On the far outskirts of Ashvale, beyond the bustling streets and towering mage academies, lay a modest village cradled by golden fields and sleepy hills. Time seemed slower here. Where the city pulsed with arcane light and distant thunder of awakened combat drills, the village exhaled quietly beneath the soft hues of dusk.
The roads were nothing more than well-worn dirt paths, their edges lined with simple wooden fences and low stone walls. Lanterns of dull crystal light flickered to life, casting a gentle amber glow across the cottages, each roof thatched and patched from years of wear. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys as the scent of stews and baked breads drifted through the air.
Children ran barefoot across the open fields, their laughter carrying on the evening breeze. A group of them had gathered near the edge of a small irrigation stream, balancing on wooden planks laid as makeshift bridges.
"Bet you can't cross without falling in!" a freckled boy challenged, his patched tunic flapping as he skipped across the narrow board.
"You're on!" shouted another, a girl with tangled hair and dirt-smudged cheeks, gripping a stick like a sword as she ran after him.
Near the cottages, older women sat in quiet circles, knitting or darning old clothes beneath the last rays of sunlight. They hummed soft tunes, occasionally glancing up to call out warnings to the children or greet passing neighbors with gentle nods. A few tended small gardens, pulling weeds with practiced hands, whispering about the coming harvest and the rumors from the city.
At the village's only bar—a simple wooden structure with creaky steps and faded signage—two rank 2 patrol officers leaned back in their chairs, their uniforms slightly unbuttoned and wrinkled from the heat of the day.
"Why is it that we get posted out here of all places?" the younger one groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around the nearly empty room. "Nothing ever happens."
Across from him, his partner gave a lazy shrug, lifting a worn mug to his lips. "Come on. I'd rather rot in peace out here than dodge spellfire on the frontlines. You ever seen a Gamma-class beast up close? No thanks."
The younger officer scoffed. "Yeah, well, my sword was made for battle, not for scaring off stray dogs and checking farmer permits."
"On the bright side," his partner smirked as a young barmaid approached, her brown hair tied back neatly under a faded scarf, "the pay's decent."
She offered a tired smile as she set down two wooden mugs filled with frothy mead. "Evening, officers. Anything else?"
"Just keep them coming," the younger one muttered.
---
Out on the Fields
A little ways from the village center, the fields stretched wide and golden, swaying softly under the evening breeze. Here, men worked with the tired rhythm of habit, sweat gleaming on their brows as they tended the last of the day's chores. Some were low-ranked mages, using minor water spells to pull moisture from the air, guiding thin streams of water across the dry earth to soften the soil.
In the distance, a large, slow-moving beast plodded through the rows. The Toothless Bull, a rank one beast known for its harmless demeanor and strange, straw-like tongue, tugged lazily at a tree stump, sucking out its essence with long, slurping pulls. Harnessed to a wooden plow, it dragged the tool through the dirt with heavy, steady steps.
Near the edge of the field, Charles straightened with a groan, pressing a gloved hand to his back. His white singlet was soaked through, streaked with dirt and dust, while his straw hat hung loosely over his dark hair, shielding his weary eyes from the setting sun.
"Man... I'm exhausted," he sighed, leaning on the handle of his hoe. "Can't wait to get home. My wife promised pudding tonight. Her good one, with the caramel drizzle. You should stop by, Josef."
Nearby, Josef looked up from where he was kneeling, adjusting the irrigation line. His own shirt was a loose green tunic, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and his pants had been patched at the knees from years of wear.
"Don't joke about things like that," Josef whispered dramatically as he joined Charles, wiping sweat from his brow. He leaned closer. "Seriously, though... don't go telling everyone. You know how the others get when pudding's involved."
The two shared a quiet laugh.
But as the sun dipped lower and the sky shifted from gold to deep lavender, the mood softened.
"My boy keeps going on about this new video game all the kids in town have," Josef said, running a hand through his short, graying hair. "Been saving for months. Hopefully, the harvest's good enough to cover it."
Charles nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the village lamps were beginning to glow.
"Sigh... Sometimes I wonder where we'd be if I'd scored higher at Awakening," he muttered, fingers tapping idly on the wooden handle of his hoe. "A damned D-grade. Useless. Maybe we wouldn't be stuck out here, breaking our backs for scraps."
Josef was quiet for a moment, then sat back in the dirt, legs stretched out.
"You can't change the past, brother," he said simply, his voice steady. "But we can still build something for them. Our kids… they don't have to live like this. Maybe one day, they get out of here. Better schools. Better homes. Better lives."
Charles glanced down at him, then up at the darkening sky. Lantern light flickered along the village paths. Somewhere, a child's laughter echoed faintly.
"Yeah," he said softly. "For them."
