Jethro expected this. No matter how he disliked it, ridicule came naturally when your Mechbeast was a Red Lizard. Especially from fellow new tamers. He'd learned to accept it. But still, why was it always the first thing they noticed?
What about his cool beam gloves? How come they didn't notice that? His father had spent the whole week secretly making it for him from scraps they'd gathered. It was his goodbye gift— alongside a long hug and a promise that when Jethro returned, he'd be the father he deserved. They wouldn't have to live under the bridge anymore.
Jethro didn't know whether to be pleased or worried by that. Hopefully, his father wouldn't go do anything crazy out of desperation. He meant it when he said he was fine with the simple life.
Not everyone was destined to be a Riftwalker. However, his squadmates sure seemed to be. They were all geared up, fancy, functional, prepared.
He eyed their mechbeasts: a Frostbitten Cobra, a Geargrinder Rhino, a Venomclaw Lynx and a Lotus Direwolf. Compared to them, his Red Lizard was merely a piece of Vincintine skin worthy of the name, 'scrap'.
"Just our luck!" Moffrey wailed, throwing both hands over his face. "Yeah, I heard of this guy. He's the one who came to the Hatching Ceremony with a Gray Egg. Even worse? It hatched the weakest amongst all the possible Gray Rank Beasts. You've got some bad luck, kid and there's no way you're bringing that with us into this mission."
Jethro looked at the spiky-haired jerk like he'd grown a second head. 'A mission? Does he think he's already a certified Riftwalker or something?'
"That will be enough of that," the escort snapped. "Jethro may have the lowest-ranked beast, but his role accommodates that, including the rank of this Rift. Also, look around you; you're surrounded by squadmates with two Platinum Rank Beasts and three Gold Rank Beasts. Apart from Jethro, you're the one with the lowest-ranked Beast in the squad."
Moffrey gagged, his mouth twitching for a rebuttal that never came as he moved his gaze between the stern escort and Jethro.
"The assignment of squadmates was done with keen deliberation. With two Platinum Ranks and no Bronze Ranks, your squad is already one of the strongest amongst the lots. It's only fair to balance that out with a Gray Rank."
Songred sighed. "We're wasting time. The escort is right. This is just a training Rift anyway and the courier position wouldn't be that much important for it since we're unlikely to need backup. Just be smart, Lizard boy, and try not to get in the way."
Jethro frowned, watching him turn around with hands in his pockets, white hair flowing behind him and his Direwolf curling at his feet. 'What's with Mr. Daenerys over here?'
Then, someone passed him.
He stiffened, caught off guard by the strong aura that brushed past his senses. His eyes followed it, and his neck twisted as he watched her— this very figure —head toward the rest of the team.
Her short dark hair moved with the wind, the loose gray top she wore billowed against the quiver of arrows behind her, and tight tactical pants strapped with gear attachments and weapons covered her tall legs. Following after her, with silent steps, was a Doomsday Panther.
Jethro remembered her from the ceremony. Padva Darlstarc. That was her name. He was surprised that he still remembered it, but even more surprised that she was on his team.
"Alright now, gather around!" the escort ordered.
He walked towards the team, ignoring the despicable stare that Spiky Head shot him, while Lizard bopped its head on his shoulder.
Once they formed a loose semicircle, the escort began.
"I expect that you all read about Rifts prior to this training expedition, but protocol requires I go over the basics."
Jethro exhaled quietly in relief. Glyphs on Rifts were too expensive. And without a sector library pass, his options were zero.
"Rifts are dimensional tears that open between Nebulon— our realm —and Darcworld, the corrupted domain of Darcbeasts," the escort began. "We know that Rifts are not created by intention, but are the result of aether instability within a particular fabric of our atmosphere and Darcworld's at the same time. That's why we're able to predict when and where they'll appear."
"If left unchecked, Darcbeasts spill through the Rifts. They are drawn instinctively to corrupt, destroy and destabilize our world so that the conqueror can one day attempt again to claim it."
He gauged their reaction before continuing. "Alright, now you know the why and how, let's move to the mechanics. Rifts are created based on the complicated structure of Darcworld. Darcworld is not an open map, it's a layered abyss, composed of zones arranged by levels of corruption, threat, and proximity to the conqueror himself."
