A day after their meeting with Mystica, Galen and Magnus finally set out for the Ruined Lands.
In most high-priority missions , standard protocol called for teleportation—clean, fast, and efficient. But those two? Yeah, no. Portals were too borrowed and institutional. They weren't fans of shortcut sorcery that didn't come from their own hands.
Instead, they chose the train.
Not just any creaky hunk of metal, though—this was one of the myst-infused locomotives, crafted under the Kingdom's strict enchantment orders. Powered by condensed myst cores and protected by runes of acceleration, these sleek beasts could bend hours into minutes. Days into a blink.
And cutting over the enchanted tracks of the Stav Lake—an eerie, glassy body of water that stretched between Solara and the Ruined Lands—meant the journey was twice as fast. The rails shimmered across the surface like a silver scar, water lapping at the sides with whispers older than the kingdom itself.
They said they wanted to enjoy the view, and sure, the golden hills, whispering forests, and fleeting wildlife were nice. But the truth? Neither of them had the patience to be cooped up for long.
"Can't this train go any faster?" Galen muttered, head tilted back against the velvet seat, eyes closed with a sigh of dramatic exhaustion. "I'm starting to regret not just using the damn portals."
"Yeah, same," Magnus said, mouth full of cream puff, casually balancing a box of sweets on his lap like it was sacred treasure. "Scenery's great and all, but sitting this long makes me feel like I'm thirty."
Galen cracked an eye open. "You are thirty."
Magnus smirked. "Exactly. And I hate feeling my actual age."
A comfortable silence fell between them as the train sped across the shimmering surface of Stav Lake.
"Hey," Magnus said suddenly, flicking a crumb off his shirt. "You ever think about going back to Solara? Like, actually back? Big fancy palace, golden halls, adoring fans throwing themselves at your feet—y'know, the usual 'I'm royalty, kiss my ring' vibe."
Galen snorted. "Please. I'd rather dive into lava than deal with another noble council meeting. Besides, my father probably replaced my face with a statue of his favorite horse by now."
Magnus burst out laughing. "Stormhoof? The war stallion? Yeah, I can see it—'Beloved Son and Champion of Solara: Stormhoof the Magnificent.'"
"I mean, the horse did win more battles than my old man." Galen grinned.
"Tragic, really. Outshined by a horse with better hair."
They both chuckled as the train crossed the final stretch of the lake. The radiant waters gave way to jagged cliffs and withered trees, the lush greens behind them slowly bleeding into the ash-stained grays of the Ruined Lands.
A low hum filled the air as the train passed through a shimmering arc of blue glyphs—the Array Gate, a warding field that marked the border between Solara's reach and the Ruined Lands.
"Welp," Magnus muttered as he stood, stretching so hard his spine popped like popcorn. "What exactly are we here for again?"
"Inspect the rift Mystica mentioned and…" Galen trailed off as he rose to his feet, blinking like his brain had skipped a beat. "…figure out if it's Sylvathar who crawled out, or just some overgrown Gaia meathead. Can't say I remember clearly."
Magnus licked the last bit of frosting off his thumb. "Cool, cool. Let's make it fast—I'm dangerously low on sugar and patience. Not a good combo."
"Then let's move. I'm honestly hoping we find the bastard himself." Galen stepped toward the train doors, the smirk on his face crooked and full of menace. The sky outside was draped in stormy clouds, thunder grumbling in the distance like some ancient beast yawning awake. "Yeah... I'd love that."
As they stepped off the train, the chill of the Ruined Lands greeted them like an old enemy. The platform was cracked and dusty, lined with enchanted lanterns that flickered with eerie blue light. Two knights stood at attention, waiting.
"I greet Sir Galen Magna."
"I greet Sir Magnus Yaer."
They saluted in perfect sync, straight-backed and serious.
Galen gave them a deadpan stare, hands shoved into pockets. His crimson trench coat, hiding his arms. "Stop saying my full name, you clowns."
The coat fluttered with the wind, its golden designs catching the fading light. The Tempest Kingdom's crest gleamed on his shoulder, but Galen wore it like it meant nothing. His sleeves hung empty, arms slipped through the inside lining of the coat. Underneath, a crisp white shirt and black pants completed the look.
Magnus, on the other hand, looked like a walking shadow. His outfit was the same design—only completely black, with the golden patterns. His coat sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He gave the knights a mock salute, grinning.
