My eyes stayed glued to Seth's combat boots as I tried to follow in his footsteps. Strangely
clean, they crunched against the rough, cold stone of the tunnel floor. Blood had soaked all
the way through the synthetic leather of my sneakers. Sweat and grime cemented my socks
to my feet. Still, even that felt more comfortable than the stiff silence that lingered between
me and my brother.
Seth set an effortlessly urgent pace that forced me into a huffing half-jog.
Lingering patches of veilgator blood hardened on my cheek and jaw. It had taken me hours
to prep the rest of the corpses, and there had been no time to clean. Frustrated and tired, I
scratched at my face to clear the scabs away, but I only succeeded in driving a sharp sliver
of blood beneath one of my fingernails.
I winced as the fragment drove deeper into my skin. In the end, I pulled it loose with my teeth
and spit it out. A spot of my own red blood welled up at the tip of my fingernail.
I almost laughed. There was something stupidly ironic about being wounded by the dried
blood of a dead parabeast.
The quick beat of Seth's steps was growing farther away, and I shot a look at the back of his
clean but well-worn olive cloak. Even though his face was hidden, I could perfectly picture
the expression of icy detachment he projected.
"You've really got this whole 'silent treatment' thing down good. Definitely ready for
fatherhood," I said, just to break the icy silence.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression exactly how I'd imagined. His scars—a
fine line through his right brow and a thicker slash high on his cheekbone—only accentuated
the coldness. He didn't bother to respond.
Seth was the most powerful ardent in our division. The higher-ups prized him because of his
prowess in battle and ability to always lead with composure. That was their word for it, at
least. I called it indifferenceStifling an irritated groan, I powered after him. The silence between us weighed heavier by
the second. For a long time, the only sounds we exchanged were the hurried thudding of our
mismatched footsteps on the rock.
That was, of course, until we approached the rift.
A wall of sound hit us as we left the narrow tunnel and entered a much larger cavern. At its
center, looming over everyone, the expansive rift buzzed with life and blinding golden light.
Makeshift stairs granted easier access to its base, which hovered a few feet off the ground.
The golden rip in space and time was a sight that every ardent shared on their way in, but
not all survived to see it again.
Seth started across the cavern without looking back at me. I fell behind, stealing glimpses of
the various cliques and workstations to try and figure out what our unit had uncovered on
this mission.
Two researchers in white lab coats huddled together nearby, speaking in hushed tones with
a group of miners in hard hats. Ivory-headed pickaxes leaned against the wall behind them
as the group set sample after sample of rocks embedded with glittering veins of hardened
golden resin into the collection of open trunks nearby.
Along one rocky wall, about ten carvers in rubber aprons sorted and labeled the severed
parabeast parts into piles. Despite the gory task of draining black blood from the monsters'
bodies, each person showed the level of professionalism and care that I'd tried to ask of
Matthew.
I wonder how many times a parabeast corpse has tried to eat these guys, I thought with a
scoff.
Not far off, closer to the stairs that led up to the exit, an ardent sat on a boulder with a
splotchy bandage wrapped around his head. A medic in a red and white uniform knelt beside
him to tend to the gash on his forearm. The ardent winced as the medic applied gel to the
wound, but neither spoke, just going through the motions of their jobs. Behind the duo, more
grime-covered soldiers mingled by a water station, refilling their canteens.
And then we passed the body bags.
My stomach dropped. Twenty-two black bags, all laid out in a single row in an isolated
stretch of the cave. A priest stood by the first, his hand raised as he read the fallen ardent's
last rights. A medic sat nearby, her head in her hands, listening. Maroon blood soaked her
forearms, and I could only imagine what she had seen in here today.
We'd lost a lot of people in this rift.
Instead of joining the other ardents in line for the cleansing stations, Seth veered left. He
walked with purpose toward a man leaning against the cave wall and watching the priest's
grim procession from bag to bag.
The man saw us coming but didn't immediately say anything, only shook his head sedately
before returning his focus to the body bags. Dust powdered his spiky brown hair, and the
jagged laceration on his neck probably needed attention from a medic.
"Hey, Jace," I said, glad to see a friendly face after the shit-show that had been my day.
"Four of those body bags have boneforgers in them," he said by way of a greeting.
I swallowed my retort. I knew he meant it as a word of caution, but I couldn't help hearing a
rebuke. After all, there I was, thinking about how hard my day had been, while four forgers
lay right in front of me, cold and wrapped in plastic.
"How many total?" Seth asked.
"Twenty-six." With a ragged cough, Jace spat a wad of bloody phlegm onto the ground. "The
trainees already started carrying them out."
"There's nothing more you can do now," my brother replied. "Get yourself to a medic."
