The slitherscythe raced after him. Ildrex turned and twisted and dodged, panting, feeling the edges of his vision blur. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t rested even once. Not once since his fleet was destroyed by the ash-damned blight three days ago. He turned with gritted teeth and fired six pistol rounds into his pursuer.

Bullets slammed into the humungous creature. It crushed flesh, powdered bone, and blew off one of the creature’s four scything arms. But it wasn’t enough—not without his rifle. Made of muscle, sinew, and bone, the blighted mixture of a fleshy centipede and mantis rushed after him despite its injuries. It lunged and three limbs swooped down to cut him apart.

He dove. Dodged two.

Ildrex felt the last scythe arm rip into his side.

His blood sprayed—out onto the crimson grass below. The tendrils on the ground writhed and lapped the blood up like a hundred hungry tongues. That patch of awakened corruption exploded behind him. A thousand tiny tendrils of flesh rushed to catch him and he dodged, sweeping behind a tainted tree to hear the disgusting squelch of tongue weed sinking into fleshy bark.

Instinct screamed at him to duck and Ildrex dove down to the ground just in time to evade an arm meant to cut off his head. It cut straight through the tree and black blood sprayed from the wound. It covered him. Thick and pungent. He rolled and dodged two more arms, stabbing down where he was just an instant ago.

A shadow loomed over him and he turned. Raised his pistol. Aimed. Three shots blew the creature’s head apart.

But it didn’t die.

The blighted never did.

Even without its head, the body writhed.Insectile eyes sprouted over the creature’s torso, tracking him, and the arms swung again. Ildrex rolled under the beast and punched. His gloves activated on impact—an explosion of amplified force blew the creature’s chest open. It staggered, screeching.

And the sounds of their battle began to wake the forest around him.

The nearest trees bent down and the arms making up their branches slapped towards him. For each leaf on a normal tree, this blighted monstrosity had teeth lining its arms. Ildrex stomped down and jumped up—far up, over the trees. He drew his recharged pistol and aimed again. Above, where they couldn’t reach him, and killing the things below would be easy.

Until the beast below sprouted wings and tore that plan to shreds. Bat wings exploded out from its back, coated in congealed blood. It flew up and blurred towards him and Ildrex’s boots activated again. The air became solid beneath his feet. He jumped at them like springboards, bouncing from left to right, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him as he dodged attack after attack.

The trees shot thorns of bone. He sidestepped. The stray projectiles scraped against his back.

The slitherscythe swung at him and he countered with a punch. Shattered an arm. It turned, and its long, centipede body swept towards him like a giant whip. Ildrex ducked midair and let it sweep over his head. He grabbed it by the legs and threw it to the ground. The impact was deafening. Dust rose in a cloud.

But he knew it would stand back up. Again and again, pursuing him without showing an ounce of fatigue. In his weakened state, Ildrex couldn’t kill it in any of the ways that mattered.

So he ran. Sprinted over the air.

He took six steps before the enchantment on his boots winked out. His feet passed through empty air. Ildrex fell and he crossed his arms to protect his head as he crashed back into the trees. Arm-branches snapped and fractured. Claws sprouting from corrupted bark raked across his skin. He bounced off a thick branch and shattered another four before slamming into the ground below.

Ildrex coughed, bleeding, struggling to stand. The weakness filling him was merciless. It robbed him of strength, and any energy he could spare went towards minimizing the abuse his body underwent. A hundred skittering legs approached him and Ildrex looked up.

The slitherscythe raised its regenerated arms and swung and—

.̷̰̥̱̽̀̒'̸͈͘,̷̱̈́̅'̸̝̫̈́͋.̷̢̍'̷̯̥̋ͅ'̷͇̝̖̓̆̈́;̶̡͖̙͐̆'̶͓̣̑̐;̶̫̋̓'̶͉̲̈̾.̴̫͐,̶̻͐̈'̴̟̰͋̑.̵̯͓̀.̴̩̓̆͝,̶̥̭͇̽̄̈́;̵̯̂̒̃.̵͚̞̾͊;̶̡̙̓̔͝ͅ'̷̹̂,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̵̩̅̄̆;̵̣͑̂'̶̧́̀ͅ.̶͙̳̙̋,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̷͙̈̃̆,̵͓̀̑;̷͕̭̤̈́̂̅'̶̹̩̆̀̅.̵͉̝̮̒͋͋.̶͉̫̊̃͌ͅ,̸͓͆̾̆,̶̹̲̓.̸̛̝͔͉͐̐,̸̥͙̕;̶͓͎̒̄̈́'̵̹͉̑͜;̷̧̗̫̉̈.̷̠͕̃͆̒,̶̗̗͛͜'̵̱̄̑̑'̷̪̊̾;̶̭̼͛̇͠ '̸̝̫̈́͋

—blood splattered.

