Lyric dreamt of home.
The fields stretched endlessly, golden wheat swaying under a pale sky. The warm wind carried the scent of fresh soil, and the familiar sound of rustling stalks filled the air. His hands, small and calloused, clutched a wooden spade as he dug into the earth. The village was alive behind him—laughter, chatter, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer. It was peaceful.
And then—
A rift split the air with a sound like shattering glass. The sky darkened, twisting into unnatural shades of violet and black. Lyric spun around just in time to see Chime, her small figure silhouetted against the blinding light, reaching out for him. Her voice was drowned out by the roaring wind as the void swallowed her whole.
He ran. He screamed. But the ground cracked beneath his feet, and he was falling—
He woke up with a sharp inhale, lungs aching as though he'd been holding his breath for hours.
The dim glow of lanterns filtered through the cracks of the inn's wooden shutters, casting thin golden lines across the room. The air was still, save for the soft flickering of candlelight. His heart pounded in his ears, his pulse slowing as he focused on his surroundings—on reality. The scent of aged wood and damp fabric grounded him.
Bell hovered near the small, rickety table, arms crossed, watching him with an unreadable expression. She didn't ask. She never did when it came to his nightmares. Instead, she simply said, "You're awake."
Lyric pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his face. "Barely."
She flitted closer, her translucent wings giving a faint hum. "You need money. And information. You won't find either lying in bed."
He sighed, rolling his shoulders. The stiffness from too many nights of restless sleep clung to his muscles. He let out a slow breath, trying to shake the lingering weight of his dream. "Got any brilliant ideas?"
Bell smirked. "The Explorer's Guild."
Lyric frowned. "Didn't we already go there?"
"Yeah, to sign up." She flicked his forehead lightly. "Now you actually need to take a mission. That's how guilds work, genius."
Right. He had almost forgotten—between nearly getting arrested, surviving on scraps, and spending the last of his coin on proper gear, there hadn't been time for much else. Now, though, it was unavoidable.
He pushed off the bed, grabbing his cloak and fastening it over his newly acquired armor. It was sturdy yet flexible, made of materials he barely recognized. The cloak itself was heavy enough to obscure most of his features, though that didn't change the fact that he was still very much a wanted man. He'd have to move carefully.
As he checked his gear, his fingers briefly brushed the smooth surface of the Celestial Shard embedded in his chest. It pulsed faintly beneath his skin, a steady, rhythmic reminder of the power it held—and the attention it could bring. He quickly pulled his cloak over it.
Bell darted to his shoulder as he stepped out into the streets of the Floating Market.
The marketplace was as alive as ever.
There was no real concept of time here—only the endless hum of bartering, of merchants peddling their wares, of mechanical constructs lumbering through the streets on rusted joints. The sky above remained in perpetual twilight, stars winking in and out of existence like fireflies in the void. Lanterns of various colors flickered from tightly packed stalls, casting the walkways in shifting hues of orange, blue, and green.
Lyric kept his hood low, eyes scanning the crowd as he moved toward the Explorer's Guild. His mind lingered on the wanted poster he'd seen the day before—the one that bore a description strikingly similar to Oboe. The old wolf-man had told him not to worry, that his crew would be fine. And yet…
Bell must have noticed the tension in his face. "Later," she murmured, barely audible over the noise. "You can't help him if you're starving on the streets."
He said nothing but quickened his pace, weaving through the crowds.
A merchant selling bottled storms shouted over the din. A mechanical golem trudged past, its massive arms carrying crates of enchanted spices. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp ring of steel meeting steel signaled a duel in the fighting pits. The Floating Market was a world of its own, an ever-moving, ever-changing entity.
The guild hall was exactly as he remembered—rowdy, filled with adventurers of all kinds, most gathered around the enormous mission board or boasting about their latest exploits over tankards of questionable alcohol. The interior was a blend of medieval and arcane architecture, wooden beams stretching toward high ceilings where banners of different factions hung. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and sweat.
Behind the counter, standing on his ever-present stool, was Echo.
The dwarf-like receptionist was scribbling something down, his thick ginger beard nearly dipping into the inkwell. His eyes flicked upward as Lyric approached, scanning him briefly before he let out a dry chuckle.
"Well, look who's still alive."
Lyric leaned against the counter. "You almost sound surprised."
Echo snorted. "With the kind of mess you seem to attract? It's a miracle." He set his quill aside and folded his arms. "Alright, kid. Here for work?"
Lyric nodded. "Something low-risk. Preferably not involving bounty hunters, imperial guards, or things that want to eat me."
Echo raised an eyebrow. "That's an awfully short list of requirements for a job."
Bell landed on Lyric's shoulder, wings twitching. "We'll take whatever pays."
The dwarf grumbled something under his breath before flipping through a pile of mission requests. He eventually pulled one out and slid it across the counter.
"Exploration job," he said. "Should be easy enough. You go through a rift, scout the area, see if it's habitable or if anything sentient's living there. Report back. That's it."
Lyric skimmed the parchment. No immediate threats. No expected complications. Just a simple scouting mission to an uncharted world.
"I'll take it."
Echo nodded, reaching under the counter and retrieving a small, rune-marked device. "This tracker logs your progress. Don't break it, don't lose it."
Lyric took it, tucking it into his belt. Echo eyed him for a moment before his gruff expression softened just slightly.
"Watch yourself," the dwarf muttered. "Empty places tend to have secrets."
Lyric gave him a small nod before turning toward the Rift Gate.
The transition was always disorienting.
A sensation of being stretched, pulled, compressed all at once. Light bent and twisted around him, a swirling vortex of color and nothingness. Then—
Solid ground.
Lyric staggered forward, catching himself on the damp earth beneath him. The air was thick, humid, carrying the scent of wet soil and moss. The distant sound of dripping water filled the silence, echoing through the gnarled branches of small willow and birch trees.
Swampland.
He took a slow breath, scanning the landscape. Pools of murky water stretched between patches of solid land, reflecting the dim, greenish glow from an unseen light source above. Thin vines draped from twisted limbs, shifting slightly as unseen creatures moved within their depths.
Bell hovered beside him, her wings beating quietly. "Well. This is charming."
Lyric adjusted his cloak, pulling the tracker from his belt. The device pulsed faintly, confirming his location. He was in the right place.
Now, he just had to find out whether or not he was alone.