Jethro furrowed his brow. 'That's complicated alright.'
"Rift Ranks are what we use to differentiate these zones as different Rifts lead to separate zones in Darcworld.
"For Gray Rank Rifts, which is the one you're about to enter, they lead to the Outer Mire where fog-choked ruins, crumbled roads and similarly ranked Darcbeasts are present. There's also very low aether poisoning so you'll have nothing to worry about."
"What about Bronze Rank Rifts?" Songred asked.
The escort hesitated briefly. "You'll learn about the other Rifts and their zones in the Academy. For now, it's best we only focus on the Rift we're entering."
"But what stops us from just wandering deeper and entering a new zone?" Jethro questioned.
Everyone turned to him, almost like they'd forgotten he was there. The escort smiled. "Good question, Jethro."
Moffrey scoffed, unimpressed.
"Each Rift acts as a dimensional tether. The entrance gate is locked onto a specific layer of Darcworld, pulling a piece of that zone into temporary alignment with Nebulon. Think of it as a surgical hole in a large body; it only opens one layer. Doesn't matter how far you walk. The zone ends where the tether does.
"The moment a Riftwalker enters a Rift, the spatial boundaries are compressed, and the realm constructs a local shard of that layer— a sealed, mission-limited version of that zone and Darcworld as a whole. That way, lower-ranked Riftwalkers can't accidentally wander into higher-ranked zones and higher-ranked Darcbeasts can't spill into lower-ranked zones."
Jethro listened attentively. 'This stuff is almost like a game. Darcworld is just a glorified dungeon with extra rules.'
"Time flows differently inside Rifts. Our calculations show that one hour missions are around 4 hours inside. So we must watch how long we stay as extended exposure = higher aether poisoning. Be alert."
The escort folded his arms. "Now about Riftkeepers. Each Rift has one: the strongest Darcbeast present inside it, holding domain over the localized zone. They are usually at the same rank as the Rift and are infused with fragments of the conqueror's will."
He looked at them one after the other, making sure they registered the next part.
"This part is very important. You must kill the Riftkeeper as that's the only way to collapse the Rift and stabilize the area. But more than that, you must also extract its core. Only then will the Rift generate an automatic exit that takes you out of the zone as it begins to collapse. If you don't have the Riftkeeper's core, then you will have no escape. Unless you're fast enough to make it back to the gate on time, you will be destroyed alongside the zone."
Silence settled over the group.
For some, reality was setting in. The severity of this profession was now dawning on them.
Jethro, on the other hand, was oddly amused by this compared to the rest of the squad. 'I knew I made the right decision. These wannabe Riftwalkers can fret over this while I head back to Dad after it's all done and get on with my life. Riftkeepers? Hah! Aren't they basically just dungeon bosses? These people have no idea what they're getting themselves into.'
SWOOOOOSH! BLAST!
A sudden vortex tore the air in front of them. The Rift has arrived. It had a purple colored surface that rippled like oil on water, pulling the air in ragged coordinations. Jethro stared at it, while the escort barely reacted.
"Are there any questions?" he asked. No one came forth.
"Alright then. Usually, there are two Strikers in a squad while one takes the role of Scout. But since this is a Grey Rift, it's simple enough not to require a Scout."
He glanced at Anson. "You. Your Lynx has the best scent sensitivity. You'll double as Scout while prioritizing the Striker role. You might not need one now, but it's best to learn because you'll definitely need it in the future."
He scanned their faces. "Remember; I'm not here to help. I'm only going to supervise and note down what I see. You all have your roles and you know what it entails. Play them well, clear the Rift, so I can signal the jet to take us to the Academy where your new lives officially begin."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that understood?"
"Yes sir!" Moffrey, Anson and Mory responded. The others nodded.
Then, the escort turned around. He pressed a dispatcher on his collar. "Squad 23 entering Rift 23, located: broken down mechhouse in north east Sector Four. Over."
After he got his response, he looked over his shoulder. "Let's go."
He entered the Rift, the strange space swallowing him, bubbling after like hot water.
Songred followed suit, his hands in his pockets, his Direwolf loyal beside him. Padva was next, then the others followed.
Jethro stood last, glancing once at the sky. Then over his shoulder.
He exhaled. "See you later, cyberpunk world."
And stepped through.