Chapter Twenty-Four: Heart’s Howl

  Murky green mana rose from the slime's surface like mist from a pond on a cold day. It drifted toward me, moving slowly. Or maybe dread was slowing down my perception of time. Either way, I had plenty of time to watch it flow through the air, notice how different it was from the trees’ purple mana and the ground’s blue mana, and think about how much the last time had hurt.

  I braced for impact.

  This was gonna be agonizing, I just knew it.

  I glanced down as it reached me. The mist seeped into my shirt, the fabric turning green for a moment before the color faded as the mana sank into my body.

  When it touched my skin, it felt like champagne bubbles popping. Cool, refreshing, a little fizzy.

  On the inside, it felt kinda great. It felt like energy, like a birthday-cake sugar high or six espressos in a row.

  It felt like mania. Not like a full-blown manic episode where I’d overflow with brilliant ideas and amazing plans and love for the entire universe, then start talking too fast and not sleep for a week. Just the good part. The feeling that I could do anything.

  Danger, danger, Will Robinson.

  I didn’t think I believed in the good part of mania without the bad.

  That said, off-the-charts agonizing pain versus feel-good energy was a no-brainer. I could do something with this feeling, I was sure of it. Run for miles? Dance for hours? Kill a gargantuan slime? Yeah, all of the above.

  Killing the slime wasn’t even going to be that hard. Gargantua was about as big as a kid’s wading pool, with a mound in the middle like a classic ooze monster from the 1960s. It had the same kind of toxic-waste iridescence that the rift core had had, but it bubbled and squirmed like a living thing. Obviously, that’s because unlike the rift core it was a living thing, but it was still creepy. Not revolting, not nauseating, just vaguely gross.

  As the mana entered me, the edges of the slime began to fade. It had an inner light that I noticed now only because I could see through it, a glow that spread as it became more and more transparent. For a moment, the bubbling on the surface accelerated, as if the slime was feeling frantic, and the whole creature shifted from side to side, as if it was thinking about slithering away but couldn’t decide which way to go.

  And then it broke.

  I know that sounds like a crazy way to explain it. How can a slime break? But that’s what it looked like. The internal light shattered into motes and the outside boundary of the slime collapsed inward.

  It left the loot behind, which was nice. It would have sucked if the only ability I could weaponize also meant losing out on the reward. The loot itself, though? Not really so nice.

  It was a black dagger. Black handle, black blade, distinctly ominous look. I tapped [Analyze] and checked it out.

  Name: Void-Touched Dagger

  Type: Weapon

  Grade: Rare

  Condition: Perfect

  Description: A blade forged from void-touched rift matter, attuned to the fault lines of structured mana.

  Effects:

  Void Edge: Strikes against mana constructs deal significantly increased damage and accelerate structural destabilization. Normal damage against physical organisms.

  +10 Stealth

  +5 Agility

  Okay, I was dead wrong.

  That was probably the best loot I’d seen outside the challenge scenario.

  Rare grade, three bonus effects, and I bet I could have used it to kill the slime in about ten seconds. All right, maybe thirty.

  I didn’t pick it up right away, though. I was contemplating.

  It didn’t totally surprise me that the loot was the solution to the problem I’d just solved. After all, this was the same rift that had given me All-Purpose Cleaning Spray right after I’d been trying to clean Riley’s injuries.

  But it was also the same rift that had given me a Canine Toothbrush as my last rift harvest reward. Rare dagger vs. doggie toothbrush.

  Magic at work, doing magical shit. That had been my conclusion the last time I'd wondered whether the rift rewards were mocking me.

  This reward, though, didn’t feel like mockery.

  Maybe it was an apology for the whipped cream, whistle, and toothbrush.

  Or maybe it was a display.

  Maybe the rift core—not alive, but possibly as sentient as, say, a Personalized Interface Construct—was saying, Look how great I am! Look what great loot I give! Please don’t close me!!!

  I bent over and picked the dagger up carefully, eyeing the sharpness of the blade. Yeah, you could definitely kill someone with this thing. I tucked it into a quick-access slot on Zelda’s Bag o’ Treats, next to Warden’s Edge and my water bottle. I didn’t know whether I’d ever use it, but I couldn’t deny that it was a great reward.

  Then I reached out and closed my hand around the rift core.

  The information flowed into my head, just like last time. It was almost like opening a familiar book, refreshing my memory on things I already knew.

  I tried to decide if there was any flavor of sentience. Did the rift core want to communicate with me? Did it have emotions and desires and opinions? Tentatively, I offered a mental, Hello? Anyone there?

  I didn’t get an answer, which wasn’t a surprise.

  I sighed once, and then I said, aloud, “I do have to close you. I'm sorry, but this is a bad place for you to be. Dangerous to friends of mine. But I’m a Rift Keeper and the tutorial said I could close you without harming you. I think you'll be fine. You’ll just open up again in a couple weeks, someplace else.”

  Okay, yes, I officially felt like an idiot. I was talking to a blob of epoxy.

  Bear whuffled her way under my hand and stuck her wet nose against the blob. Her tail, held high, said, Loot? Good loot? But then it drooped. Bad loot. I could see the disgust in her ears, so I used my other hand to rub them.

