The morning light in Neo-Qy'thalor was never really morning light.
It entered slanted through the high windows of stained glass reinforced with titanium mesh, painting the black stone floor with purple and golden spots. Brennan Korr woke up to the low buzz of a delivery drone landing on the runic platform of the balcony. The sound mixed with the light crackling of the enchanted ivy climbing the outer wall, its green threads intertwined with fiber optic cables that pulsed in soft blue.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, rubbing his face. The apartment — in a gothic tower that possibly belonged to some mages' organization or a rich family, and a few years ago had been transformed into a residential building with Terran technology — smelled of ritual incense burned the night before, fresh coffee, and the slight metallic ozone from the mana reactors that powered the neighborhood.
Lirael was already up.
His wife moved around the kitchen with the natural grace of someone born in Qy'thalor. Her fingers traced small seals in the air while preparing breakfast; reddish sparks danced between the cups, heating the liquid without touching the metal. Brennan watched in silence, as he always did. Magic flowed from her like breathing. Simple and fluid.
— Good morning — she said, without turning around. Her voice was calm, slightly hoarse. — Did you sleep better today?
Brennan stood up, putting on the dark gray tactical shirt of the Unified Council of the Torn Worlds. He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his right temple, where the neural implant was — the same glitch as always. A quick tremor in his peripheral vision, like static. He blinked twice and the discomfort passed.
— Enough — he replied, approaching from behind and kissing her shoulder. — Did you work late improving the containment seals? — Lirael worked from home as a freelance mage, currently studying and improving the magical seals used by the Unified Council of the Torn Worlds on portals.
Lirael turned her face, smiling sideways. Her eyes had a violet tone, a color that gradually appeared due to the use of magic, common among the strongest mages of Qy'thalor.
— Someone has to make sure the portals don't decide to open on their own in the middle of the night. — She raised her hand and a small rune floated between them, spinning lazily before dissolving. — You mentioned yesterday, today is Rift 16, right? The one that appeared near the neighborhood…
Brennan nodded. He didn't like talking about missions in front of the girls, but Lirael always knew.
From the hallway came the sound of bare little footsteps. Sylara appeared first, dark hair messy, still in her nightgown. At eight years old, she already had her mother's sharp gaze and her father's insistent curiosity.
— Daddy, are you going to hunt the monsters today? — she asked directly, stopping at the kitchen entrance.
Brennan felt his chest tighten, but he smiled.
— Not hunt, Sy. Just… closing a door that shouldn't be open. It's maintenance work.
— But the monsters come from there, right? — the girl insisted, approaching. — The ones with big teeth and that smell bad?
He crouched down to her level, touching her shoulder.
— Sometimes they try. But we don't let them. I promise.
Elyndra, five years old, came running right behind, almost tripping over her own nightgown. Without saying anything, she threw herself against her father's legs, hugging them tightly.
— Don't go away today — she murmured against the fabric of his pants. — Stay.
Brennan felt the knot in his throat. He lowered himself completely and picked her up, pressing her against his chest. The smell of children's soap and the slight aroma of mana that was in the house enveloped him.
— I always come back, little one. Always.
Lirael watched the scene with a soft smile, but Brennan noticed the worry in her eyes. She never said it out loud, but she knew the risk each mission represented. Demonic portals were not predictable. Nor stable. Many were killed on missions to close them.
He placed Elyndra carefully on the floor and stood up. In the corner of the room, his mixed tactical armor was already prepared on the stand: reinforced ceramic plates with containment circuits, plasma rifle with frequency modulators and integrated neural visor. One hundred percent Terran technology. No magic. It never worked with him.
Brennan had tried. Many times.
On the nightstand, next to the bed, rested an old grimoire he had bought on the black market in Lower Neon. Ancient runes, texts about the original Tear, theories about Kzathor Velnix's mistake. He read them sometimes during the night, fascinated. He tried to understand the flow of mana, the patterns, the resonances. But when he tried to channel — even with the help of neural implants —, he only received noise. Static. A complete void.
