The Rifts of Psyche by Kyle West (i love reading .txt) 📕

knocked Lucian flat on his stomach. A wave of heat blasted over him, only alleviated by a Thermal shield someone had hastily thrown up. Lucian didn’t know how long that blast lasted, but at least half a minute. By the time it had passed over, the tinge of ozone hung in the air. The caverns were dark once again, and there were no more bat screeches. The following silence was uncanny and unlike anything Lucian had ever experienced.

“He . . . got them all,” Serah said.

“What was that?” Lucian asked.

She shook her head. “An atomic blast. And a rotting strong one at that.”

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Cleon said.

Fergus approached them. “Is everyone all right?”

“Where did you guys come from?” Lucian asked.

“There’ll be time for that later,” Fergus said. “We need to clear this area unless you want to deal with radiation poisoning. We need to head to Sanctuary. It’s the frays’ town. We can explain everything once we’re inside.”

31

Sanctuary was located inside a narrow canyon, the top covered thickly with interwoven thatch while a large wooden gate reinforced the entrance. When those gates were pulled back and Lucian entered, it revealed a long, communal space with plenty of burning spherical flames, all floating with Gravitonic Magic. Those fires illumined this island of light in a sea of darkness. Hollow faces stared as they entered. Women, children, old ones.

To Lucian, their mottled skin and pale complexions made them seem half-dead. He felt guilty for thinking that, and he hoped his shock wasn’t reflected on his face. He wasn’t sure whether to be afraid, revolted, or to feel pity. He kept hold of his Focus, to better ignore those feelings. These people couldn’t help who they were, and it felt shameful to be afraid of them.

All were inside the gate in seconds, which was soon shut to the darkness. Lucian held back his sigh of relief.

“Where’s the other one?” Cleon asked, his voice booming. “The Atomicist.”

The milling frays gave Cleon death glares, as if he had committed some unforgiveable faux pas. Which made sense – in this place of dark and quiet, sound could attract predators.

“Pipe down, Cleon,” Fergus said. “Remember what Elder Osric told us last night?”

“Ah, that was his name,” Cleon said, only marginally quieter.

“He’ll be back soon,” a middle-aged fray said, with brown hair that fell to his broad shoulders. His chest was mottled and gray. “In fact, here he is now.”

As good as the man’s word, the gate was opened, admitting the balding man who walked with a stooped stature. Only when the gate was hastily shut did Lucian feel at least somewhat safe. As far as he could tell, there was no way into this canyon except through this gate and another gate at the canyon’s far end, which was about a hundred meters away.

The old man – who had to be Elder Osric – approached the four of them. His form was thin and haggard, and his pale, cadaverous skin was loose on his bones. His wild, white hair was bald at the top, but fell long and stringy over his eyes.

“This is who I almost died for?” he said, his voice rattling.

“Elder Osric, this is Lucian,” Fergus said. “He’s the one we’re taking to find the Orb.”

Lucian looked at Fergus in shock. He had told him?

“That eel has already been cooked,” Osric said, seeing Lucian’s reaction. “Your friends told me you could explain everything. It’s the only reason I saved your rotting lives.”

This Osric already knew they were going after the Orb of Psionics. Did that mean he knew about the Orb of Binding as well? Did he know everything?

The brown-haired man was still standing beside them. Lucian could now see a good half of his skin was mottled with the fraying. It made Lucian uneasy, but so far, it didn’t seem as if anyone here was mad from it.

“Cyan, my boy,” Elder Osric said. “You come with us. We have things to discuss.”

Everyone made their way to a floating fire sphere in the center of the camp, around which some large, rounded stones had been gathered. Osric motioned them to sit with him. He and the one he had called Cyan watched Lucian like wyverns eyeing their next meal. Cyan cracked his knuckles. Those thick forearms looked as if they could break bones.

Osric cleared his throat. “Your friends told me some story about how you’re after the Orb of Psionics. After hearing that, I was expecting someone a little more impressive than a yellow-bellied, milk-drinking Earther.” His gaze took in Serah. “And his girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Really? Pity for him, then.” Osric’s light blue eyes noted her arm. “I see you’re just starting to fray. We have a home for you here if you want it. You seem handy in a fight.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” His eyes went back to Lucian. “So, what brings you here? Why do you think you’ll be the one to find the Orb after all these years? My other son died trying to track it down ten years back, like half this rotting moon.”

Both frays watched Lucian closely. And he could sense others in the community watching from a distance.

“It’s the only way to stop the Sorceress-Queen,” he said.

“Bat’s shit,” he said. “The Sorceress-Queen isn’t your war. It’s them two’s.” He nodded at Fergus and Cleon, who shifted in their seats. “I want to know why you want to find it. If you don’t tell me, then you’re on your own to find Slave’s Run.”

That was the reason Fergus and Cleon had revealed their mission. That, and Osric likely wouldn’t have saved he and Serah otherwise.

“Because I have no choice. If I don’t find it, along with all the other Orbs, then whatever destroyed the Builders will destroy us, too.”

Osric watched him with arched eyebrows. For a moment, he seemed too stunned to speak.

“I have to say,” he said, “that’s not what I expected to come out of your mouth. But when you get old