  She was turning into such a good dog.

  Zelda, seeing that I was doling out the affection, wormed her way between us, then put her paws on my knee to lift her head high enough to get her fair share of the pets. Her hackles weren’t quite raised, but the scruff of her neck fur said Mine. My person. My pets.

  Elderly Zelda had always been very tolerant of Bear’s presence, but I got the feeling that Zelda-returned-to-youth was going to be a little more cognizant of pack hierarchy and her own place as Original Dog.

  Bear didn’t object, though. She gave a whuff that meant All yours, and wandered away.

  I chuckled, gripping the rift core a little tighter. The tutorial had made it seem like a Rift Keeper could close a rift easily, but it hadn’t provided much in the way of instructions. Maybe it was one of those things it took for granted, something so simple that anyone familiar with the System would know exactly how to do it.

  Close? I thought at the core.

  Would you like to exit the rift? Choose your destination: 1) Rift Management Interface 2) Earth Gate 3) Dendrys Gate

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I’m sure I was projecting. It was entirely mechanical. But I did think there was the slightest hint of plaintiveness in the words appearing before my eyes.

  Close? I tried again.

  Nothing happened. The exit interface remained visible.

  Okay, so, simple, but not that simple. Maybe I needed to just take the rift core. If I took it outside the rift, the rift would have to close, right?

  I tugged on it, but it didn’t move. I wasn’t really putting my full strength into it, but my full Strength was 10 now. I’d started out with 2. The average human might have 3 and the world’s strongest humans might have 6 or 7, for someone really exceptional. I was stronger than that guy, whoever he was, and not by a little, so if the rift core was going to be easy to pick up, I would have been able to pick it up.

  With a mental tap, I opened up my HUD. Maybe I could level up, put a couple more points in Strength. Not that that was how I wanted to use those points.

  Or, you know, I could open the Rifts pane, sitting right next to the Companions pane. The one I’d never actually bothered to look at.

  My bad.

  The Rifts pane was instant information overload. I skimmed, not bothering to really read. There were two tabs, one for Thorn’s Edge, and one for #486, and #486 was active. It listed everything: tier, rating, instances, progress percentage, rift stability, mana density, mana flow, essence, breaches, denizens, environment, resources available, resources harvested. It reminded me of looking at IRS tax forms, and not the EZ kind.

  At the bottom of the ridiculously dense infodump, buttons read Report, Rate, Relocate, Claim, and Close. Relocate was grayed out, but all the others looked usable. With a smile of somewhat smug satisfaction, I tapped the Close button.

  WARNING! The System immediately flashed at me. Rift #486 has one instance active, four occupants.

  Oh, right. That was us. We should probably leave the rift before I closed it.

  Still, unlike Relocate, the Close button wasn’t grayed out. That probably meant I could close the rift while we were still inside. I wondered what would happen if I did. Would we get teleported back to our starting place? Ripped apart by mana? Wind up stranded on Dendrys?

  I was curious, but not tempted. I thought the most likely outcome was that we’d wind up dumped out on the street by the RV park, and that wasn’t where I wanted to be. And frankly, I’d gotten lucky once already this morning when using [Mana Absorption] didn’t kill me. I didn’t want to push it.

  Without hesitating, I turned back to the rift core’s interface and selected the exit to my RMI, and chose the option that brought the dogs with me.

  The unpleasant transition moment was not as bad as it had been the last time. Maybe I was getting used to it. From behind the counter, System Chelsea greeted me and I returned the greeting while automatically counting dogs. All present and accounted for.

  I didn’t quite sigh with relief. I’d fully expected them to be with me. I trusted the System at least that much. But I felt it. Leaving a dog behind in a rift with monsters felt like a nightmare-in-waiting.

  Riley headed straight for the door. He looked like he was ready to go home and curl up on the couch. I was too, but we had a little work to do first.

  This time when I tapped the Close button, the System message read:

  Closing a rift cannot be reversed. Are you sure you wish to close Rift #486?

  I hit Yes.

  Confirmed. Rift #486 is closed.

  The notification dot was blinking fast in the corner of my eye, which meant I should probably read my messages. But they weren’t going anywhere and we were almost home. I wasn’t in the mood. I’d read them later, maybe when I was snuggling a dog or two on that couch.

  I gave the little whistle that meant ‘Come with me’ to the dogs, waved good-bye to Chelsea and opened the door.

  The mana high was fading as we stepped through, back into the dawning light of an early Florida morning. The sun was already warming the air, the sky a pure crystal blue that told me the day ahead would be lovely.

  At least weather-wise it would be lovely.

  Riley barked once, a warning. Bear’s warning was a lot more threatening, a rapid fire staccato saying Stranger, Stranger, Stranger!

  My head came up. Standing at the door of my shed was a guy with the kind of build that came from either dedicated gym work or a job that involved serious physical labor. He had his hand on the shed door.

  My heart did the thing hearts do, adrenaline pushing it to high-speed thumping in my ears.

  “Hey,” I shouted from across the yard. “Get away from there.”

