Chapter 12: THE CALL TO THE RIFT
The sun cast its gentle morning light over the encampment, painting the rugged surroundings in hues of gold and amber. The air carried the scent of damp earth and faint traces of smoke from last night’s fire. On an old, creaking wooden bench sat a hulking figure, his massive frame dominating the space.
Milner, a giant of a man with a presence as intimidating as a tempest, methodically cleaned his broad axe. His braided blonde hair, streaked with dirt and sweat, hung like a wild mane, while his battle-scarred armor and fur-lined cloak bore silent witness to countless skirmishes. His helmet, crowned with curved horns, rested on the bench beside him, glinting faintly in the sun.
"Oi, Thanir," Milner grunted, his deep voice breaking the morning silence. "What in the Aeaons did the boss want this early? Better be worth it, or I swear..."
Thanir, striding out of the house with his usual swagger, shot Milner a sharp glare. "Quit your whining, you oversized oaf. And shut up for once." His tone, rough yet biting, had a way of silencing most people—though Milner was not one of them.
Milner groaned, leaning back and lazily resting his axe on his lap. "You’re all bark, no bite, Thanir. I’m serious, though—this better not be another wild goose chase."
Before Thanir could respond, the door to the house opened again, and two figures emerged. Lirien, her slender frame wrapped in light armor, walked briskly beside Aeloria, who carried herself with an air of casual elegance.
Aeloria’s long, flowing hair shimmered like polished bronze under the sunlight, and her piercing gaze carried both curiosity and sharpness.
Aeloria glanced sideways at Lirien, a teasing smile curling on her lips. "So, care to tell me why I found you standing in front of that Dra’kesh’s cage? You looked like you’d seen a ghost."
Lirien stiffened for a moment, her face unreadable. "It was nothing," she said curtly, brushing past the question.