"You are half-blood," the doctors said. "Some are born with the gift. Others are not."
He accepted it. Or tried to accept it.
While putting on the tactical vest, he felt the twinge in his temple again. The same one for a few weeks now. For half a second, his vision trembled and he heard — or imagined he heard — a low, indecipherable whisper, like dragged words in a dead language. Brennan shook his head and the sound disappeared. He had gotten used to it.
Stress. Just mission stress.
— Daddy… — called Sylara, already sitting at the table. — When I grow up, will I be able to close portals with Mommy?
Brennan looked at Lirael. His wife answered for him, with a soft voice:
— If the gift awakens in you, yes. But you don't have to be like me. Nor like your father. Each one finds their own path.
He finished securing the holster of the secondary pistol and approached the family one last time. He kissed Lirael at length, feeling the familiar warmth of the magic that always seemed to vibrate lightly on her skin. Then he lowered himself and gave a kiss on the forehead of each daughter.
— Behave. And obey Mommy.
— Come back soon — asked Elyndra, holding his sleeve until the last second.
Brennan smiled, but did not promise out loud. He thought that too many promises could bring bad luck.
When he left through the front door, the cold morning air greeted him. Drones passed above the gothic towers, their navigation lights blinking in sync with the protection runes that covered the buildings. In the distance, the horizon of Neo-Qy'thalor mixed stone pinnacles with steel and glass skyscrapers, all sewn together by enchanted ivy and bright cables.
He adjusted the communicator in his ear and turned it on.
— Ada, are you online?
His sister's voice emerged almost immediately, clear and slightly sarcastic, coming straight from a military base orbiting Earth:
— Already awake, brother? Took you long enough, I thought I'd have to drag you out of bed today. Rift 16 is waiting for us. And the Council too. Don't make that face like you've already died before entering the portal.
Brennan let out a low laugh as he descended the runic elevator.
— Just another day in the Tear, Ada. Just another day. Too bad it won't be the last, one always appears after the current one.
— If they stop opening we'll be unemployed.
— Ada, the headache still hasn't gone away, it comes and goes. And the static too. Vision trembling, low whispers. Can you start a full scan on the implants now?
Ada remained silent for half a second, the sarcastic tone disappearing immediately.
— Full scan? It'll take time…
— I know — replied Brennan, serious. — I want the result before starting the mission.
— You're demanding, huh, it was pretty hard to convince the boss to let me be your operator, maybe it wasn't worth it — said Ada laughing, already opening the scan protocols. — I'll start now, it should finish before the displacement to the portal.
But deep down, while the hybrid city opened up in front of him, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that something, somewhere, was already starting to look back.
Brennan descended from the runic elevator and stepped onto the external platform of the residential neighborhood. The cold wind of Neo-Qy'thalor carried the smell of rain mixed with the smell of street food stalls. Above him, crime surveillance drones traced precise routes between the gothic towers, their red lights blinking in sync with the containment runes that covered the buildings like luminous veins.
He adjusted the rifle holster on his shoulder and walked to the rapid transport station. The magnetic monorail arrived in less than a minute, doors opening with a soft hiss. Inside the car, some passengers — half Terran, half Qy'thalorian — stared into the void, fiddled with devices or neural implants. No one spoke much. It was just another morning and its melancholic feeling of having to work the rest of the day.
Brennan sat down on a metal bench and activated the communicator implanted behind his ear.
— Ada, are you online?
The answer came almost immediately, clear and with that sarcastic tone he knew so well. His sister's voice seemed to be sitting next to him, although she was millions of kilometers away, in a Terran orbital base.
— Online and already monitoring you, brother. Your signal is clean. Blood pressure a little elevated, as always. Anxious for what? It's just another shitty portal.
Brennan allowed himself a discreet smile as the monorail accelerated between the towers.
— How's the weather up there in orbit?
— Hot and full of bureaucracy, as always. The UC TW wants a preliminary report in two hours. They seem nervous about Rift 16. They say the portal is growing faster than normal.
