That's when the war began.
Central Westoria
The sky split with a soundless scream.
Above the city, a jagged wound tore itself open—a rift in reality itself. A pulsing gateway, wide as a mountain, hovered high above the clouds. From its core, tendrils of darkness stretched across the heavens like veins. Then came the portals. Dozens. Hundreds. Spiraling vortexes flickering into existence around every major city like summoned plagues.
Blights poured out in waves.
The air filled with sirens and screaming. Lightposts shattered. Streets ruptured. Reality bled. And across the world, in an instant, chaos took root.
⸻
Somewhere in Astoria
The rain fell in thick, hammering sheets, drenching the earth until the dirt turned to slush.
Arthur and Ren trudged through the downpour, cloaks soaked, boots squelching in the mud. Wind howled through the treeline, sharp and wild—violent enough to tug at their hoods, as if trying to carry them off the ground.
A dim silhouette appeared ahead. A farmhouse, worn and long-forgotten, perched on the edge of a flooded field.
Ren squinted through the curtain of rain. "You think it'll do?"
"I'm looking for more than just a roof," Arthur said. His tone was calm, but tense. He adjusted the collar of his heavy red cloak, water sliding down his jaw. "We'll need transport. Horses, ideally."
"Horses?" Ren glanced sideways. "I've never ridden one."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I can't say I'm surprised."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ren snapped.
But Arthur was already moving. He stepped over the overgrown path, pushing through slick branches as the fog thickened around them. His boots hit the edge of an old wooden fence, barely standing.
He peered ahead.
"The place is empty," he muttered.
Ren caught up, eyes scanning the fog-blanketed field. The house loomed just ahead, dark and crooked. "Visibility's trash. We should check inside before we make any calls."
They hopped the fence and advanced. The front porch creaked beneath their weight. Arthur removed his glove, knocking twice on the faded wooden door.
"Is anyone here?" he called out, voice raised over the wind.
No response.
Ren leaned in, hand on the knob. "It's open."
The door creaked as it swung.
They stepped inside.
The house smelled of damp wood and something older—something wrong. Inside, furniture was overturned. Plates sat on the dining table with half-eaten meals, forks still resting beside them. Cups remained where they were last set down. A blanket half-draped over the couch. Toys spilled on the stairs.
It was like the people inside had vanished mid-sentence.
"Creepy…" Ren muttered, glancing into the kitchen. A broken window let the rain drip in. "Still, kind of a nice place to rest. Could do worse."
Arthur didn't answer. He stood motionless in the center of the room, gaze scanning every detail.
"This wasn't abandonment," he said quietly. "It was panic."
He moved deeper inside, checking rooms, brushing past coats left hanging on pegs, a cracked photo on the wall, a teacup shattered at the foot of the hallway.
"Whatever happened," Arthur said, "it happened fast."
"I'll take first watch if you want to sleep," Ren offered, though his voice lacked conviction.
"I'm not sleeping here yet," Arthur said.
He stepped back out into the storm, heading toward the side of the house. Ren hesitated before following.
They reached the barn.
The doors were half-open, swaying in the wind. Arthur pushed them aside and stepped in. The smell of hay and wet leather greeted him.
Inside, tied to the posts, were four horses.
Still alive. Still saddled.
Arthur ran his hand along one's soaked mane. The horse flinched but didn't bolt.
"They didn't even untie them…" he said under his breath. "Someone left in a rush."
He turned to Ren.
"We won't stay here long."
Ren nodded. "Let's head back to camp and tell the others about this place."
Crack—BOOM.
The sky exploded. Thunder rolled across the heavens like a vengeful drumbeat.
Ren flinched. "What the hell was that…"
Arthur smirked faintly. "The storm's just waking up. We should wait it out."
Ren groaned under his breath, brushing a strand of wet hair from his eyes. "Figures."
⸻
Four hours later.
The storm had quieted to a tired drizzle. Arthur stepped out onto the porch, his boots thudding softly on the damp wood. He extended a hand beyond the overhang—just a sprinkle now.
He turned his head. "Let's move."
Ren followed him out, his boots splashing in shallow puddles.
"Take the horses," Arthur added, tightening the saddle strap of a dark chestnut mare.
He climbed onto the saddle and gave the horse's flank a firm pat. "Easy there, girl. Let's see what you've got."
Ren gave him a sideways glance. "Why are you talking to it like it understands you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You just don't get it, Natsume. Get on."
Ren blinked. "Wait. With you?"
Arthur looked over his shoulder. "You gonna ride on your own? Be my guest."
Ren's mouth tightened. He muttered something under his breath before climbing up behind him—awkward, tense, grabbing at the saddle like it might throw him off any second.