"I greet Knight One. I greet Knight Two. Gods, that never gets old."
The taller knight—broad-shouldered with a thick black mustache and a sharp little goatee—bowed slightly. "Apologies, great Knights. We'll be more mindful next time."
"You're good," Magnus said with a wink. "I'm just bored."
"Save your pleasantries," Galen said, voice flat. "Where is that rift?"
The taller knight straightened, his expression hardening with purpose. "It's just beyond the second outpost, sir. Northeast ridge. It's been stable, but… it's growing. We haven't seen anything come out of it yet, but the size increased these past few weeks. Doubled."
"Maybe it's just compensating," Magnus muttered, hands behind his head, lazy grin playing on his lips. "Overgrown hole with insecurity issues."
They moved out, boots crunching over gravel and cracked earth as they approached the containment perimeter. A faint hum buzzed through the air—the pulse of the magical barrier that surrounded the rupture zone. A thin dome shimmered faintly, stretching across the landscape like a soap bubble forged in magic.
As they neared the edge, the taller knight reached into a satchel and pulled out two necklaces—each strung with a raw-cut Myst crystal, glowing a soft silver-blue.
"These will protect you," he said, offering them forward. "Demonic Myst past the barrier infects human bodies. Without these… your insides'll rot out in under a minute."
Magnus waved him off with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Nah, we're good."
"Keep 'em," Galen added, brushing past without even sparing the necklaces a glance. "You'll need 'em more than we do."
The knights blinked, stunned. The younger one especially—he had stayed mostly quiet the whole time, eyes scanning and observing. But now, he looked visibly confused.
No one… no one just walks through the barrier raw.
To him, any human—no matter how skilled—needed those protective crystals. Without them, the demon-infested Myst beyond the shield would sink into your bones like poison and break you from the inside out.
Yet the moment Galen and Magnus passed through the barrier…
They strolled through like it was a gentle breeze. Just Galen with his hands in his pockets and Magnus still licking sugar dust off his thumb.
"…T-They're… they're not even flinching," the younger knight muttered.
The older knight exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple. "They're Top Tier Knights, kid. This is just a regular day to them."
They continued along a dirt path cut through broken trees and ruptured terrain. The energy here felt unnatural. Twisted. Like the earth itself had a fever.
A pack of Horror-class demons crept from the jagged shadows. Crawling on too many limbs, eyes glowing with limbs twitching unnaturally.
The knights moved immediately—blades drawn and spells conjured.
They just stood still, watching without even blinking.
The young knight fought back irritation as he and his superior clashed blades and spells with the demons. Blood sprayed and Fangs snapped. And still—those two just stood there like statues with better things to do.
'Are they kidding?' he thought, rage boiling in his gut. 'They're just gonna let us handle everything? Proud, lazy bastards…'
The final Horror hissed out its last breath as it was skewered and fell twitching. The group marched on.
Then Galen's voice cut through the air—calm, dry, uninterested.
"I don't care what you think, kid."
The younger knight flinched.
Galen didn't look at him. He just kept walking, hands deep in his pockets, eyes ahead.
"If you're pissed we didn't step in, go eat your own shit. We didn't come to do your job for you."
The young knight stared at him, wide-eyed.
'He… he read me. Word for word.'
He hadn't said a thing aloud. But his expression had given him away. And Galen had gutted his thoughts in front of everyone like it was nothing.
Magnus chuckled under his breath. "Oof. He got you real good, man."
The younger knight looked down, face red—not just from shame, but from the wild, raw respect that hit him like a punch to the chest.
They pressed forward and just moments after a few minutes the rift came into view.
It pulsed like a beating heart in the middle of a scarred crater—twisting, swirling black and green Myst erupting out of it in slow, agonized tendrils. It was huge. Easily thirty feet across and still growing. The stone around it was warped, melted into unrecognizable forms. Trees nearby were either dead or mutated—some split into fleshy growths, others twisted into thorny spires.
Magnus whistled low. "Yeesh. That thing's been eating well."
"Still, I doubt it is big enough to be Sylvathar's entry point," Galen muttered. "But if a Gaia Lord really is planning to crawl out of that, we're gonna need more than your bag of cream puffs."
"Joke's on you," Magnus said, pulling another puff out of his coat pocket. "This is the last one."