Ada Korr was four years younger than Brennan, but sounded like she had lived two entire lives inside codes and quantum firewalls — That was how they called the "magic" that kept the portal open. — Elite hacker from the Terran division of the Unified Council of the Torn Worlds, she had no patience for magic. For her, mana was nothing more than another complex system — something to be mapped, hacked, neutralized or exploited.
— Magic is just an advanced technology that we're in the final phase of taming. Portals are just a scientifically explained wormhole — she used to say. — If I can break it, I control it.
Brennan leaned his head back on the bench.
— Send me the initial readings.
— Already sending. — There was a short pause while Ada worked. — Portal 16 opened eleven hours ago in an abandoned industrial zone on the Eastern Border, mixed sector. Territory that belonged to Qy'thalor before the war, now it's no man's land. Mana readings are high, but unstable. The Terran sensors detected quantum fluctuations outside the pattern. The UC TW mages are calling it "Residual Reaction". You know how it is… since that shit happened a hundred and fifty years ago, these portals sprout like fungus.
Brennan nodded, even knowing she couldn't see him.
— Routine, then.
— Despite some differences, I think it's going to be routine as fuck — replied Ada, with a dry laugh. — You go in, seal, get out. Standard mixed team: four Terrans with heavy armor and six technomancers. You in tactical command, as always. I stay here as digital babysitter, breaking any firewall the portal tries to raise.
The monorail began to slow down. In the distance, Brennan could already see the imposing silhouette of the UC TW Central Base — a colossal hybrid structure, half enchanted black stone fortress, half Terran industrial complex with parabolic antennas that rotated following some satellite and transmission towers that shone with stabilizing runes.
— Ada… — he began, lower.
— Every mission is like this, right, don't make that face like you're going to die today, Brennan — she interrupted, as if she could read his mind through the data. — The girls still need you alive. Lirael too. So do me a favor and don't play the hero. Go in, do the job and come back home.
There was genuine concern behind the cynical tone. Brennan knew that. Ada could pretend she only cared about numbers and codes, but she was always there, monitoring every heartbeat of his during the missions.
— I trust you — he said simply.
— I know, you can relax. I'm the best, in my profession, I'm the best. I may not be, but in my head I'm the best. — retorted Ada, returning to the practical tone. — Arriving at the base now, right? I see your signal approaching the perimeter. When you're equipped, let me know. I'll start pre-hacking the portal protocols. If it tries to close on its own or open more, I'll warn you first.
The car stopped. The doors opened with a hiss.
Brennan stood up, adjusting the rifle strap on his shoulder.
— Understood. Entering the base now.
— Good luck. And remember: don't trust only the mages. Trust my numbers.
The connection remained open while Brennan walked through the wide corridors of the UC TW Central Base. The place was a labyrinth of contrasts: ancient stone walls covered by holographic panels, guards with mixed armor next to mages carrying runic staffs integrated with circuits. The air smelled of hot metal and industrial disinfectant.
He passed through the security checkpoint, where a neural scanner checked his implants while an on-duty mage cast a quick identification seal over him. All routine.
But deep in his mind, Brennan couldn't completely ignore the insistent twinge in his temple. The same glitch as always. The same indecipherable whisper that came and went.
He shook his head once, as if he could ward off the discomfort.
— Ada, I'm equipped and ready for briefing. Send the exact coordinates of Rift 16.
— Already sent — replied his sister. — Let's seal this shit today. As always.
Brennan took a deep breath and headed to the operations room.
Just another day.
Just another portal.
Just another attempt to keep the Tear stitched up.
During the journey Ada called.
— Brennan, I just finished the full scan of the implants. I sent the report to your visor.
He opened the tactical panel on his arm. The document appeared.
— And? — he asked.
— It was completed successfully. Everything seems normal at the levels. Stable vital signs, no critical anomalies in the neural cores… — Ada made a small pause. — But the final result was better than the numbers indicated while the scan was being done. The peaks of static and the headache you described practically disappeared in the final report.
Brennan frowned.
— That's good, right?
— It's… strange. I want you to go to a techmed as soon as you finish the mission. Schedule a complete and thorough check. I prefer that an implant doctor look at this personally.