But it wasn’t his.

A massive pillar of wind crashed down from the sky—a column of invisible blades, cutting and breaking all in its path. It shredded trees and blighted grass with a deafening screech. It cut bone like paper and passed through flesh like water. It swept around him like he was the eye of the storm, destroying swathes of blighted forest like it was nothing.

Ildrex watched the steelwind slash the slitherscythe into bloody pulp.

Silence.

A barrier of wind formed around him even as the flesh outside began to writhe. The slitherscythe began to reform, rising back from the soil. And this time, it came with friends. Smaller, faster blighted. Dogs with four heads and massive, hind legs. All sporting muscles made for instant movement.

They were made to counter him, Ildrex knew. He wouldn’t last under their combined assault. Not when we was so tired and so out of options.

But he didn’t need those options. Not when he had an ally.

A figure landed in front of him. Tall—far taller than Ildrex, standing at seven feet. Wrapped around his back, a monstrosity of wriggling eyes and toothed maws stared Ildrex down. He frowned and looked away, moving his eyes back to the Traveler. The man was cloaked and thick shadows masked the face under his hood. Silver eyes looked down into his.

Behind him, the monsters screeched and growled, clawing at the barrier of wind—trying to get inside.

They failed.

“Heyo, rift-man,” the Traveler said, offering him a hand. A smile full of jagged teeth curled under the darkness, “You’re looking a little ragged, eh? Need help from a passing friend?”

Ildrex hesitated for a moment before grabbing his hand. The stranger pulled him up to his feet, and Ildrex regarded him with wary eyes. Whoever this man was, he was powerful. Strong enough to pass for any threat that even riftwalkers feared to face. He took a step back, widening the distance between them by instinct.

Ildrex stared at the man who seemed to have a change in personality overnight.

“You seem different,” he said, noting the man’s lazy, almost carefree demeanor. “Are you the same Traveler from yesterday?”

The Traveler shook his head, “We all change a little every day, eh? I just happened to change a bit more after I escaped. But that aside—” his grin returned, “—we’ve got something more important to talk about, friend. I want to help you, but we need to make a deal if you plan on getting out of here alive.”

“A deal?” Ildrex frowned. He lowered a hand to his holster, “You aren’t a demon, are you?”

The man grinned, “Nah. I ain’t a demon, but we work under the same rules.”

“Contracts.”

“Trades, my good man.”

Ildrex remained wary, “And the difference is?”

“Not much, if I’m being honest,” the Traveler said. “But demon contracts gouge you. ‘A pinch of blood and a slice of soul makes the good demon whole,’ and all that, eh? But I don’t ask for any of that occult stuff. I’m a cheap guy to buy off.”

Ildrex frowned. All signs were pointing to the same thing—an anomaly. A walking story. Like the Tidebringer, the Blinkfoot, and the Lady of Crows, the man in front of him was likely among them. An unknown quantity. Most people called them myths and legends; stories waiting to be found in the off roads and the dark corners of the forests where the sun didn’t shine. They were simply tales to most. Tavern stories.

But those who were in the right circles called them Outsiders. Beings of whim and fancy, working however they wished. He’d been warned about them before, back when he was a trainee under Senior Ezera.

Ildrex did as he was instructed before. He bowed and put a hand to his chest—right over his heart.

“Ashari qunir,” he said. “A late greeting, but one I hope you’ll still accept.”

The Traveler smiled. “I ain’t the Fae either, but you get the idea. You understand what it means to ask for my help, then?”

Ildrex nodded, “Your kind always has a price, I hear.”

“I’m no different. Trades are our way.”

“Then name your price.”

The Traveler spoke and Ildrex paused, thinking.

He nodded.

At the sight, the Traveler grinned his massive grin and raised his bansuri.

The winds answered his call.

Two days later, and the deal was proving to be fruitful. The Traveler handled most of the traveling with his magic. He carried them over the trees, and in between the occasional skirmish, Ildrex finally caught up on much needed sleep.

The aches were still present, true. His mind was still fatigued.

But damn if closing his eyes for a few hours wasn’t bliss.

Now, fresh from a good rest, Ildrex flew through the blighted lands. After the Traveler’s intervention, the two of them were able to move quickly enough to escape the section of the forest that was coming to life. Unlike right below the rift, where the corruption had seeped deep into the earth, the blight here was almost languid in comparison—slow to react. Slow to come to life.

Still, it was no less deadly.

He looked up at the man ahead of him, taking the lead. The Traveler carried both of them with magic that Ildrex had never seen. A form of aeromancy—some kind of magic based on wind and instruments. It carried them over the trees and destroyed blighted with ease.

Ildrex eyed the man’s bansuri.

