“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Killian’s more irritated than I expected. But at least there’s some pep in his step once more.

Shockingly, the rain has finally stopped.

After a full week of near constant downpour, the dreary pattering has subsided and the sun shines down from clear blue skies. The streets are still flooded, though, with standing water and potholes filled to the brim. Spirits are noticeably higher and the air is crisp and fresh with the nip of early autumn breeze.

Killian’s hair shifts in the wind and I notice it looks especially soft in the white light of early morning. With his hood down and his head up, more of the group has noticed his white hair. I catch them sneaking glances and muttering as we proceed through the vacant city streets.

Killian either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His only focus is the Kind Bar in his hand and nagging me for my negligence.

“—you should have woken me. C’mon, kid, you should know by now how important rest is.” He grumbles more scolding. “And today of all days…”

The city is eerily desolate. Despite the devastation, I expected more people to be around. Even a week ago, the streets were busy with chaos and confrontation. Now, it’s nothing but a ghost town as we move toward our destination.

The thrumming in my chest is getting louder. Blood splatters the streets but there are no bodies to be found. Something in the air changes and the mood grows solemn as we round the final corner.

Then then dungeon gate comes into full view.

It hangs in the air about 50 feet above the street, stretching over a quarter mile high and nearly 300 feet wide like a jagged tear in reality.

The sight is incredible. The whole expedition stops to admire the unbelievable sight before our eyes.

“This is insane…” My voice is barely a whisper. “It really is like something out of a fantasy movie.”

“I wonder how far this one is from the first one that appeared,” Killian says. He’s scanning the streets and buildings around us, watching for movement or signs of life besides our own.

“Okay, team. Gather round.” The expedition leader flags us over.

There are twenty-three of us in total, a rag-tag team of various ages and all men except for one woman. Though, I hadn’t noticed her before today. Her build is tall and broad. With her bulky clothing and her hood up, she was indistinguishable from the men she works alongside.

“We’ll split into five teams of four and one team of three.”

Tim plants his boots shoulder-width apart in the middle of the street, hands clasped behind his back like he’s briefing soldiers instead of scavengers.

“Six teams total. Alpha through Foxtrot. Teams Alpha through Delta will search nearby buildings and streets for supplies, information, and survivors.”

He gestures vaguely toward the surrounding blocks—rows of abandoned storefronts, broken windows, and waterlogged vehicles.

“Team Echo will stay here and investigate the fissure and organize information from the other teams. Team Foxtrot will remain on reserve as a response team as situations arise. Please split into teams now and pick a team leader.”

He pauses, letting the order sink in.

“I’ll remain here as Team Echo leader.”

I’m impressed by how organized the plan is. A quick peek at Killian, however, suggests that this is to be expected. At least, from his perspective.

Still, it’s nice to be doing something that feels productive.

The group splits and we end up on Team Echo with expedition leader Tim and a hound by the name of Gary.

Tim is mid-forties, very military, all-business type. His expression is perpetually displeased and the lines on his face look deeper than they should be for a man his age. His brunette hair is cut military short, and his shadow is peppered with gray hairs.

Gary is older too, late fifties—maybe early sixties. But he’s built like he spends his early mornings at the gym and his weekends on the trail.

Both look ready for action. Neither look pleased to deal with us. Killian sets to work immediately.

“I’m Killian, and this is my nephew, Stiles. He has severe social anxiety and doesn’t talk much but he has muscles and a good eye.”

Gary looks us up and down. “Stiles. That’s an unusual name. Is it short for something?”

“Yes,” Killian smiles at him. “He doesn’t know how to use his power though, so don’t expect much.”

Gary blinks back at him.

“That’s fine,” Tim says. “We won’t need powers for intel.”

He’s finished passing out walkie-talkies to the other team leads and pointed them to their respective sectors for searching. The plan is to meet back here every hour in fifteen-minute intervals to exchange information.

We pull a table and some chairs from nearby storefronts and cobble together a makeshift command station in the middle of the road. Team Foxtrot continues searching the immediate vicinity while Tim organizes us.

We each get a tablet and a notepad and pen. As each team reports back, we take notes and inventory of their found items. While we wait for teams, we investigate the fissure along with Team Foxtrot.

“And how, exactly, are we supposed to go about investigating the fissure?” Killian asks.

“I’ve brought along a few things we can use,” Tim says. “We’ll have to make do with drones, cameras, and a few other standard gadgets.”

“Are you not worried about triggering a reaction?”

Gary snorts. “Why would we be worried? If anything is stupid enough to come out of that gate, I’ll roast it.” He holds up a hand and a ball of white-hot flames manifests in his palm.

“We are,” Tim says, stepping forward and cutting off Gary’s display. “Which is why we’ll wait to do any sort of probing until after we’ve finished our preliminary area sweeps. For now, we’ll focus on what information we can collect from a distance.”

I look back up at the fissure in question. It pulses and writhes in the air above us just half a block away. We’re practically standing right underneath it.

Killian seems nervous. While Gary sits, he and Tim both remain standing, as do I. Tim is in constant motion, barking orders into the walkie, shouting at Team Foxtrot as they move about the area. Gary taps his fingers idly as he gazes around. But Killian’s eyes rarely leave the pulsing blue fracture.

Feeling somewhat useless and out of place, I make my way over to the expedition lead.

“Mr. Tim,” I say. “What can I do to help?”