilities… who knows?"

She set down the pouch, a subdued gratitude warming her chest. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll keep trying."

A sharp crack of thunder outside made them both jump. Rain began pattering against the shutters, slowly at first, then building into a steady drumming. The orchard branches creaked in the gusting wind. Celia shivered, even though the room wasn't particularly cold.

"Tomorrow," Devran said over the rain's hiss, "we'll re-check the farmland for more signs. Maybe Tarin can lead us to another set of tracks. And if that creature we injured tries to move on, we might pick up the trail."

Celia rose to stir the fireplace. "Yes. Let's rest for now." But the uneasy swirl in her gut told her that sleep wouldn't come easy. She pictured the Rift-born beast's hollow, glowing sockets, and the helpless deer with purple corruption. Closing her eyes, she prayed that the Council messenger would ride fast through the storm.

As the fire cast flickering shadows along the cottage walls, she and Devran lapsed into silence. Both were lost in private thoughts of what the coming days might bring. Outside, thunder rumbled anew, as if echoing the simmering dread that had settled over Westwood. Tomorrow would bring more searching, more dangers—perhaps more twisted monsters. And through it all, the silent question beat in Celia's heart like a drum:

Where are these Rifts truly coming from, and how long before Aetheria itself tears at the seams?