Strange, for someone to choose such an instrument to channel magic. It was completely mundane. Nothing about it looked to be artificed or even remotely magical, and it even seemed to be made from regular old bamboo. How did the Traveler channel the magic through it? Why use it instead of casting with his hands?

Sighing, Ildrex rubbed at his eyes. Too many concerns. Too many things to report when he returned.

Was it too much to ask for a good flask of Nettledew in the middle of blight-land?

Ahead of him, the Traveler turned his head.

“Sleep well, boss?”

He nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

The Traveler grinned, “Excellent. Now, before you decided to rest—you were saying?”

“Right,” Ildrex said, releasing a breath. “Apologies. Where was I?”

“The Weaver and the Phoenix’s feud.”

“Right, right. The two primordials.”

Ildrex nodded. The Traveler’s price had been simple—no soul-taking or bloodletting like he’d expected. Just stories. Songs, tales, and sayings. For the duration of his protection and aid, the Traveler decided on culture from Ildrex’s homeland as payment. He yawned. That was fine. Astalon had plenty of culture to share, even if Ildrex wasn’t the greatest storyteller.

He was still sure that he was butchering the legend, though. Ildrex winced at his own poor recollection as he continued.

“So… the two didn’t like each other. The Weaver enjoyed the stability of dwarven rule in the realm, and the Phoenix wanted the old era to end. So they fought—both in the shadows in the open. Southern Astalon was turned into a desert of ash after their final clash, where the Weaver and the Phoenix both perished. But in the end, the Phoenix was the one who got what he wanted. Humankind succeeded in their uprising after the battle and, well, they wiped out the dwarves.”

The Traveler paused and blinked, “Huh. So that’s why there are only halflings among you, then? No more true dwarves?”

Ildrex nodded, “They were hunted for generations. Blood for blood. Humans in Astalon were treated like they were less than animals for centuries, and no amount of bloodshed could really make that kind of enmity go away. So the ancestors shed blood among each other until there was none left to be bled.”

“Humans are kind of brutal, huh?”

“Aren’t the winter houses of Caereith still following the old ways?”

“You got a point, I s’pose. But we don’t really talk about those guys, rift-man. They’re somewhat like distant, estranged cousins to the rest of us.”

“Estranged is a pretty docile word for cannibals that you’ve been at war with for decades.”

“Eh. The Houses are at war with each other. Don’t really concern me, eh? I’m just a traveling musician.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever met a musician quite as magically inclined as you.”

“My overwhelming magical prowess only adds to the mystique, boss,” the Traveler said, grinning, before bringing the bansuri to his lips. Another set of note sent them forward over the trees faster, zipping over blighted canopy before the sleeping corruption could even begin to take notice. The Traveler turned to him, flying backwards without so much as an ounce of difficulty. “After all, why learn only how to play, eh? Them real killer performances need a little more flair to ‘em. A bit of fire here, a small explosion there. Really gets the crowds going. Although I admit that I’ve never tried it myself.”

“I’d wager that many in Astalon would enjoy that kind of performance. Danger like that is often overlooked for excitement.”

“As expected of the place where contacting Demons is a sport, eh?”

Ildrex scoffed, “Only if you’re stupid and rich. The RWA cracks down on those activities as soon as they’re found.”

“Ah, but does the RWA look?”

He paused. Well, no. They didn’t. In fact, there were so many humans actively contacting demons around the realm that it would be impossible to even try. Ildrex sighed, “We don’t look, but we don’t turn a blind eye to the cases that cross our path at the very least.”

“Dealing with all the rift problems must be a tough job, eh?”

“Half of all riftwalkers are alcoholics for a reason,” Ildrex said, smiling wryly. “After the first few years, grabbing a good bottle with good company begins to become the best part of the job.”

“Ever heard of the song Riftwalker Randy?”

“If I hear that song one more time, I’ll drive a damn bullet through my skull.”

The Traveler laughed and opened his mouth to speak, before abruptly pausing. He blinked, turning, and Ildrex breathed a sigh of relief for what they saw in the distance.

A massive thornwall, raised at the edge of the corruption. And mounted over them were lines of cannons and magitech engineers, blasting massive bullets of force into any encroaching blight. Swarms fell to the blasts of cyan light. And there, at the very front, was a man standing behind the banner of the Summersky House.

Ildrex recognized him instantly.

Saer Halcyn, first prince of his House. And behind him, standing atop the walls, was the form of the Blight Witch. She stood, robed, ready for battle. A noxious cloud of toxins hovered around her, sweeping into the blight and destroying swathes of corrupted land.

“Safety at last,” Ildrex sighed. He turned the Traveler, intending to thank him, when he paused. The Traveler stopped the wind and stared ahead—at the battlements and the figure of the witch atop the walls. He was quiet. Still.

And he wasn’t smiling anymore.