Chapter 6: The Scavengers

Dawn in the Hollow Rift didn't bring sunlight, only a gradual brightening of the ambient glow that permeated the void. Orin stood at the edge of the camp, watching as distant islands shifted position, some drifting closer, others receding into the swirling nothingness.

The camp was quiet behind him. After the Stalker attack, the others had retreated into a wary silence, casting occasional glances his way when they thought he wasn't looking. Only Daren treated him normally, perhaps recognizing a fellow outsider.

"You should let Nessa look at those wounds," Kieran said, joining him at the barrier.

Orin shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Not in the Rift, you haven't." Kieran nodded toward Orin's chest, where dark stains had seeped through his shirt. "Stalker residue can infect human tissue. Turn it necrotic."

With reluctance, Orin followed Kieran back inside. Nessa examined his injuries with clinical detachment, applying a salve that smelled of ozone and burnt metal.

"You're lucky," she declared, bandaging the worst of the gashes. "The residue is minimal. I've seen it eat through a man's chest to the bone."

"Comforting," Orin muttered.

As Nessa worked, Kieran addressed the group. "We need supplies. The attack damaged our reserves, and we're low on essentials." He pointed to a floating island visible in the distance. "The Eastern Fragments have resources—medicinals, food, materials we can use to strengthen the barriers."

"The Fragments are crawling with scavengers," Tomas objected. "Human ones."

"Which is why we go prepared," Kieran countered. "A small team. In and out."

Nessa finished with Orin's bandages. "Who goes?"

"Myself," Kieran decided. "Daren for muscle. And..." he hesitated, glancing at Orin. "Orin. Three is enough."

Surprise rippled through the group. Taking an unproven newcomer—especially one without Protocol powers—on a dangerous mission seemed reckless.

"Why me?" Orin asked bluntly.

"Because you think differently," Kieran replied. "You don't rely on the Protocol. That unpredictability might be useful."

What went unsaid was equally clear: if Orin was dangerous to the group, better to know sooner rather than later.

They prepared quickly. Kieran supplied Orin with a new spear and a crude knife fashioned from what looked like crystallized bone. Daren strapped his heavy blade across his back and filled a pack with empty containers for gathering supplies.

"Be careful around the scavengers," Tomas warned as they prepared to depart. "They're worse than Hollowborn in some ways. At least monsters kill you quickly."

Marisa approached Orin before he left, her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. The mark on her arm pulsed faintly, in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly. "For what you said during the attack. It helped me... focus."

Orin nodded, uncomfortable with gratitude. "You did the hard part."

"Still." She hesitated. "There's something else. When I was inside that Stalker's mind, I saw fragments of memory. It wasn't always a monster. It was human once, until the Rift... changed it."

Cold dread settled in Orin's stomach. "Changed how?"

"I don't know. But it felt like a warning." Her eyes met his. "Be careful out there."

Kieran led them out through a small rear exit, onto a narrow bridge that connected to a neighboring island. Unlike the stone architecture of their camp, this landmass was composed of twisted metal structures that resembled the skeletal remains of modern buildings.

"What was this place?" Orin asked as they crossed.

"No one knows," Kieran replied. "Some believe the Rift collects fragments of realities that have died or been destroyed. Others think it creates these places from nothing, mimicking memories."

"Cheery thought," Orin commented.

They traversed three smaller islands, each connected by increasingly precarious bridges. The last crossing was little more than a series of floating metal platforms, requiring precise jumps to navigate.

"The void below isn't empty," Kieran warned as Orin prepared to leap to the first platform. "Fall, and you're not coming back."

Daren went first, his heavy frame somehow graceful as he bounded across. Orin followed, pushing aside thoughts of the endless drop beneath him. Kieran came last, shadows occasionally extending from his fingertips to stabilize his landing.

The Eastern Fragments, when they finally reached them, were worth the treacherous journey. Unlike the barren stone and metal of the previous islands, these landmasses teemed with strange vegetation. Plants with translucent blue leaves grew from cracks in the broken ground. Crystalline formations that might have been flowers or fungi clustered near pools of luminescent liquid.

"Stay close," Kieran instructed. "We gather what we need, then leave. The vegetation attracts Hollowborn, and Hollowborn attract scavengers."

