Once they were close enough, they put on their armor, and Caen took some more time to gear up properly.

There was one main problem with just waltzing into a Plane: its danger level.

As F-rank Valiants, Caen and Zeris were simply Gatherers. The danger level of some Planes meant that low-ranked Valiants like them were often discouraged from going in solo. Here in the nation of Rialgar, Gatherer-only parties often needed to constitute no less than three persons.

Redshadow was the most dangerous plane for miles and miles. Though being the most dangerous plane out of three wasn't that impressive.

They walked past the Valiants Lodge, a one-storeyed longhouse building. It was made of rough wood, and only a few people loitered close by.

He counted eight Valiants standing some yards away from the archway, all geared up. Armors of various makes and designs, dyed a slate gray.

A group of five hung around a boulder, arguing. They weren't trying to keep their voices down.

Caen considered walking over to them, but thought better of it. There was a far easier way. He headed towards the Watchers, Zeris keeping in pace with him.

The archway was a beautiful work of masonry. Forty feet high and nearly half as many feet wide. It glittered with an otherworldly glow, patches of the stone cycling through a few colors.

The Aperture itself was bounded by the stone structure, looking like a heat haze through which he could see a dark stretch of land with hills and foliage. It strained the eyes and the mind to look through an Aperture for longer than a few seconds at a time.

A Watcher post had been set up by the entrance with one very burly woman on duty and a stout one-eyed man sitting at the table with her. They both wore slate gray armor with the insignia of the Valiants Association on their breastplate.

In spite of the nagging sensations bubbling from his spirit, Caen had gotten his breathing under control. Walking up to them, looking as though his very existence depended on how soon he could enter the Aperture, would make him seem suspicious, at best.

“I'll do the talking,” he said to Zeris.

“I don't even speak Thermish,” she said in Olden Vishic. She'd recently taken to learning languages and her mastery of Vishic was still wonky, but he could understand her fine.

Since his spirit was currently being smothered, they couldn't reliably communicate in Code, the private language they'd constructed, anyway.

Caen donned a solemn expression, and his gait bore far more confidence than he was feeling. Caen took off his helmet, holding it under his arm. He wiped his sweaty brow with a forearm, pushing his hair out of the way to reveal his Speculon.

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“Greetings,” he said to the burly woman.

“Don't waste my time with pleasantries, lad,” she replied in a bored voice, glancing at his forehead. “What do you want?”

“My cousin and I are Gatherers. We're looking to join up with a party so we can better acquaint ourselves in Redshadow.”

“Why is that my problem?”

“Hey, now,” the man beside her cut in. “Let’s not be brash.” He smiled at Caen with pearly white teeth, a greedy glint flashing in his one good eye. “What are your rates, lad, because it's very difficult to get a willing—”

“We’re hoping to be paid with experience,” Caen said.

Zeris grumbled beside him but didn't object.

“Oh!” The man sat straighter. “I have the perfect group for you! Wait here.” He hopped off his seat and scrambled down the steps of the platform.

“He's definitely going to tell them we're doing this for cheap,” Zeris said in Olden Vishic, frowning.

“True,” Caen said, putting his helmet back on. "But this way we get to avoid all that drama.” He jutted his head at the group of arguing Valiants. He currently didn't have the patience to insert himself in the middle of their fight.

The Watcher walked up to the party members, tapped the shoulder of a scrawny, monocled man, and explained something to him.

The rest of the group listened, then engaged in another round of arguments. The Watcher pointed at Caen and Zeris, nodding his head. The monocled man shook his head in incredulity while handing over a few pomms. They'd reached some sort of consensus.

When the man returned, he was smiling. “They agreed to your price,” he said shamelessly, as he pocketed the pomms. “I also mentioned that you wouldn't mind hauling shadeling parts for them as well. I'm sure that'll be fine, you both look fairly capable.”

Zeris glared at Caen at the mention of extra work.

The party made their way over to them at the archway.

A richly dressed woman with braided black hair and dark green robes led the group. The oiled sheen of brass armor glimmered from underneath her robes, which parted at the middle. She snapped her profusely ringed fingers at Caen and Zeris. “Take the packs, and do try to keep up.”

A man with a ratty beard shoved a heavy basket of sand into Caen's arms and patted him painfully on the shoulder. Zeris was gifted with a cumbersome bundle of sacks by a brooding giant of a man.

A monocled man in the group introduced himself as Dari. He was dressed in neat clothes and had on the barest minimum of armor amongst everyone else in the party. He introduced everyone else. His companion was Ellu, the woman in dark robes and armor underneath. Binam was the man with a ratty beard. A lightly armored woman with a pair of shortswords strapped behind her and a buckler on her forearm was Hez, while the huge, quiet man with a hairy physique and unfamiliar facial structure was Affen.

“Engage your insignias, please,” the burly woman said to the party. It was a token gesture. At Mal-dawn, they never even bothered asking.

Around him, the others began rolling up sleeves or taking off vambraces.

Dropping the heavy basket, Caen grimaced and braced himself as he released his hold on his spirit for a brief moment.

The wave of urgency nearly knocked him off his feet. It felt worse than it had back at the temple.

He grit his teeth and moved his spirit in a very simple pattern. This didn't constitute a spell; it was basic mana manipulation. The insignia on his forearm lit up with a pale light. He smothered his spirit the next moment. A sheen of sweat dampened his forehead as he put his vambrace back on.

The burly woman waved them through the Aperture.

Caen and Zeris trailed behind the group. His heart was a drum.