Brennan nodded.
— Okay. As soon as we seal the portal, I'll go straight to a techmed.
Brennan closed the report and leaned his head back on the bench.
The UC TW armored transport stopped with a deep rumble at the edge of the abandoned industrial zone. The side doors opened with a hydraulic snap, releasing the strong smell of oxidized metal, burned mana and old rain.
Brennan was the first to jump to the cracked ground. His heavy boots echoed against the old concrete interspersed with Qy'thalor stones. The mixed tactical armor hummed quietly around his body, servomotors responding to his movements with surgical precision.
— Team, standard formation — he ordered, firm voice through the tactical communicator. — Terrans on the front line, technomancers in the rear. Keep five meters distance from the perimeter until I give the signal.
The team descended behind him. Eight Terran soldiers with heavy exoskeletons and plasma rifles, ceramic plates shining under the weak purple daylight. Beside them, six Qy'thalor mages — technomancers, as they preferred to be called now — wore reinforced cloaks with enchanted kevlar inserts. Runic staffs pulsed in their hands, golden circuits intertwined with living runes that glowed in shades of blue and violet.
Brennan took the central position, neural visor activated. The tactical overlays projected real-time data in the corner of his vision: three-dimensional maps, energy readings, vital signs of the entire team.
— Ada, we're on site — he said quietly. — Confirm the perimeter.
— Confirmed — replied his sister in his ear. — You're two hundred meters from Rift 16. The tear is stable… for now.
As they advanced through the destroyed street, the world around them showed its scars with brutal clarity.
The old Terran factories, built almost 100 years ago, were now half-devoured by Qy'thalor vegetation. Black ivy climbed the concrete walls, intertwining with broken cables that still released occasional sparks. The ground breathed — literally. Every few steps, the asphalt swelled and descended slightly, as if the planet itself was restless with the mana leaking from the nearby portal.
Above them, an old holographic advertisement floated, cracked and blinking: "Veil Dynamics – Mana is the New Oil". The image flickered over a hand-painted Qy'thalorian protection rune on the wall.
One of the Terran soldiers, a man named Reyes, spat on the ground as he passed one of the technomancers.
— Look at these mana leeches — he muttered low, but not low enough. — Every time we need to close a portal, they stay there striking pretty poses with their staffs.
One of the older mages, a woman named Thalira, replied without looking at him, cold and cutting voice:
— And every time the portal opens, it's you, blind to the flow, who come running after us so you don't get burned by your own ignorance.
Brennan raised his hand, interrupting before the tension rose.
— Save your energy for what matters. We're here to seal, not to discuss who is more useless.
Both sides fell silent, but the prejudice lingered in the air like smoke. It was common. Two hundred years of forced coexistence had not erased the wounds of the war. Terrans still saw mages as arrogant parasites. Qy'thalorians still considered Terrans as blind barbarians, incapable of feeling the true flow of reality.
Brennan felt both sides inside himself — and neither of them completely.
He checked the visor again. The technological readings were red in several points.
— Ada, I'm seeing quantum fluctuations outside the pattern. Energy rising in irregular peaks. It looks like the portal is… breathing.
— Received — replied Ada, typing furiously on the other side. — On my end the numbers are dancing too. Mana is too high for a common rift. Are the mages there feeling something?
Brennan looked back. The technomancers had stopped. Thalira Voss had her eyes closed, her left hand extended, runes glowing softly in her palm.
— It's pulsing — she murmured, low and tense voice. — Like a sick heart. Slow… then fast. It's hungry.
Another younger mage nodded, sweat running down his forehead despite the cold.
— I can feel the pull. As if something from the other side is trying to pass. It's not a minor demon. It's… bigger.
Brennan felt a chill run down his spine. His neural implants gave a sudden glitch — his vision trembled for half a second, and he heard again that indecipherable whisper, like dragged words. He clenched his teeth and ignored it.
— Team, advance slowly. Terrans, prepare plasma suppressors. Technomancers, keep the runic barriers active. I don't want surprises.
