Unchosen Champion

Marcus leapt from the bow of a phantom ship as soon as the crew beached the vessel just beyond the docks of Ghost Reef. He was aiming for the soft white sand that defined the chain of islands he called home, though he fell a bit short, splashing into the warm shallow water before he eclipsed the low tide line. He kept a binder full of his personal notes safely tucked beneath one arm and his unique scepter firmly gripped in the other, still dripping with golden liquid flames.

His eyes were wide open as he scanned the shore for unexpected threats while a few fellow diplomats splashed around him, their fingers shifting on the hilts of various weapons in apprehension. The journey back had been fraught with new demonic monsters and he was still on high alert, even after multiple days of combat leaving scars on his skin.

He only let the energy fade from his weapon after he concluded that there didn’t seem to be any enemies breaching so deep into their territory. Instead, he spotted squads of human and phantom hunters, diligently protecting the island as if everything was under control.

“That’s a good sign.” He whispered to himself, concluding that any surprises had been successfully weathered by the defenders. “Thank goodness.”

However, the characteristically calm atmosphere of the settlement was nowhere to be found. Instead, the air was filled with signs of activity. The usual tranquility that distinguished the island was displaced by the urgency of action. Vacation was clearly on hold.

Thankfully, compared to the untamed world, Ghost Reef was still a bastion of stability. The organized chaos was evidence of their diligence rather than the onset of panic. More importantly, the mana itself was under control, barely more corrosive than the tang of salt in the air.

The first to greet the new arrivals was an adventurer with a red cross painted on his helmet. He had rushed from the fort, leaving a group of others who were similarly decorated behind.

“I’m fine, check the others.” Marcus ordered before the man could stop and prioritize him due to his leadership position.

Elsewhere, sailors were loading onto ships, carrying supplies and making last minute preparations before setting off to their assigned locations. Other vessels, like the one that had carried the settlement’s Viceroy, were constantly arriving, sliding onto both beaches of the island. Even more that didn’t need immediate attention stopped early, where the sandbars provided shallow areas for the boats to settle and the crafters to conduct their work.

The various residents rushed to greet each ship, like the team of medics, while others started repairs, all utilizing the magic that had failed to be stolen from them even before the passengers had fully disembarked. None of the ships that came from outside were free of damage, but they all remained seaworthy, having been built with battle in mind.

Oddly, the biggest change that Marcus noticed about his home was not the frantic activity or the refashioned atmosphere, it was the lack of Primal Constructs. The Ancient Defenders that had become part of the background along their beach were absent, leaving a void that caught him by surprise. Would he actually miss those little guys?

He shook the feeling off and turned back to pay respect to the ship that had survived the early start of the Eradication Protocol with him on board. A pair of engineers inspected the largest of the breaches, already holding up planks of unenhanced wood, marking them with chalk, and enacting repairs with their mana. They would have the ship patched up and back at sea as soon as possible.