"Where the hell is our courier? We have barely ten minutes left until the Rift opens and he’s not even here."
Moffrey’s frustrated voice turned the heads of two of his squadmates. Assigned the role of striker, his tall, lean frame and the icy menace of his Frostbitten Cobra made him ideal for it.
His face was rough and prematurely weathered for his age of 24, a husky edge to his voice and sharp brown eyes beneath the mess of spiky brown hair jutting from his head.
An armor of a sleeveless navy jacket exposed his lean arms. His forearms were protected in scaled mesh armor, patterned like serpent skin and reinforced with aether blasters— the blaster in his left arm was connected to his beastlinker.
A cheap aether gun was strapped to his shorts, and his boots had shortflight rockets infused underneath. The visor atop his head bounced slightly as he snapped his head at the rest of his teammates, expecting them to say something.
"Chill out, Moffrey. It’s only a courier; a pretty useless role anyway." Anson, the second striker, said with a chuckle as he ran a whetstone over his spear. "Besides, our assigned escort isn’t here either."
"He was here earlier. He left to go find the idiot."
"Can we not with the insults?" Songred, the captain, sighed. "And the courier is not a useless role. Every position is important for a successful Rift Clearing."
"Pfft," Moffrey rolled his eyes. "Don’t get all high and mighty on us just because you’re the captain. We’re all Class E’s here."
Songred nonchalantly lifted his brow at him, his long silver hair shifting aside. "Speak for yourself. I moved up to Class D over the weekend."
Pott, the big hunk Vanguard, gave a grunt of approval, his Geargrinder Rhino snorting beside him.
"What?!" Moffrey exclaimed. "No one goes up that fast."
"Must be a you problem, then," Songred said evenly. "Your fellow striker has also gone up a Class."
Startled, Moffrey turned toward Anson, who shrugged, gesturing that it wasn’t him. Their eyes then drifted to the third striker.
She was sitting on top of a large, rusted pipe while her mechbeast; an agile Doomsday Panther at the Juvenile Phase, nibbled her open palm. Even from the distance, the two men could make out the sharp details of her face. She was pale, and her jaws were oval shaped, her cheeks were dainty but her eyes were blue and cold.
She had short black hair cut into a strict bob that framed those eyes. Her gear wasn’t flashy, not like Moffrey’s, but it was functional.
Her upper body was covered with a loose combat top with high collars. It was tucked into tactical leggings, wrapped in tight harnesses and gear straps holding aether guns and bombs.
A quiver of arrows hung behind her, and the bow, unretracted, was secured at her hip in its baton-like form. She was simple as simple came, but her face held an undeniable beauty and her mechbeast already being at the Juvenile Phase, was very very impressive.
"Who’s she?" Moffrey asked with a pretentious scoff, though his tone had softened.
"Ha ha. Moffrey, my brother. That’s Padva Darlstarc," Anson said, nudging his Venomclaw Lynx aside and slinging an arm around Moffrey. "She’s the daughter of Sector Twelve’s governor. That’s why she’s not so popular."
Moffrey gazed at the girl, unable to take his eyes off her, like he was transfixed. "So she’s a princess?"
"A pretty princess." Pott added.
"That she is." Anson nodded. "Unfortunately for our Princess Padva, Sector Twelve is a lower Sector. That and their unsolved differences with the government, plus their incapability to produce efficient beast tamers has packed all the odds against her and her family. But who knows? From what we hear, she’s a prodigy. Maybe she can break the curse for her Sector."
Moffrey’s gaze lingered a moment longer. But she was yet to look their way once. ’Doesn’t she know we’re looking at her? Is she pretending not to care?’ he thought, finally looking away. "Whatever. She has a Deathclaw anyway. So I’m pretty sure she’ll do alright."
"What about you guys?" Songred asked, his Lotus Direwolf curling playfully around his leg. "Which Sectors are you from?"
Anson was the first to respond. "Oh, I’m from Sector Six; an upper Sector I proudly say. We’ve produced six of some of the greatest beast tamers in the world you know. Like Lance Orchid! intend to make it to that list."
Songred looked at Anson’s beast as it casually licked its paw. ’With a mere Silver Ranked beast. Not gonna happen,’ he thought.