Arthur suppressed a laugh. "Relax. It's not a dragon."
Ren closed his eyes. "It might as well be…"
Arthur gestured toward the barn. "Tether the other three."
"Why me?" Ren groaned.
"You wanna ride one alone or not?"
Ren muttered again and slid off with exaggerated frustration. "Fine, but if one bites me, I'm blaming you."
⸻
Camp – Dusk
The two arrived just as the horizon bled into twilight. Their makeshift base was scattered across the clearing—shelters pieced together from logs, branches, and large green leaves. The fire crackled low in the center, smoke drifting up into the dimming sky.
Lyra stood beside it, hunched over a cooking pot. Her twin daggers sat on a nearby stone, glinting in the firelight.
She turned the moment she heard hoofbeats. "Where the hell have you two been?" Her tone was sharp, but her eyes flickered with concern.
Arthur dismounted and gave a short nod. "We found a ranch. A few miles west. It's secluded. Could be useful."
"Useful?" Lyra's voice tightened. "We don't need another pit stop. We need a way out."
"Yeah, but now we've got transport." Ren gestured toward the horses, now tied near the treeline.
Isabelle and Elowen joined them from the tents. Isabelle folded her arms, lips pursed. "A ranch? That means there might be food stores. Did you check?"
Ren nodded, brushing raindrops off his coat. "We looked. Pantry was a mess. Most of it rotten. Place was abandoned in a hurry."
Isabelle sighed. "Great."
"We head for the port," she added. "Nina's map had a clear route. If we're lucky, we can make it in two days."
Lyra gave a curt nod. "I agree."
"I thought we'd wait for Westoria to reach out," Ren muttered.
Lyra threw her hands up, turning away. "Oh, brilliant. Like they did last time?"
Ren exhaled sharply, muttering something inaudible.
"She's not trying to be cruel," Elowen said softly, stepping beside him. "The last time she lost Reid was when they were kids. Being separated again… it's hitting her harder than she lets on."
Arthur sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Still doesn't make it any less frustrating."
Elowen gave him a gentle look. "None of this is easy, Arthur. We're all fraying."
"I'm more worried about what's not being said," Isabelle spoke, her voice low. She leaned against a wooden table, her expression shadowed by the firelight. "That ranch was too clean… and the city—"
She stopped, shaking her head.
"It was a kill zone," she finished. "And something doesn't sit right about any of this."
Arthur met her gaze. "Then we focus on surviving. That's all that matters right now."
Isabelle glanced at him, then away. "Yeah. You're right." She rubbed her arms. "Still… it's getting harder to ignore."
"Get some rest," Arthur said. "You'll need it."
The fire cracked again. A breeze swept through the camp. And despite the warmth of the flames, the night felt colder than before.
Arthur sat beside the fire, its flickering light casting long shadows across the camp. The air was still, heavy with damp earth and smoke. His hands hovered just above the flame, fingers spread as if trying to hold onto something slipping through them.
Across from him, Clyde sat hunched over, arms resting on his knees, shoulders drawn in. Rin was beside him, her gaze lost in the fire's rhythmic dance, her arms wrapped loosely around herself.
"Hey, Clyde," Arthur said, voice low and casual, but there was a subtle shift in his tone—a softness laced with intent. "What's on your mind?"
Clyde exhaled slowly. "I'm feeling uneasy about everything. And… I don't know. I keep thinking it's my fault." His voice cracked with frustration. "I watched, and I couldn't do anything. All I could do was watch while they held me down and beat the hell out of me."
The flames popped, sending a thin wisp of ember spiraling into the night.
Clyde's eyes dropped to the fire. "How are we even supposed to find them in Morvain?"
Arthur's hand stopped just above the fire. His eyes lifted, settling on Clyde.
"Morvain?" he repeated, almost under his breath.
Clyde nodded. "The blight dimension. That place is endless… we'll die before we even get close."
Arthur didn't speak. He just looked at Clyde.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned to Rin.
She flinched when their eyes met. "How do you think I feel?" Her voice was soft, but tight around the edges. She pulled her knees closer, resting her chin on them. "I just… hope we find them. Before something happens."
Her words hung in the air, untouched. She didn't flinch. But the way she pulled her sleeve down, the way she wouldn't look at either of them—it said more than her tone ever could.
Arthur stood, brushing the dirt off his pants, his expression unreadable.
"There's no point in sitting around thinking about it," he said, stretching his arms before turning toward his shelter. "Get some sleep. That's the best thing you can do right now."
As he walked away, he glanced back one last time. Then moved on.
"I feel something changing in the world."