The return to the outpost was too quiet for what they had just been through. The moment Trafalgar, Garrika, and Sylven stepped out of the treeline, the noise of the hunting camp washed over them again: clattering armor, traders shouting, mana lamps flickering against the haze of smoke. It almost felt unreal after the chaos they'd just left behind.
The same clerk from before sat behind the counter, half-asleep with a cigar between his fingers. He looked up lazily at first, but when he noticed their expressions — the blood, the burns, the exhaustion — his posture straightened fast.
"You three look like hell," he muttered, stubbing out the cigar. "What happened out there?"
Trafalgar stepped forward, still catching his breath. "A Rift opened near the outer perimeter. We closed it."
The man blinked, clearly thinking he misheard. "You… closed it? You mean contained, right?"
Garrika shook her head, her tone flat. "No. Closed. It's gone."
