Chapter 103: A Close Rift
The sky was overcast by the time Inigo and Lyra left the Guildhall.
What began as a steady wind had turned into a biting gale, tugging at the hems of their cloaks and whispering through the narrow streets of Elandra. The city felt different now—less celebratory than it had been the night before. After weeks of peace, the sudden assignment carried a familiar tension.
They walked side by side through the western gate, passing sentries who gave short nods of respect. News traveled fast in Elandra. The moment word spread that another rift had opened—and so close, no less—there wasn’t time for hesitation.
Lyra glanced over as they passed a bakery. "Still think that pastry was worth it?"
"Honestly?" Inigo adjusted his pack. "Might be the last one I get for a while. So yes."
The road to Windspire was dry, but the air felt wrong—like the wind was pressing down, not just sweeping past. A lingering pressure, almost unnatural, settled over the landscape as they moved into the open hills. They were nearing familiar ground. The cliffs, jagged and steep, loomed in the distance like the edge of a blade.
This place had already been the site of violence.
Now it was becoming something worse.
They arrived at the first overlook just before midday. The same broken tower they had used for observation months ago still stood, though more eroded than before. They climbed it in silence, the crunch of gravel and wind the only sound between them. At the top, Inigo pulled out his scope.
Lyra leaned her elbows on the edge of the stonework. "You see it?"
He adjusted the scope, then tensed. "Yeah. It’s there."