The cathedral stood like a corpse of divinity.
Half of its spires had crumbled into the broken earth, and those that remained leaned at impossible angles, their once-gleaming peaks now rusted iron and charred stone. Vines—if they could still be called that—crawled up the fractured walls, pulsating faintly with Rift energy. Shattered stained glass windows cast fragmented beams of iridescent light across the ashen ground, refracting into colors that didn't exist in the real world.
Inside, it was worse.
The nave was a graveyard of pews, twisted and blackened by time and war. Dust and mold clung to everything, though the air was unnaturally still—too still, as if the building itself was holding its breath. A gaping hole in the ceiling allowed what little light the Rift world offered to pour in, bathing the cracked stone floor in a pale, haunting glow.
This was no place of worship.
It was a tomb.
And within it, they fought to survive.
Lucian had one arm locked tightly around Rowan's waist, dragging him through the ruined archway with grit and precision. His other hand sent wave after wave of crushing psychic force toward the Rift creatures that pursued them, flinging bodies into shattered columns, snapping bones with invisible pressure.
Rowan barely registered the sounds around him. His skin was clammy, breath shallow, eyes flickering beneath half-lowered lids. The booster had done its job—his guiding stream had anchored Lucian. But the cost was now tearing through his nervous system.
Lucian gritted his teeth, every step a calculated push between survival and fury.
He didn't let go.
A creature lunged from the rafters—Lucian crushed it mid-air without even looking.
Another came from the right—he pivoted just enough to snap its spine telekinetically, his grip never loosening on Rowan.
The team scrambled into the cathedral, fighting tooth and nail. Ari slashed through three monsters in one fluid dance of steel, carving a path toward the altar. Elias unleashed a final surge of corrosive mist that turned the entryway into a moat of melting chitin and bone.
Alexander threw up a wide dome shield that covered the ruined doors.
The Rift creatures halted. Then retreated.
But they didn't flee in panic. They receded—orderly, fluid—as if summoned elsewhere.
A ripple passed through the air, too subtle to see, but every Guide present flinched.
Something had changed.
Silence crashed down.
"Rowan's down!" someone called.
Lucian knelt, lowering Rowan onto a slab of stone that might once have been part of a pulpit. Rowan convulsed once—just once—before going still again, his skin pale and cold.
Vespera was there in seconds, hands glowing with soft energy as she stabilized the surrounding Espers with an empathy wave.
She moved to Rowan next, checking his vitals.
"He's burned through everything," she murmured. "He needs treatment. Deep resonance rest. And time."
A B-class Guide rushed over, kneeling beside Rowan with a compact medical sync kit slung over her shoulder. Her hands moved quickly and calmly, applying pressure to stabilize his pulse and setting up a localized resonance net to ease the overload. She worked silently, her expression tense but focused, channeling just enough energy to begin the initial sync restoration without overwhelming his already strained body.
Lucian didn't move.
He sat on his knees, one gloved hand still gripping Rowan's wrist tightly, even as the B-class Guide worked swiftly around him. The sync kit pulsed with faint blue light, but Lucian never looked at it. His eyes—sharp, unblinking—remained fixed on Rowan's face, as if willing him to stay conscious through force of will alone.
Every time Rowan's breath hitched, Lucian's jaw clenched tighter. Every flicker of discomfort in his expression was mirrored in Lucian's own. He didn't ask questions. Didn't pace. Didn't shout. He just stayed, immovable and iron-steady.
The Guide tried to ask him to step back—just once—but Lucian didn't even blink.
"No," he said quietly, but with enough weight to end the conversation.
He adjusted his hold on Rowan's wrist, thumb brushing over the skin just to feel the pulse. He needed it—something tangible, something real. In the storm of corruption, Rift energies, and horror, Rowan's pulse was the only thing that reminded him he hadn't lost everything.
His other hand rested lightly over Rowan's sternum, just above the site of the booster injection. Lucian didn't know what words to offer. So he didn't offer any.
He just stayed.
He was still breathing.
That was all that mattered.
Across the nave, the others settled—if such a word could be used. The A- and B-class Espers watched Lucian in silence. Some murmured their respect. Others simply looked away.
Elias leaned against a column, arms folded.
"He stayed conscious," Elias said quietly to Juno. "Long enough to bring him here."
Juno exhaled slowly, her eyes on Lucian's silhouette still crouched over Rowan. "He always does. That's the problem."