  I started walking toward him, feeling the tremble in the back of my legs that showed up when I was afraid. The dogs moved with me, Bear still barking, but when she started to move ahead of me, I gestured sharply, dropping my hand with fingers spread wide, in the Hold command. We walked as a pack, together.

  I didn’t need to be afraid, I told myself. I had the dogs.

  Wait. I also had me.

  The guy turned. Up close, his face was younger than his build suggested, maybe late teens, early twenties. That didn’t make me feel better. Young men doing stupid things were not notably less dangerous than older men doing stupid things.

  “I’m looking for my sister,” he said.

  I looked at him. I looked at the shed door. I looked back at him.

  “In my shed?” I didn’t bother to hide my skepticism. Sure, sure, a random stranger’s shed was exactly where one would look for a sister.

  Or it was where one would look for things to steal. Tools. Gasoline. Generators.

  It wasn't really a question, but he answered it anyway. “She could be hiding anywhere. I'm just checking.”

  “You're checking my shed at seven in the morning without asking.” I took a single step forward. Bear rumbled a complaint. “Leave."

  Something shifted in his expression. He drew himself up a little, shoulders squaring. “Lady, you don't want to mess with me.”

  I tapped [Analyze]. I wanted to know who I was dealing with.

  Name: Robert (Robbie) Barrow

  Title: Murder Hobo

  Species: Human

  Class: Fighter

  Level: 3

  Condition: Optimal

  Affiliations: None known

  Murder Hobo? What the actual fuck?

  But he was also a Level 3 Fighter.

  “Kid,” I said, my voice even, “You don’t want to mess with me.” I tilted my head toward Riley. “You also don’t want to mess with him.”

  I gestured toward Bear, hovering just behind Riley. “Or her.”

  Then I nodded toward Zelda who was right next to my feet. “Or even her. You wouldn’t be the first thing any of them killed today.”

  He looked at Riley. Riley looked back at him with the serene, unhurried attention of a dog who had genuinely already killed something today and did not find the situation particularly interesting. It was a very effective look.

  Bear curled her lip, showing her teeth. That might have been even more effective.

  The guy lifted his chin. He took one step away from the shed door, not retreating exactly, just shifting. “If you see Pen, you tell her to come home. We’re looking for her.”

  The last words had the shape of a threat.

  Would his sister hear them that way, too? If she even existed, that was. But if she did, was she roaming the forest alone? How old was she? Did she have a class? Had she run away or just disappeared? I wasn’t going to tell her to go home to a Murder Hobo brother, but I wanted a few more details.

  Before I could open my mouth to ask questions, though, Zelda opened hers.

  She howled.

  In her entire life, I’d heard my girl howl once, maybe twice. Jack Russells don’t tend to be howlers, she less than most. But she’d gotten that Heart’s Howl trait when her Spirit stat hit 40.

  What had it said again?

  Your voice carries the weight of your spirit. When you howl, allies within range feel courage rise, while enemies feel instinctive fear. The effect scales with Spirit and triggers naturally in moments of danger.

  I don’t know whether she chose to use it or whether her sense of the man as a threat triggered it automatically. Either way, it rose out of her like a sound from a much larger animal, ancient and resonant, the kind of howl that lives in a very old part of the human brain and means run.

  He froze for exactly one second.

  Then he ran.

  “Leave it!” I snapped, before the dogs could finish the thoughts they were clearly having about how prey that ran was prey that deserved chasing. “Stay. No chasing.”

  Riley dropped to his belly with a sound that expressed his sense of profound personal injustice. Bear skidded to a halt, then turned with an air of fake innocence as if she were saying, Me? Chase off a stranger? Not me. She sauntered toward the back porch with the same jauntiness in her step that I’d seen earlier.

  I stared at Bear's retreating back.

  She'd listened. In a situation where every instinct she had should be screaming chase, she'd heard me and stopped.

  I was going to need a minute with that.

  But not right now. My heart was still hammering, adrenaline doing its thing, and I let myself feel it for a moment before I started talking myself down. My fear response was normal. A stranger at my property, the aggression in his voice, the way he'd squared up—all of that was real, and my body knew it, and that was fine.

  What was also true: Level 3 Fighter, meeting a Level 17 Thorn’s Edge Guardian and her dogs. In any actual confrontation, I would have won, and it wouldn't have been close.

  I didn’t want to fight human beings. I definitely didn’t want to find out what it felt like to hurt a kid who was probably barely out of his teens. But I could have if I’d needed to.

  I stood there for another moment.

  Murder Hobo. I was also going to need to think about that title and what it meant. What it implied about what he’d been doing for the last five days. Maybe it would have been better if…

  But no. The dogs and I were not going to start attacking people, even if the people were probably Bad Guys with capital letters.

  I glanced at the shed.

  Tell her to come home. We’re looking for her.

  It was a weird thing to say. It was also a weird cover story. But if he’d been trying to break into my shed, he hadn’t gone in, so right now I wasn't gonna think about it.

  Later today, maybe I’d finally have time to get the generator out and work on blocking the driveway. But that was for later.

  For now, it was time for breakfast.

  Thanks for reading!

  Next chapter: Sunday, March 1, 2026