"I’m from Sector Eleven!" Moffrey declared. " A lower Sector, I know. But just like that princess, I plan to break the barrier and become a powerful tamer and Riftwalker starting today. I might not look like much, but I got fire in my heart and the courage to fight for my goals." He hit his chest. "I’m ready."
Songred wasn’t impressed. ’All these gadgets he’s gathered won’t do him any good in the long run. It’s best to ditch gadgets and focus on manipulating aether. Then again, a Frostbitten Cobra doesn’t have much aether in its core to offer him.’
"What about you, big guy?" he asked Pott.
The Vanguard grunted. "I’m from Sector One."
"Oh. You’re from The Capital."
"Outer rings," Pott clarified. "Many powerful beast tamers have come from my Sector. Sometimes I feel pressure to match up to them. Other times I feel no pressure because there’s no one to let down."
Songred pursed his lips. ’Touching. He’s got the most chance with that Geargrinder. It’s a Gold Rank, high levels too. But The Capital is used to Platinum and even Black Ranks. He could fit in simply as an average tamer according to their standards.’
"Hey. Support Role!" he called across the lot to the girl crouched beside the metal trench. "What about you?"
Mory, big eyed and small with green hair tied in short twintails sprang to her feet and turned around.
"Sorry," she said anxiously. "My Sunspire Sprout isn’t doing too well in this environment. She’s reacting negatively to the smoke coming from those mechhouses."
Songred eyed her plant-type mechbeast nestled in her palms. ’A lifegiver. We’re lucky to have someone with that on our team. Even if it’s still in the Hatchling Phase, I could befriend her and get her to join me in possible future missions.’
"I’m from Sector Eight!" Mory said cheerfully, the visor hanging by waist dangled. "We have one popular tamer from our Sector. You guys ever heard of Fenris Harkson?"
The guys all shared knowing glances. "Of course we have," Anson grinned.
"Good!" Mory beamed. "I hope to be like her one day. Even though our beasts are completely different."
Songred watched the Sunspire glowing mildly while releasing tiny emerald spores in the air. ’A Gold Rank. Perhaps my team is not bad at all. Hopefully the courier has a decent enough beast, not that it’s necessary at this point.’
"What’s this?" Moffrey jabbed at Songred. "Don’t think you’re not going to tell us yours. We’ve all told you ours." He leaned in. "So spill it."
Resting back on an iron wall, Songred looked at him with an impassive gaze, nothing in his silver eyes. Then he exhaled. "Sector Nineteen. That’s where I’m from."
"Ehhh— ngh!" Moffrey and Anson jerked backwards, creeping their eyes towards each other in fear.
"Yeah, you heard that too, right?"
"Isn’t that place almost a Feral Zone at this point?"
They both looked at Songred, seeing him staring back at them, hands folded on his stomach, one feet on the wall, the other on the ground where his Direwolf had curled around. He suddenly seemed even more terrifying, his all white gear giving him the chilling presence of a spectral knight of some kind.
How had they overlooked his Lotus Direwolf?! A Platinum Rank, no less? For someone in Sector Nineteen to possess such a beast, Songred surely must have done some unscrupulous things to survive!
No wonder he was the captain.
Songred, ignoring their stares, turned to the path. "Our escort isn’t back yet. The courier hasn’t arrived either."
Moffrey immediately stood beside him like a loyal squire. "Captain! I know, right? That stupid courier is wasting your time and holding back the mission."
Songred looked at him impassively. "The Rift hasn’t opened here. And didn’t I say no insults?"
Moffrey chuckled sheepishly. "Uh yes. You did."
"Wait. I think someone is coming." Anson announced.
They all turned to the path where a figure appeared, wearing a blue uniform and a hat.
"It’s the escort," Mory said.
Anson squinted his eyes. "There’s someone with him."
Slowly, the other figure walking by the escort came into focus. It was a boy around average height, wearing a red short jacket, gloves and plain trousers. He had a full head of vibrant white hair and his shoulders were slightly slumped from the weight of the bag he was carrying.
They stopped once they arrived.
"Alright, everyone," the escort said. "The courier is here now. Rift is timed to open in about two minutes, so please be prepared."
The tamers, though, were still staring at the courier, or specifically at the mechbeast on his shoulder. Moffrey, eyes as white as clouds, pointed at it like he was having a stroke.
"Is that... a gutterling?!"