He adjusted the rifle against his shoulder and continued leading the advance. The abandoned streets seemed to watch them. The air grew heavier with every meter. The ground was breathing harder now, undulating softly under the boots.
In the distance, between two destroyed factories, Portal 16 finally appeared.
It was not a simple hole.
It was a vertical wound in the air, almost four meters high, the edges trembling like living flesh. Inside it, impossible colors swirled — deep purple, absolute black and flashes of corrupted neon. The air around distorted the light, making the shadows dance on their own.
Brennan stopped the team twenty meters away.
— Ada… we're seeing it.
— Me too — replied his sister, her voice more serious now. — Readings going to hell. Get ready. This isn't behaving like a common tear.
Brennan took a deep breath, feeling the weight of command.
— Team… in position. Let's seal this thing.
But as he gave the order, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that the portal was not just open.
It was looking back.
Brennan raised his clenched fist, signaling the final stop. The team formed a perfect semicircle fifteen meters from Portal 16. The Terran soldiers knelt in the front line, exoskeletons locked in firing position, plasma rifles glowing with maximum charge. Behind them, the technomancers formed a second arc, runic staffs pointed at the tear, runes already beginning to spin slowly in the air like living gears.
— Standard formation — said Brennan, low and controlled voice through the communicator. — Plasma suppressors ready. Runic barriers in overlapping layers. No one advances without my command.
He spoke calmly, but felt the weight in his chest like lead. At home, Lirael must be preparing the girls for lunch. Sylara was probably still asking about the "monsters from the other side." Elyndra must be hugging the doll he had brought from the last leave. The UC TW, in turn, expected clean results: portal sealed, impeccable report, stability maintained. Just another day keeping the Tear stitched up.
— Ada, status — he called.
— Hacking now — replied his sister, concentrated voice, fingers flying on distant keyboards. — I'm inside the portal's residual protocols. Trying to stabilize the fluctuations. Mana is… erratic. As if it were resisting.
Portal 16 hovered before them like an open wound in reality.
It was not a clean hole. It was something alive. The edges trembled and contorted, flesh of light and darkness tearing and regenerating at the same time. The air around distorted violently — nearby objects seemed to bend, as if gravity were drunk. The ground undulated in slow waves, rising and falling like the chest of a huge thing breathing with difficulty. Small cracks of black light ran through the concrete, disappearing and reappearing.
Shadows moved on their own. Not projected by anything. They slid along the walls of the abandoned factories, lengthening into impossible shapes, claws and teeth suggested for an instant before dissolving. From inside the portal came distorted sounds: metal creaking as if an entire ship were being crushed, deep howls that did not seem to come from any throat, and a constant buzzing, almost subaudible, that made the teeth vibrate inside the mouth.
Brennan felt his stomach turn.
As he took a few more steps closer, his neural implants reacted strongly. His vision trembled violently. For a second that was too long, the entire world blinked in static. And then came the sensation — clear, cold, inescapable:
Something ancient was looking back.
It was not just the portal. It was something inside it. Something that recognized him.
Brennan shook his head hard, clenching his teeth until they hurt. The glitch passed, but left a cold trail on the back of his neck.
— Ignore the side effects — he ordered, firm voice to the team. — It's just mana leakage. Keep the formation.
Thalira Voss, the most experienced technomancer, murmured behind him:
— It's not just leakage… It's watching us.
Brennan did not answer. He could not allow fear to spread.
— Ada, can you stabilize?
— Trying — she grunted. — The magical firewalls are resisting my code. It's as if the portal had… its own will. I'm injecting quantum suppressors now. Should give about thirty seconds of window.
Brennan took a deep breath, feeling the sweat run down his back under the armor.
— Team… prepare for entry. We'll seal from the inside. Technomancers, launch the runic anchors as soon as we cross. Terrans, suppressive fire if anything moves.
He raised the rifle, aiming at the pulsing center of the tear.
— Entering in 3…
The air seemed to grow denser.
— 2…
The ground undulated harder, almost knocking down one of the soldiers.
