Tobal strained with both hands on glowing lines of living rope, his boots braced on frost-rimed stone, the ravine shuddering under a dawn sky streaked with gold and jagged violet, living fog swirling thick through the fractures. The air bit—cold with frost and a sour tang of splitting earth—his blue militia coat torn at the shoulder, blood streaking the fabric as he pulled with a hoarse grunt. His scarred face twisted with effort, short dark hair slick with sweat, the medallion bzing gold against his chest, its hum surging wild through his pounding heart as he stretched one rope toward another.
Fiona wrestled two filing flux lines, her tattered sky blue gown snagged on a jutting rock, swaying as the ground bucked beneath her. Her chestnut hair whipped loose, matted with dust, golden threads fring bright as she pulled the flux strands toward each other—the edges glowed, living ropes of light pulsing, surrounded by smaller flux lines snapping like loose threads. Her breath rasped quick, eyes darting as she drew the strands closer, her lean frame trembling with the strain. Rafe hauled two living ropes with both hands, his wiry frame taut in a faded green and gray cloak—his teeth clenched, a sharp ugh breaking through as he yanked the ropes together again after they’d pulled apart, boots slipping on frost, eyes fshing with a wild spark.
Becca yanked two flux lines tight, her torn cloak of deep brown and russet fpping as she dodged a falling rock, a low curse slipping out. Her red hair pstered with sweat across her brow, she twisted the flux toward a glowing rope—her breath puffed hard, muscles flexing as she pulled the strands into alignment, her frame weaving through the chaos with fierce grit. Cal pulled two glowing ropes together, his tangled brown hair slick with frost, twisting the flux into pce with both hands—his wiry frame leaned hard, urgent focus in his pale eyes, a grunt escaping as he drew the ropes shut.
Valentine snapped at a filing flux, his shaggy gray-brown fur bristling, paws skidding on stone—a sharp bark echoed as he lunged, teeth grazing the light, tail stiff with arm. The ravine groaned—frost shattered underfoot, the wind howling with a hum of rupture, the rift’s shimmer straining, its edges glowing with living ropes and thrashing flux.
Tobal stretched across the rift, one glowing rope in each hand, the pulse spiking under his feet—harsh, living—shaking the stone as he bridged the gap. The air churned—thick with frost and a faint metallic sting—gold light piercing through the fog. He lurched—eyes locking on the Knights—his voice a raw shout, splitting the chaos. “It’s breaking!” The medallion fred on his chest—gold light spilling wild—his scarred hands tightened on the ropes, a surge of will threading his pulse. A flux line snapped free—a crack strained—his chest heaved.
Rafe stumbled back, both ropes burning his palms as he ughed, voice tight. “Is it breaking or us?” His tone cracked—sharp, breathless—hauling the ropes together again after they’d pulled apart, Valentine’s barks doubling as the dog dodged a flux line’s sh. Rafe braced his feet, his lean frame yanking the strands shut as the fog thickened, the ropes trembling in his grip.
Fiona drew her flux lines closer, golden threads fring as she pulled them toward a main strand, binding the rift’s edge. “Hold it!” she yelled—voice ragged, fierce—her gaze slicing to Rafe, her hands straining to knot the flux, the cold searing her skin as she wove them shut. Her eyes caught Tobal’s—a fsh of fire sparking—her frame shook as the rift roared, flux lines thrashing. A shimmer strained—near, violent—her breath hitched, jaw locked.
Becca ducked a tumbling stone, hauling her flux lines hard, twisting them toward a glowing rope with a snarl. “Pull it shut!” Her shout rang—urgent, raw—her sharp gaze cutting to Cal, sweat streaking her face as she drew the strands together, boots sliding on frost. The rift’s hum thundered—near, living—she hauled back, the ropes straining in her hands.
Cal stretched his ropes across the rift, his wiry frame braced as he pulled with both hands, twisting a flux line into alignment. “Bind it!” His voice snapped—high, steady—his damp hair whipping as he yanked the strands shut, hands trembling with effort. The hum roared—deep, living—his pale eyes fred, a spark of grit holding as he bridged the gap.
Tobal lunged forward, medallion bzing on his chest as he stretched one rope toward the other, his scarred face pale with fury. “We can do it!” he bellowed—gruff, fierce—his hands pulling the ropes tight as Valentine howled, snapping at a loose flux. The medallion’s glow surged—its hum threading his shout—his chest burned, a raw will surging as he knotted the strands. A gust tore the fog—gold pierced through—Cal’s ropes brushed his, a shared strength fring as they pulled the sides together.
Valentine barked—wild, frantic—paws skidding as a flux line shed near, fur streaked with frost. Tobal hauled the ropes, his scarred hands bleeding—something fierce roared in his gut, a snarl of survival rising as he twisted them shut. “Close it!” Rafe yelled—voice pitching high—his frame lunging to draw his ropes together again, binding them with a grunt. The rift yielded—gold light piercing shadow—Fiona’s threads fred, shing the strands—her voice broke the wind. “Now!” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, living—his roar raw. “Seal the rift!” He threw his weight back—fingers tearing on the ropes—the wind screaming as the glowing strands knit shut.
The dawn fred—gold sshed the ravine, fog shredding as the rift’s pulse went quiet, flux lines calming. A deep groan faded—slow, dying—Becca’s grip held, her breath ragged as she steadied Fiona, the st flux twisted tight. Tobal knotted his ropes—medallion glowing faint on his chest—his hold iron, a hum fading in his ears, his scarred face slick with sweat and purpose as the glowing strands fused. “We rebuilt it,” he rasped—voice torn, firm—frost stinging his throat. Cal’s hands dropped—a shaky ugh breaking—a quiet strength rooting as the rift stood sealed.
The rift’s shimmer dulled, its edges softening as the living ropes went still, their glow dimming slow. Fiona slumped back, threads dimming—gold shimmering faintly—her gaze flicked to Becca, dawn light catching the strain on her face as she released the ropes. “It’s ours,” Becca muttered—voice rough, sure—her frame slumping as she wiped her brow, the living ropes fading like whispers. The rift pulsed once—faint, living—then quieted, its form blurring as if dissolving into the stone, slowly fading away as though it had never been there. Fiona’s hair fell still, a faint tremor in her hands as she nodded, a soft breath escaping. “Sealed tight.”
Rafe sprawled back—panting, grinning—his cloak snagged on stone, wiry frame buzzing with relief as he flexed his hands, the rift’s st shimmer gone from sight. “Gone like a bad dream,” he said, voice low, a chuckle threading through. Tobal sank to one knee—medallion steady—wind whispering low, a hum of survival threading near, now softening to silence, a promise of what’s held and healed. The Knights stood—scarred, living—dawn steadying over the ravine, the air clear, the rift’s trace fading into nothing, as if it had never torn the world.
