"I need an answer, Chevie. We don't have the luxury of waiting. The anomalies are spreading, and we need people who can handle them."
Chevie met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "It's a big decision. Joining your team means leaving Avenridge, leaving Elthera. I'm not sure I'm ready to do that."
Selene frowned. "You're hesitating because of this place? You can do more with us—help more people."
"Maybe," Chevie said simply. "But that doesn't mean it's the right move for me."
Her frustration was evident, but she didn't press further. Instead, she nodded curtly.
"Fine. I won't push you. But if you change your mind, the offer's open. For now."
With that, she turned and left, her crimson armor catching the morning light as she disappeared down the street.
Chevie exhaled heavily once the door closed. He couldn't shake the sense of finality in Selene's departure, but he knew he'd made the right call.
Grabbing his pack and securing Echo's Edge, he prepared for his next step: visiting Leon's family.
The journey was a day's ride to a small village on the outskirts of the Virelia Dominion.
Leon Draycott, once a respected military officer in the Virelia Dominion, became disillusioned with the corruption and bureaucracy of the system he served.
The Virelia Dominion is a powerful coastal nation governed by an oligarchy of awakened leaders.
Despite rising through the ranks, he grew frustrated with the focus on politics and inefficiency rather than real progress.
Eventually, Leon left the Dominion, seeking a new purpose.
He found it as a leader of his own team, where he could focus on protecting his people and leading with integrity, guided by his own sense of honor and the lessons he learned from his past.
As the train rumbled through the countryside, Chevie stared out the window, the rolling hills and scattered forests blurring past.
Memories of Leon drifted unbidden into his mind—their banter during missions, Leon's sharp wit, and his unwavering loyalty.
The village was quaint, its cobblestone streets and modest homes exuding a quiet charm.
Chevie approached a small house near the edge of the village, its garden well-kept despite the signs of wear on the structure itself. He knocked softly, the sound echoing in the stillness.
The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman with kind eyes that were shadowed by grief. Chevie recognized her immediately from the photos Leon had shown him.
"Mrs. Thorne?" he asked gently.
She nodded. "You must be Chevie," she said, her voice tinged with both warmth and sorrow. "Leon talked about you often."
Chevie swallowed the lump in his throat. "Can we talk?"
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. The interior of the house was simple but cozy, filled with small touches that spoke of a family that cared deeply for one another. Photos of Leon lined a shelf near the fireplace, each one capturing a different moment of his life.
Mrs. Thorne led him to the kitchen, where she poured two cups of tea.
"Leon always said you were the stubborn one," she said with a faint smile. "He admired that."
Chevie chuckled softly. "He wasn't wrong."
They talked for a while, sharing stories about Leon. Chevie recounted their adventures as Gatewalkers, careful to avoid the darker details.
Mrs. Thorne listened intently, her tears falling silently at times.
Finally, Chevie reached into his pack and pulled out a small trinket—Leon's lucky charm, a simple pendant he'd always worn during missions. He placed it gently on the table.
"He would've wanted you to have this," Chevie said.
Mrs. Thorne picked up the pendant, her hands trembling. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
Leon's and Darius's family didn't questions how he survived while they died. He was grateful for their trust and he promised to protected them in their stead.
"El and Ronan don't have any relatives, I should ..."
As Chevie left the village, a familiar vibration rippled through the air.
He froze, his senses sharpening. The energy was faint but unmistakable—another anomaly.
He turned toward the source, his grip tightening on Echo's Edge. The energy led him toward the forest at the edge of the village.
The trees were dense, their shadows stretching long in the fading light. The closer he got, the stronger the sensation became.
When he reached a clearing, the anomaly came into view—a small fissure, similar to the one in Avenridge. But this one was different.
The energy felt more erratic, as if it were on the verge of collapse.
Chevie gritted his teeth. "Not again."
The fissure pulsed once, and a creature began to emerge.
This one was smaller than the last but no less threatening. Its form shifted wildly, tendrils of energy lashing out as it fully materialized.
Chevie drew his katana, the blade's runes flaring to life. "Let's see if you're as fragile as the last one."
The creature lunged, and Chevie moved to meet it head-on, Echo's Edge cutting through the air with lethal precision.
Chevie moved instinctively, sidestepping the first tendril and parrying another with Echo's Edge.
The katana absorbed the energy on contact, dispersing it in a flash of blue light.
He countered with a swift upward slash, aiming for the creature's core, but the blade passed through harmlessly.
"Tougher than you look," Chevie muttered, darting back as the creature retaliated.
It surged forward, its form condensing into a more solid shape.
Two massive claws formed from its writhing energy, slashing at Chevie with relentless speed.
He dodged one but caught the edge of the second, the force sending him skidding across the ground.
Pain flared in his side, but he pushed it aside, gripping his katana tightly.
The runes along the blade pulsed faintly, their rhythm syncing with the chaotic energy around him.
As the creature prepared another assault, Chevie felt a surge of heat in his chest—a memory not his own.
Flashes of his clone's time in the Whitehole dimension flooded his mind: the weight of the katana, the surge of power as energy flowed into the blade, the release of an attack that cleaved through everything in its path.
The name came unbidden to his lips: 'Astral Cleave'