The night air over Veyren Border Outpost shimmered faintly, as if the sky itself was alive. Threads of violet Aether pulsed through the clouds, drifting down like quiet lightning. To anyone else, it might have looked beautiful. But to those who lived here, it was a warning.
The faint hum of unfiltered Aether never stopped. It coated every breath, every wall, every half-rotted plank in the slums. The pure-bloods in the upper quarter lived behind stone barriers, their side of the outpost clean and warded. Down here, the air burned your lungs if you stayed out too long.
Lucien Valehart was used to it.
He walked along the narrow alley, boots crunching over dust and broken glass. The glow from the street lamps flickered, throwing flashes across his pale face. He was sixteen, tall for his age but lean, with hair the color of dull silver that caught the light when he turned. His eyes — one gold, one gray — marked him instantly. Even among half-bloods, that look drew whispers. The people called it a curse.
At his waist hung a wooden sword and a collection of homemade tools, worn down by constant practice.
Half-bloods rarely responded to aether, and he was no exception. With no talent to rely on, he pushed his body instead, trying to build enough strength to survive whatever the world threw at him.
Still, as Lucien crossed the dirt road toward a crooked wooden hut, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Inside, a soft hum floated through the night.
Elara's voice.
He pushed the door open gently. "You're humming again," he said, trying to sound annoyed, though warmth slipped into his tone.
Elara looked up, her cloudy eyes unfocused but bright. "I knew you were there," she said. "Your footsteps always hesitate at the door."
Lucien exhaled, setting his training equipment down at a corner of the small hut. "You shouldn't wait for me like that."
"I wasn't waiting," she teased, though her smile gave her away. "The air outside feels restless tonight. Even I can tell."
He knelt beside her and brushed dust from her hair. "The sirens isn't going off yet. We'll be fine."
"You always say that."
"And we're still alive, aren't we?"
She laughed softly. Her laughter had always sounded like a small miracle in a place like this.
Lucien sat with her as she broke their last bread into two uneven pieces. He let her take the bigger one. She never noticed when he did that. Or maybe she did and just didn't say anything.
Outside, a distant shout broke the calm.
"Fluctuation at the southern barrier!" someone yelled. Then another voice, a soldier's cut through the night. "Stay alert! Rift readings rising!"
The hum in the air sharpened. Lucien felt it against his skin like static.
He turned toward the door. "I'll get more water as usual before the rift leaks," he said. "Stay here."
Elara frowned. "Lucien—"
"Just in case," he said quickly. "If the sirens go off, hide under the table, all right?"
Her lips pressed together. "You worry too much."
"I don't worry enough." He forced a small grin and left before she could argue.
The slum streets were quieter than usual. Lamps swayed in the Aether wind, their faint glow bending under invisible pressure. Lucien could see soldiers rushing across the upper wall, pure-bloods in plated armor that shimmered faintly with runes. None of them looked toward the lower quarters.
He continued to the water well which was at the edge of the district, and filled his jug quickly, eyes flicking to the horizon. Beyond the border wall, faint arcs of violet light twisted upward. Rifts pulsed like open wounds.
He'd seen Rift leaks before. Low-grade ones, F or E-ranked, small enough for half-blood guards to handle.
But this Rift didn't feel like it usually did, its pressure was heavier, unstable, wrong.
It wasn't supposed to leak this early, yet his instincts kept clawing at him.
A knot tightened in his stomach as the truth sank in. He had left Elara at home… alone.
Guilt rushed in, sharp and cold, pushing him into motion.
He forced himself to focus through the rising panic and sprinted back toward her, and before long, his deepest fear began to take shape..
The sirens screamed.
Aether waves rolled through the air like thunder. Lucien stumbled, clutching the jug. The horizon split open, a jagged tear of white and violet. Sound shattered. The Rift had broken.
"Rift breach! South sector!" voices roared from the walls.
Then came the first scream.
He saw it, a Rift beast, It looked like a mangy wolf twisted by shadow, its ribs poking through its hide, and eyes glowing a dull red as if barely awake.
Its claws scraped the ground in uneven drags and its breath came out in low, broken growls, more pathetic than terrifying.
The guards charged, shouting spells that cracked with weak bursts of light. The creatures tore through them, screeching as their claws sliced the air.
"Rift beasts! They're breaching the barrier!"
Lucien ran.
Dust and debris rained down as the outer walls shook. He pushed through narrow alleys, slipping past falling beams. His heart pounded. He could already see the faint smoke from their district rising ahead.
"Elara!" he shouted.
Every step burned. His Aether veins should have flared by now, the instinctive energy everyone felt when they pushed their limits, but he felt nothing. Just emptiness. He tried again, focusing, willing the glow to form in his hand. But still nothing. Dead. Like always.
"If the gods made me wrong…" he muttered between breaths, "…then I'll defy them wrong too."
A young guard stumbled past him, bleeding from the shoulder. "Stay back! It's a D-rank surge— or even higher! It mutated—!" he said as he groaned in pain.
Lucien didn't stop to ask. The air behind the guard cracked. A larger creature, with scales splitting, and light bleeding from its body as it rose from the Rift fog. A D-rank beast, maybe even a low C. Asides it, other low ranked monsters flooded different parts of the town.
The soldiers on the wall hesitated, the pure-bloods watching from afar.
"Let the tainted ones hold it," someone shouted. "Containment first!"
They weren't coming.
Lucien gritted his teeth and ran harder towards the hut.
A/N:
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