They moved through the alien landscape with careful efficiency. Daren harvested blue-tinged root vegetables and filled containers with the glowing liquid. Kieran collected certain crystal formations, storing them carefully in padded pouches.

Orin found himself drawn to a cluster of dark, spindly plants that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. When he reached toward one, Kieran's hand shot out, stopping him.

"Void Thistles," Kieran warned. "Touch them with bare skin, and they'll drain your life essence faster than you can blink."

Orin withdrew his hand. "This place is just full of pleasant surprises."

Using his spear, he carefully collected several thistle pods that had fallen to the ground, storing them in a small pouch Kieran provided.

"Smart," the older man noted. "The seeds are useful for counteracting certain poisons, if prepared correctly."

They continued their foraging, moving deeper into the fragments. The vegetation grew denser, the air thick with strange, sweet-smelling spores that drifted in lazy patterns.

It was Daren who noticed first—a subtle shift in the environment, a sudden absence of ambient sound.

"We're being watched," he murmured, hand moving to his blade.

Kieran nodded, shadows coiling around his fingers. "Scavengers. At least five, maybe more."

Orin scanned their surroundings, seeing nothing but dense vegetation and twisting crystal formations. "How can you tell?"

"Experience," Kieran replied grimly. "They're hemming us in, driving us toward the center clearing. Classic ambush formation."

"Options?" Daren asked, voice low.

Kieran considered. "We're too far from the bridges to make a run for it. Fighting might cost us the supplies we've gathered." He glanced at Orin. "Any bright ideas, anomaly?"

Orin ignored the jab, thinking quickly. "They want something. Supplies, weapons, maybe information. If they wanted us dead, they'd have attacked already."

"So?"

"So we give them what they want. Or make them think we will."

Understanding dawned on Kieran's scarred face. He nodded slowly. "Worth a try. But be ready for it to go sideways." To Daren, he added, "Keep your blade loose, but don't draw first."

They continued forward, no longer attempting stealth, heading directly for the central clearing Kieran had mentioned. As they emerged into the open space, Orin saw that it wasn't natural. The vegetation had been deliberately cleared, creating an arena-like area with minimal cover.

"Subtle," he muttered.

They didn't have to wait long. Figures melted from the surrounding vegetation—seven in total, clad in mismatched armor similar to Kieran's group but with distinctive red markings painted across their chests. Each bore the mark of the Protocol somewhere on their body, glowing with various colors.

Their leader stepped forward—a tall woman with half her head shaved, the other half cascading in black braids. A jagged scar ran from her temple to her jaw, giving her a perpetual sneer.

"Well, well," she drawled, twirling a wicked curved blade between her fingers. "Kieran and his pets, far from home."

"Sera," Kieran acknowledged with a tight nod. "Still scavenging scraps, I see."

The woman—Sera—laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Says the man picking through weeds in my territory." Her eyes drifted to Orin, narrowing slightly. "New recruit? Doesn't look like much."

Orin remained silent, studying the group. Despite their ragged appearance, they moved with the coordination of experienced fighters. Each of them positioned to cover angles of attack and escape. Professional.

"We're just gathering supplies," Kieran said evenly. "No need for trouble."

"Everything has a price in the Rift," Sera replied. "And you're in Red Hand territory now." She gestured to her marked chest. "The tax is steep."

"Name it," Kieran prompted.

Sera's grin widened. "Everything you've gathered. Plus..." her eyes lingered on Daren's blade, "that pretty sword."

Daren's knuckles whitened around the hilt but he remained still, following Kieran's lead.

"Seems high for a few roots and crystals," Kieran countered.

"That's my generous offer," Sera said, her playful tone hardening. "The alternative involves seeing what color you bleed." Her gaze shifted to Orin again. "Starting with the quiet one."

Orin met her stare, unflinching. "I wouldn't recommend that."

Something in his tone made her pause, her head tilting in curiosity. "And why's that, fresh meat?"

"Because I'm carrying Void Thistle seeds," Orin replied calmly. "One wrong move, and I drop them. I'm guessing even the mighty Red Hand doesn't want their territory contaminated."

Murmurs rippled through the scavengers. Void Thistles were universally feared, capable of spreading rapidly and creating deadlands where nothing could survive.