Jace shook his head. "There are still a few ardents in worse shape than me. I'll go after
them."
I raised a brow, tapping a finger on my neck. "You sure about that? Your head looks like it's
barely hanging on."
Jace snorted. "What, this little scratch?"
In the silence that followed, Seth let out a steady breath, setting his hand on Jace's shoulder.
They stood there for a moment in silent solidarity, like they could read each other's thoughts.
Jace rubbed his eyes. A muscle tensed in his jaw. But he didn't say anything else.
Seth and Jace side by side was a sight that frequented my childhood memories. But while
Seth had always been serious, even as a kid, Jace used to smile and joke around with me.
Growing up in the orphanage, he'd been a buffer that made my brother's constant cool
disapproval almost bearable.
"You still want a ride?" Seth asked.
"Yeah, sure." Jace pointed to his wound. "If you've got time to wait for my beauty treatment."
I snickered. Seth only said, "Meet you at the car," and patted Jace's back one last time
before gesturing for me to follow him. More ardents had begun to flood out of the tunnel, and
the line through the rift had gotten longer.
But we didn't get far.
Seth stopped abruptly, and I skidded to an awkward stop behind him. He let out an almost
inaudible grunt and, with only a brief glance over his shoulder, gestured for me to stay put.
Despite the fact that he was treating me like a puppy still in training, when I saw where he
was headed, I was happy to stay behind.
He walked briskly toward a man in a black suit surrounded by people with clipboards. I
couldn't see the suit's face from here, but I could guess it was someone from management.
The clang of metal on metal rang through the cavern, and I perked up at the familiar sound
of boneforgers at work. It took a few seconds of scanning the chaos, but I eventually found a
group of three boneforgers working on iron tables near the exit. One of them lifted a hammer
into the air, and his golden raden glowed as he encased the forging tool with energy. With a
grunt of effort, he hammered the sword pinned to the workstation beneath him, and it
instantly snapped back into shape.
I watched him work while I waited, not really thinking about anything, just… watching.
"Torrin," a gruff voice said behind me.
I flinched in surprise as a familiar boneforger with a scar on one cheek ambled toward me.
Taj, a twenty-something who had joined the corporation's ranks shortly after I did, gave me a
curt nod. His arms were wet with blood and chunks of gore up to his shoulders, and he'd
managed to smear some across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. "I need more of that
solvent."
"For your face?" I pointed at the black smears. "I wouldn't recommend it."
He snorted and tried to rub some of it off with the back of his sleeve, but it was already
clotted. "No, smart ass. Anyway, I need three bottles." He looked meaningfully at my bag.
I could only shrug in response. "I used up everything I had today. All out."
"Shit," he grumbled, clicking his tongue.
I didn't feel too bad about it. I'd offered to trade off duties with some of the other boneforgers
so I'd have more time for extracurricular projects like preparing the solvent, but they'd never
taken me up on it.
"Maybe by the time the next rift opens, you'll have some extra?" Taj asked, already moving
away.
"If I have time. See you, Taj."
"Yeah, all right. Later," he answered half-heartedly before melting into the constantly moving
crowd of ardents and workers.
I shook my head, reminding myself I didn't owe these guys anything. Taj was all right, but
outside of the rifts, he treated me like a pariah, just like the rest of the forgers. Unless they
needed something, of course.
Casting a final glance at the cluster of boneforgers, I turned my back on them and began
searching the crowd for my brother. Not far away, the posse of clipboard-wielding men and
women had congregated tightly around Seth and the man in the black suit. Their
well-groomed appearances and freshly pressed outfits looked weirdly out of place amid the
blood, sweat, and dust.
Two ardents flanked the suit, scowling around at everyone.
The man set one hand on Seth's shoulder, and I shuffled closer, catching part of the
conversation.
"...concerns are valid, of course, but you underestimate yourself and your men. You did well
today."
At that moment, the man turned toward me, and I finally saw his face. The president of the
Valera Conglomerate, joining the common folk inside a rift. Usually, his face was fifty feet tall,
smiling down from the neon glow of a digital billboard. Even in realistic dimensions, he still
stuck out, with his suit working overtime to contain his herculean build and ever-present
entourage moving as one behind him like a school of fish.
In person, it was easier to see the family resemblance between him and Colter. Colter would
probably be his father's clone in a few decades. But there was a distinct difference between
them. One that held a hell of a lot more weight in my eyes. Colter, as the president's son,
could have had anything while doing nothing, and yet he was one of the best ardents in our
division.
President Valera began moving, his hand still on Seth's shoulder so my brother was dragged
along with him. The various personnel were forced to drop what they were doing and step
aside as the group cut through the crowd. Too late, I realized I was left standing in the middle
of their path, forcing Valera to hesitate. He stared down at me, a small frown pursing his lips.