For a few minutes, neither man spoke. The fields quieted, the last of the day's work winding down. In the distance, someone rang the village bell, signaling the end of the shift and the start of evening meals.
Josef stood and offered his hand.
"Come on. Let's get you that pudding."
Charles chuckled and took it, both of them heading back toward the village, the warmth of home calling them through the cooling night.
---
The sun had barely kissed the edge of the horizon when the first shiver ran through the fields.
It started as a subtle hum—so faint it was almost imagined. The gentle clinking of tools and idle chatter among the farmers were slowly drowned beneath a low, vibrating pulse that seemed to rise from the very earth itself. The wind shifted, carrying with it a static charge that tingled against the skin. Hairs lifted on arms and the back of necks. The golden fields, moments ago bathed in evening calm, stiffened as if holding their breath.
At the center of the field, the Toothless Bull froze mid-step. Its thick tongue hung limp from its mouth as its black eyes widened. With a low, uneasy grunt, it stepped backward, hooves sinking into the softened soil. Its entire body trembled as it raised its flat snout, sniffing the air. Without warning, the beast turned sharply and bolted, dragging its heavy harness behind it with wild, panicked thuds.
A few farmers looked up from their work, confused.
"The hell's gotten into it?" Charles murmured, gripping his hoe tighter as a cold wave passed over him.
Before Josef could answer, a sudden whip of wind tore through the fields, carrying with it a pressure that made their hearts pound out of rhythm. The essence in the air—normally calm and invisible—began to swirl, thick and oppressive. The soil vibrated beneath their feet. The distant trees shivered despite the absence of a storm.
And then came the sound.
A low groan—like metal grinding against stone—echoed across the open land. It reverberated in their chests, growing louder and more distorted as if something immense was straining to push through the very fabric of the world.
From the bar, the two officers snapped upright, mugs forgotten as they exchanged glances. Across the village, others emerged from their posts, hands already tightening around hilts and staves.
"Gate," the older officer hissed. "That's a gate forming."
They moved without hesitation.
In less than a minute, twenty officers in worn but well-maintained uniforms sprinted toward the fields, kicking up dust as they moved in practiced formation. Mana shields shimmered into existence with low hums of power, casting translucent barriers of green and blue across the village perimeter. A few officers began setting down mana anchors, embedding glowing spikes into the ground that connected in arcs of light—forming an early containment grid.
"Everyone back!" one of them barked, voice amplified through a minor wind spell. "Farmers to the square! Move quickly but stay calm!"
Despite the sudden orders, the farmers grumbled with a tense sort of acceptance. In rural life, gates were rare, but not unheard of. Especially green gates. Rank one. Manageable. The officers were competent. The shields were up. This was supposed to be just another drill with a bit of real danger.
Josef dusted off his pants and sighed. "Probably some small fry popping out. Guess we're drinking late tonight."
Charles nodded but couldn't shake the cold creeping down his spine. Something felt wrong.
In the heart of the field, the air folded on itself. The swirling essence converged into a spiraling core of color and sound. The space cracked, not like glass but like something ancient and deep, and from that fracture bloomed a gate.
A shimmering green oval formed—about twice the height of a man. Its surface rippled like a sheet of water suspended upright, the inside swirling with dull light. Relief rippled through the officers. Green. Rank one. Just as they'd hoped.
"Standard protocol," the squad leader ordered. "Send notice to HQ, prep extraction. We can handle this."
An officer nodded and tapped the side of his comm crystal.
But before he could speak, the green light began to pulse—once, twice—and then darkened.
Everyone froze.
The gentle hum twisted into a high-pitched screech. The wind doubled, whipping cloaks and hats from their owners. Essence flared, sharp as daggers in the air, crackling in wild arcs across the containment grid.
The gate shifted color.
First blue.
Then deep indigo.
And then... purple.
A Rank 3 Gate.
The field fell silent except for the wind's howl. The Toothless Bull, already halfway down the road, bellowed in pure terror and kept running. The farmers who hadn't yet made it back toward the village square stumbled and looked back, mouths agape.
The officers' shields flickered under the sheer weight of the essence being pulled into the growing tear in reality. Mana anchors sparked and buckled as if reconsidering their loyalty to the earth.
No one spoke for a moment. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and raw, untamed power. A low, vibrating drone seemed to pierce through bone and thought.
Then came the whisper from one of the officers, voice barely louder than the wind:
"...We're screwed."
The squad leader's hands trembled as he rechecked the readings on his crystal.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, voice thin. "It was green. It was just green…"
Charles and Josef, now standing near the edge of the field, could do little more than watch as the officers scrambled, sending frantic messages to the nearest stations and deploying additional layers of shields that immediately groaned under the pressure.