When Elias didn't answer, she added, more softly, "Lucian doesn't stop until someone makes him. Doesn't matter if he's bleeding or half broken—he keeps going like he owes it to someone to survive. And one day, that's going to get him killed."
Ari, overhearing from a short distance, glanced over. "He fights like he's already paid the price. Like dying isn't the worst outcome to him."
Juno nodded, grim. "It's not. Losing someone is."
Rowan stirred.
Barely.
Lucian leaned in immediately. "Hey. Hey—Rowan."
Rowan's eyes cracked open, his voice a rasp.
"You're… still stable?"
Lucian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Yeah. You brought me back."
Rowan blinked slowly, then smiled—just faintly.
"You're still worth saving."
Lucian's throat tightened. He gripped Rowan's hand harder, as if trying to physically hold those words in place. Something in him twisted—gratitude, guilt, and something dangerously close to fear.
He lowered his head beside Rowan's, forehead brushing the side of his temple.
"Don't do that again," he whispered. "Don't burn yourself out for me."
Rowan closed his eyes again. "Too late."
They rested, but only barely.
Several of the younger B-class Guides sat in a circle against the wall, murmuring anxiously. One of them looked up at Vespera, her voice shaking. "Is it always like this?"
Vespera knelt beside her, brushing a few strands of sweat-stuck hair from the girl's face. "No," she said softly. "Sometimes it's worse. But you're here. And you're standing."
The Guide nodded, teary-eyed.
Quinn made slow rounds across the cathedral floor, checking each sync pair one by one. His exhaustion was visible, but he remained composed—watching over his people like a silent shield.
Juno, sitting near a partially crumbled column, whispered to Ari. "Lucian didn't even stop to fight half the time. He just—moved. Like the world had to move with him."
Ari huffed. "That's what rage looks like when you focus it."
Elias was silent. But his eyes never left Rowan and Lucian.
Rowan stirred again. He reached up weakly, his hand brushing against Lucian's armored chest. "You really didn't let go, huh?"
Lucian shook his head, jaw clenched. "Not for a second."
"Good," Rowan murmured, before drifting back into rest.
Lucian exhaled shakily. His grip never loosened.
Off to the side of the cathedral, Quinn stood over a reinforced communications unit embedded in his gear harness—the LinkTrace Beacon, a high-range resonance communicator meant to maintain contact with Zarek Technologies across Rift environments. He activated it with a flick of his wrist, the device unfolding into a slim panel with pulsating runes.
Static.
He fine-tuned the crystal harmonics, trying every emergency channel. "Zarek Command, do you read? This is Commander Quinn Reyes. Requesting sync confirmation and relay support."
Only silence answered.
A burst of corrupted frequency flooded the screen, distorting the signal. The device dimmed.
"Still nothing," Quinn muttered, closing the panel and securing it again.
Vespera glanced over from her position near the Espers. "We won't reach them from here. This place doesn't want us heard."
Quinn nodded grimly. "We're on our own."
Vespera moved like a quiet shadow, weaving between resting soldiers and strained sync pairs, her empathy veil holding the worst of the Rift's touch at bay.
But the cathedral was not dormant.
A hum echoed from deep within the walls—barely perceptible, but growing. Like a heartbeat not their own.
Quinn stood near the pulpit, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between the cathedral walls and the faint, pulsing tremor that seemed to hum beneath their feet.
"It's reacting to us," he said slowly, voice low with unease. "That surge… Rowan's push… it wasn't just energy spent. It was a signal. A beacon."
He looked toward the spot where Rowan still lay, then back to the altar. "The Rift's quiet was never passive. It was listening. And now it knows we're here."
Elias turned from his perch near the sealed entrance. "I tried reopening the path," he said. "The Rift wall we came through is gone. Like it collapsed behind us."
Juno's brow furrowed. "Collapsed? That doesn't happen. Rifts don't shut while Espers are inside."
"Unless," Vespera said quietly, "we were never meant to leave yet."
Quinn's jaw tightened. "We assumed this was a Rift event. Monsters spill out, we neutralize them, Rift closes. That's how it always works."
"But this one didn't release monsters," Ari muttered. "It waited. It built a space. It... curated this."
Lucian looked to the shadowed rafters, a chill settling at the base of his spine.
"This Rift isn't a battlefield," he said slowly. "It's a boss room."
Lucian looked toward the far hall. Beyond the shattered stained glass, the world flickered.
Far beyond, a figure watched from the Rift horizon.
And this time—it wasn't looking at Lucian.
It was looking at Rowan.