Seth cleared his throat and took a quick step forward. "My brother. Torrin. He's a boneforger
and inventor for the corporation."
"Ah, of course. I've heard good things." His attention slid right past me, his words nothing but
inoffensive office-speak, and he started to walk again. After only a couple steps, he paused
and looked back at Seth, real recognition behind his pupils this time. "My son speaks highly
of your brother. In fact, the Valera Conglomerate believes his talents are wasted in his
current duties." Looking back at a woman in a crisp suit, he added, "Todd Gray is to be
promoted to the active rift roster, immediately. Assign him to Colter's team."
Wait… Todd? Does he mean me?
The woman began to scribble a note on her readied clipboard as Seth and I ogled the
president. Seeming not to notice, Valera gave Seth a smile like he'd just done him a huge
favor. "Keep up the good work, Seth." He nodded my way. "Todd." His entourage moved
away, leaving my brother and me momentarily alone among the crowd.
Come on, let's go," Seth said, his face an impassive mask but his voice rough with anger.
He didn't wait for me before stalking toward the rift.
Suddenly bone-achingly tired and a little punch drunk from the last few seconds, I followed
him to the line forming at the staircase that led back out to civilization. President Valera had
promoted me, personally. It should have been a huge honor, but it was pretty obvious the
man didn't actually know anything about me. Hell, he'd called me Todd.
Still, I wasn't exactly unhappy about it, even if this promotion was nothing more than an
off-handed consolation to my brother. Maybe it wasn't how I wanted it to happen, but it is
what I'd been working toward.
Isn't it? I asked myself, second-guessing every thought and emotion.
"Torrin."
A strong hand grabbed my wrist, and I instinctively jerked free, only to realize that it was just
Seth. The line ahead of us had dwindled. It was our turn.
Without any outward reaction, Seth ushered me ahead of him on the stairs.
When I stepped into the portal's golden light, my body tensed automatically. I really friggin'
hated this part.
The golden light resisted me, and I had to force my way through it. My ears popped and a
shrill ring drowned out everything else. The overall sensation reminded me of changing air
pressure in a plane cabin—except the discomfort happened all at once, like the craft had
dropped a thousand feet in two seconds.
When I finally stepped into the outside world, I released the breath I'd been holding. The
ardents ahead of me shuddered, shaking off the experience, and as the ringing in my ears
faded, I couldn't help but do the same.
I looked over my shoulder as Seth walked through, but his face was as hard and unreadable
as a mask of dead veilgator scales.
Our line continued moving, and my brother took the lead again, heading down the steps and
into the bustling chaos of the construction zone surrounding the newly formed rift.
We were in the middle of a decimated suburbia. Beyond the cluster of work trucks and
gathered ardents, flattened houses littered the surrounding neighborhoods. Nothing much
remained besides piles of rubble, skeletal frames jutting out through collapsed rooftops, and
mounds of broken drywall.
With the high raden density of this area, too many rifts had opened for it to remain classified
as a safe zone. The locals had evacuated years ago, and the military had moved in.
There was even more activity out here than there'd been inside the rift. The hum of
conversation mingled with the clatter of metal on metal. Sparks fizzed overhead, and I
reflexively ducked as I spotted scaffolding going up around the glowing golden hole in space.
On the raised platform, two men wearing welding masks worked on a metal pipe, shooting
more sparks into the air.
"I swear, these guys get faster every raid." One of the ardents behind us stopped to look up
at the structure.
His buddy shrugged and kept walking. "With how many rifts are popping out of God's
asshole these days, they're getting plenty of practice."
Crass but true.
Left unchecked, the rifts continued to slowly widen, and the rate at which they vomited out
raden and parabeasts grew exponentially, even terraforming the landscape if enough
escaped. The first ones had been the hardest, since it had taken time for the world's
governments to formulate a response…
The thought made me vaguely queasy, and I shrank back from it as distant memories
swirled, just beneath the surface of conscious thought. Instead of focusing on these
memories and trying to draw them to the surface, I focused on the construction above.
Sealing them quickly prevented attacks, but it also limited the amount of raden that leaked
out into our atmosphere.
The marketing guys, of course, hadn't missed the chance to build on public support for the
raids; the monoliths raised to close the rifts almost always featured statues of powerful
ardents who had made their name in the industry, even if they hadn't done so at that specific
site.
"Keep up," Seth said, his super senses somehow detecting that I was dragging my feet.
Too tired and confused to muster any sort of snappy retort, I just followed him through the
crowds lingering around dozens of food trucks and trailers. His long strides carried him
quickly through the cluster of water stations and piles of trash bags, fast enough that I had to
run behind him at a wheezing jog.