Sera's expression darkened. "You're bluffing."

Orin reached slowly into his pouch, withdrawing a single black seed between his fingers. "Want to test that theory?"

Tension crackled in the air. Sera's Protocol mark—a spiral pattern on her exposed shoulder—began to glow with amber light. Power gathering.

"Half," Kieran interjected suddenly. "We give you half our harvest. Fair exchange for safe passage. That's our offer."

Sera's attention snapped back to him. "This isn't a negotiation."

"It is now," Kieran replied evenly. "Unless you want your pretty clearing turned into a death zone."

For a long moment, no one moved. Orin could feel Daren's tension beside him, ready to draw his blade at the first sign of hostility. The scavengers seemed equally poised, awaiting their leader's command.

Finally, Sera laughed—a genuine sound this time. "You've grown a spine since last we met, Kieran." She sheathed her blade with a flourish. "Half. But next time, stay out of my territory."

Under her watchful eye, they divided their gathered supplies. Kieran handled the transaction, careful to distribute the less valuable items while keeping the crucial medicinals and rarer crystals. If Sera noticed the deception, she gave no indication.

"Pleasure doing business," she said when they finished. Her eyes lingered on Orin. "Interesting company you keep these days, Kieran. This one doesn't have a mark." She tapped her own Protocol symbol. "The Rift doesn't favor the unremarkable."

"Some things the Rift doesn't understand," Kieran replied cryptically.

Sera's expression shifted, genuine curiosity replacing arrogance. "Is that so?" She stepped closer to Orin, studying him with new interest. "What's your name, seedling?"

"Orin Kael."

"Remember that name, Red Hand," she called to her companions. "Either he'll be dead in a week, or..." She grinned, a predatory expression. "Or we'll be seeing much more of him."

With that parting remark, she gestured to her companions. The scavengers melted back into the vegetation as silently as they had appeared, leaving the trio alone in the clearing.

"Charming friends you have," Orin commented when they were gone.

Kieran snorted. "Sera and I have history. Mostly involving attempts to kill each other." He secured their remaining supplies. "Let's move before she changes her mind or more Hollowborn arrive."

They retraced their steps quickly, traversing the floating platforms with greater haste than caution. As they crossed the final bridge back to the safety of their camp, Orin felt Kieran's gaze on him.

"That was quick thinking," the older man admitted. "Most newcomers would have panicked."

Orin shrugged. "I've dealt with worse than Sera in the back alleys of Ashcroft."

"Have you?" Kieran sounded dubious. "Her Protocol gift is Pain Manipulation. She can make you feel like your organs are liquefying inside you with just a thought. There's a reason the Red Hand controls the Eastern Fragments."

"Then why risk coming here at all?" Orin asked.

"Because nowhere in the Rift is truly safe," Kieran replied. "And sometimes the greater risk is standing still." He paused. "You know she'll be looking into you now. Sera's curious about things that don't fit the pattern."

"Join the club," Orin muttered.

Back at camp, they delivered the supplies to a relieved Nessa and Tomas. Marisa was nowhere to be seen.

"Training," Tomas explained when Orin asked. "Mind Weaving requires focus. She's been at it since you left."

As the others sorted through the harvest, Daren approached Orin. The taciturn man had spoken barely ten words during the entire expedition.

"You did well," he said simply. "Most would have threatened with their blade. Fewer would think to use Void Thistles."

Coming from Daren, this appeared to be high praise. Orin nodded in acknowledgment. "Why didn't the Protocol choose you?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

A shadow crossed Daren's face. "It did, once." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a faded outline on his forearm—a Protocol mark that had been somehow erased, leaving only a pale scar. "Sometimes the Rift gives, and sometimes it takes away."

Before Orin could ask what he meant, a commotion at the far side of the camp drew their attention. Marisa had returned from her training, but something was wrong. She staggered, clutching her head, her Protocol mark flaring with erratic pulses of light.

"Help!" she gasped as Nessa rushed to her side. "Something's happening—I can feel—"

She collapsed, body convulsing. And as the others hurried to her aid, Orin felt a strange sensation in his chest—a burning, pulling feeling centered where the Stalker had struck him.

Something was awakening in the Hollow Rift. And somehow, he knew it was coming for him.