— 1…
Brennan took the last step.
— Now.
The team advanced as one body.
The instant they crossed the edge of the portal, the world distorted violently.
There was no smooth transition. It was like being torn in half and stitched back wrong.
Gravity inverted for half a second. The sky became the ground. Impossible colors exploded in Brennan's vision — purple bleeding into black, corrupted neon spinning in spirals that should not exist. His body was pulled in opposite directions at the same time. His ears buzzed with a sharp scream that was not sound, but pure pressure against the mind.
Around him, the team shouted fragmented orders. Someone fired plasma that curved in the air like liquid. Runes launched by the technomancers spun out of control, colliding with each other in golden sparks.
Brennan felt his stomach rise to his throat. His vision blinked in static stronger than ever. For an instant, he saw — or imagined he saw — ancient, infinite eyes looking directly at him through the distortion.
Then the portal spat them out to the other side.
The world returned wrong.
They were inside a distorted version of the industrial zone — or perhaps somewhere between the two worlds. The ground was still breathing, stronger now. The factory walls seemed to melt and reform. Shadows moved with purpose.
Ada screamed in the communicator, voice distorted by interference:
— Brennan! Readings going to absolute red! Get out of there now!
But it was too late.
Something big moved in the depths of the distortion.
And the Tear pulsed with hunger.
On the other side there was no "other side."
They were inside the rift — trapped between worlds, in a space where the laws of physics and magic tore each other apart. Gravity oscillated without warning: now pulling bodies down with brutal force, now making them float for endless seconds. Digital runes, made of corrupted code and wild mana, emerged from nowhere in the air, spinning like luminous parasites before dissolving into black sparks.
Brennan managed to steady his feet when gravity returned to normal. His neural visor blinked wildly, half the sensors failing.
— Team, status! — he shouted.
Fragmented responses came through the comm. Someone was vomiting inside the helmet. A technomancer murmured an anchoring seal that he could barely keep stable.
In the shadows around, something moved.
They were not complete forms. Just glimpses. Long, irregular claws that scraped the air like metal against bone. Bright eyes — yellow, red, white — blinking in uneven pairs before disappearing. The smell invaded everything: pure sulfur mixed with burned metal and something organic rotten, like meat left in the sun for weeks.
One of the smaller entities passed too close. Brennan saw it in a glance: black skin cracked by veins of neon light, jaws that opened in impossible angles. The being let out a short, almost electronic howl, before dissolving again into the shadows.
— Contact! — yelled Reyes, opening fire. The plasma cut through the air, but the creature was no longer there.
Ada screamed in the communicator, her voice distorted by heavy static:
— Brennan! Readings going to absolute red! The portal is collapsing from the inside out! Get out of there now, fuck! Get out of there!
Brennan felt his heart hammering against his ribs. His family flashed through his mind — Lirael preparing dinner, Sylara asking questions, Elyndra asking for one more hug. The UC TW wanted stability. He wanted to return alive.
There was no time for protocol.
— Echo-7 Device! — he ordered, already drawing the metallic cylinder attached to his belt. The CUMR experimental artifact was prohibited in routine missions: an emergency quantum-magical sealer, capable of forcing the closure of a tear in seconds. Risky. Unstable. But it was the only chance.
— Brennan, no! — Ada yelled. — That thing is still in testing phase! It could make everything worse!
He ignored her.
With a quick movement, he activated the device and threw it straight into the pulsing center of Portal 16. The cylinder spun in the air, digital runes and ancient seals lighting up at the same time around it.
— Everyone back! Now!
The Echo-7 detonated.
A wave of white and black energy exploded outward. The portal shrieked — a sound that was not sound, but pure agony tearing reality. Gravity went completely insane. Brennan was thrown against a wall that did not exist seconds before. Runes and code merged into a chaotic vortex.
For an instant, everything fell silent.
Then the portal pulsed one last time.
Strong. Deep. Alive.
And Brennan felt — for the first time with absolute clarity — that it pulsed back inside him.
As if something ancient, hungry and infinitely patient had just found what it was looking for.