More butchered parabeast parts lay in sorted piles along the broken asphalt. A beast
merchant stood behind them, wiping one hand on a bloodstained apron as he signed a
paper with the other. A man in aviators inspected the signature, then handed over a
briefcase. The two shook hands, sealing their deal.
A line of ardents and construction workers queued by a food truck as a thin, grinning woman
offered the man at the front three folded tacos on a paper plate. As he took them, he said
something that got a laugh from his fellow ardents, but the woman only rolled her eyes and
called out, "Next!"
Piles of rubble and discarded tires marked the edge of the work zone. Beyond that were
rows of jeeps and trucks parked on the only good stretch of road left in this area. Seth
tugged his key fob out of his pocket, and the lights on his jeep flashed.
"Get in," he said, yanking open the driver's side door.
I let out a grunt and opened the passenger door, only for a filthy towel to hit me in the face.
"Don't get blood on my car."
"I'm cleaner than this towel," I retorted, though I still set the grime-encrusted towel across the
seat.
Our doors slammed, muffling the chaos outside—along with the distractions that kept me
from pondering my whirlwind day. Even Seth's lecturing would have been better than sitting
quietly with my thoughts, but I didn't have the energy to break the silence myself.
Jace carved through the crowd a few minutes later and hopped in the back with a chipper,
"Vámonos, amigos." The jeep lurched as Seth hit the gas. The suburban ruins sped past,
and my eyes slipped out of focus as I curled in on myself, increasingly irritable and
exasperated.
Seth steered the jeep around a fallen streetlight, bumping over a shattered curb before
returning to the asphalt. He then dodged a deep crack that ran for twenty feet right down the
center of the road, cordoned off with bright orange cones and tattered yellow caution tape.
In the rearview mirror, Jace looked half asleep, arms crossed over his chest, head tipped
back. Stitches made a scarecrow smile on his neck. I cast a side-eye Seth's way, but he was
staring straight ahead, stoic. No furtive glances in my direction. No fidgeting with the frayed
seam on the steering wheel. No hint that he had anything on his mind, except for his
customary slight frown.
"Nadya from the corporate office got back to me," he said, catching me off guard. "There's a
secretary position opening up. I know what President Valera said, but you—"
"No," I cut in coolly. Flicking my gaze off Seth, I caught Jace peeking through one eye in the
back.
"The pay wouldn't be as much, but it's safe, steady work. And there would be—"
"Nope." My fingers tapped against the molded plastic armrest.
Seth was quiet for a minute, eyes still locked on the road. "You can't accept this 'promotion.'
Take the secretary job."
"You're the one obsessed with the idea. Why don't you go be some pressed suit's
coffee-fetcher".
If you take this promotion, a half-dead veilgator will be the least of your problems," he
answered, flatter than the ruined road.
"You say that like any of this was my fault."
"Promotion?" Jace sat forward, a hand on both our backrests.
Seth's fingers squeezed the wheel, ignoring Jace, his scowl still radiating my way. "You
shouldn't have put yourself in that situation to begin with. Now you want to make it worse by
going into live rifts?"
I chuckled darkly, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window and closing my
eyes. "If you're disappointed, that's more your problem than mine."
I felt my brother's glare burn into my cheek. "You're investing time and energy into
something you'll never succeed in without raden."
I straightened and twisted toward him wearing a wry, cold grin to mask my grinding teeth.
"You know… when Matthew or Nathan tell me I'll never amount to anything without raden, I
don't give a shit. They don't know me."
A muscle tensed in Seth's jaw, chewing on his thoughts.
Jace cleared his throat. "Hey, I'm out of the loop here. Someone want to fill me in?"
"Apparently, even though Seth knows damned well that I work, train, and study twice as hard
as anyone, he doesn't think I deserve the promotion President Valera offered me
today—doesn't think I can handle an active rift," I said, the words all coming out on a single
angry breath. "Isn't that right, big brother?"
"Whoa, the head honcho promoted you himself?" Jace asked, a little too chipper as he
nudged my shoulder. "Impressive."
"Valera knows nothing about your… circumstances," Seth cut in. "He didn't even know your
name. He won't remember anything about that so-called promotion, or you, tomorrow."
I jabbed a finger down on the center console. "I'm not blind to the fact that this promotion is
bullshit, but it's still a chance. Being a boneforger is what I want. Stop trying to force your low
expectations on me."
Seth swallowed, hands fidgeting at the wheel, and I thought I spied the tiniest tinge of
remorse in his narrowed eyes.
Jace's face hovered between us for a moment, mouth twisted in a pensive look. In the end,
he said nothing, just gave our seats a few commiserating slaps and settled into the back. He
was used to our arguments, and he only ever stepped in to act as mediator—or maybe
referee.