Tristan looked at The Matriarch with concern writ across his visage, “I know that other Realms can open rifts into the Mortal Realm…but Realms can cross-intrude?”

  The Matriarch shifted to her full sized form, and lifted Tristan onto her back, nestling him between her wings. “Yes. Realms can breach into other Realms. It is called an incursion when that happens, though the term ‘rift’ is used to describe the tear in space from the incursion.” She arced her head back and let out a tremendous roar, speaking Elvish. “Lapseni! Ne, jotka ovat tarpeeksi isoja taistelemaan, liittyk?? minuun! Loput - valmistautukaa kuningattaren mets??n!” (My children! Those who are big enough to fight, join me! The rest - prepare the Queen's Wood).

  She lifted off the ground and Tristan scrabbled for a handhold, finding her mix of scales and fur providing a few places to grasp. Thankfully, he had his sword sheathed on his hip – but the rest of the equipment was left behind at the training field. The hammer was useful for driving the sword home – hopefully whatever is coming into the Fey Realm isn’t wyrm size. He shuddered at the thought of fighting one of those creatures he fought in his inner world in real life.

  The Matriarch growled, “This is the fourth incursion from the Realm of Fire in ten years. They are out of control.”

  “Why?” Tristan shouted over the rushing wind as he saw the sky grow a darker red.

  “Someone slew the Arch Dragon called Amisgur; the Realm Protector. And they have not figured out a successor – too much infighting.” The Matriarch sounded sad, “Eventually, they will either choose a new Realm Protector…or their Realm will become one of the Lost Realms.”

  Tristan wanted to question that further but he was distracted by the feeling of heat growing around them. Oppressive heat. Spinning his essence crucible, he pushed the cooling, soothing power into his limbs to counteract the effect. And this is after drinking the Arch Dragon’s blood which gave me resistance to flame and heat. He tried to gauge how The Matriarch was feeling but could not get a read on her.

  They were joined in their flight across the treetops by other fairy dragons until their numbers were in the hundreds. Large-sized fairy dragons with varying colorations that seemed to match up to the different types of trees he had observed being ‘wedges’ of this Realm. And all of them had shapeshifted their front paws into scythe-like blades of sharpened horns. Perfect for fly-by attacks that would slice into their foes.

  They approached the edge of the forest and Tristan recognized the terrain. This is the same hill I arrived at with Felicity, he thought. And the field full of the jumpshrub that I could hop on to move faster.

  Atop the hill was a jagged tear in reality that showed a landscape full of red brick-colored rocks flowing with rivers of liquid fire. The skies in that Realm beyond the rift were a deep grey, like the color of pallid smoke that belched from furnaces and chimneys of smiths. The tear was twenty feet wide and thirty feet tall. The heat, however, was the most oppressive portion of the encounter with this rift in space. Tristan felt like he had just looked into Gertrude’s oven downstairs in the townhouse. It instantly set him to sweating, and that was with his spinning essence crucible generating a chill, and the innate resistance from drinking the Arch Dragon’s blood.

  He glanced around and saw the panting of the fairy dragon’s exertion-fueled flight. I want to help, he thought. But he knew that it would cost a lot of essence – more than he had, definitely – to cool all of them. They have to tough it out.

  There was no movement at first. Then, he saw shapes. Small shapes, the size of children. But they had red skin that looked akin to raw meat. Their eyes were beady, black dots, and they wielded weapons and armor that was relatively primitive, sharpened rocks with some slings.

  Goblins, Tristan knew immediately. He’d read about the creatures in monster manuals that his grandfather insisted he study. Some of the weakest of the Elemental Realm creatures, they were only slightly more intelligent than a dog. Trainable, naturally submissive to their master, and reproduced very quickly.

  The fairy dragons began dive-bombing, extending their scythe-like appendages as they swooped through the ranks in practiced formation; never letting the goblins make it more than ten feet beyond the rift’s opening before the next wave sliced through them. But more kept coming. Hundreds upon hundreds flooded through the rift.

  The Matriarch flew forward, but then stopped and flapped in place as a larger bulk began to emerge from the rift. A dragon…a real dragon, Tristan thought. It looked just like his grandfather had described, but it was smaller than the wyrm sized one. Oh, thank the gods it is just an adult. That brought some relief, as Tristan knew that he performed the best on the training dummies of that size.

  It emerged from the rift and unleashed a terrifying roar that shook the air. “Ich beanspruche dieses Reich für mich! Alle werden sich vor dem m?chtigen Tarthorax verneigen! Unterwerft euch oder sterbt!” (I claim this Realm as my own! All shall bow before the mighty Tarthorax! Submit or die!).

  Tristan knew that language, but none of the fairy dragons seemed to. The Matriarch – either forgetting he was on her back or intentionally doing the maneuver – swooped low to the ground and then spun around in a tight aileron roll. “Let go, Lord Tristan!”

  That answered that question for him. He let go and landed on the jumpshrubs, and they cushioned his fall as he bounced a few times. Getting up, he began running towards the portal to do something to help. The Matriarch let out a roar of her own, and this Tarthorax rose up to meet her. Their clash in the air was a sight to behold, and Tristan was dumbstruck as he saw the powerful entities meet.

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  The Matriarch was smaller and faster than the fire dragon, and she got around behind it as it was ascending, dive-bombing for the weak spot. But the fire dragon responded to this by flapping his wings mightily and pushing up higher; her swoop missing. She flapped rapidly out of the dive to gain elevation, and the two squared off up above.

  Tristan could not focus on the fighting in the skies above him as he, being the only thing on the ground that these goblins could get to, surged towards him. He felt fear seize his heart as he saw the coming rush of dozens of the creatures. Gnashing their sharp teeth, trying to push past each other with their crude weapons to kill him.

  Tristan drew his sword and took up a ready position. I need to get to the gate to help stem the tide, he thought. It will be essence intensive, but if I can put up a Frost Wall, I can hold it for a bit until The Matriarch does whatever she has to do to close the incursion off. He felt the bouncy surface under his feet…and an idea formed in his head. These things probably have no clue how to move on these things. I can use that to my advantage.

  He tested his footing to make sure, and was confident that he could use the surface’s unique properties to jump over clusters of goblins to prevent himself from being surrounded. And they’ve probably never fought on this type of surface, he thought. Trsitan felt some confidence come back as he prepared for the first wave. Thankfully, the following waves were being scythed through and he was only left with eight of the creatures approaching.

  It was…disgustingly easy work. Tristan’s reach from his long, thin sword was far more than the simple clubs and spears these creatures held. He flicked his blade back and forth, and every strike, ended one of the goblin’s lives. This is it? This is how easily goblins die? He chuckled, what was I worrying about? He ran forward – bouncing lightly on the Jumpshrubs – and carved a path through the goblins.

  Until the flow stopped. He raced up the hill and the heat grew more and more oppressive. Until he finally crested the top and arrived where he had first appeared in the Fey Realm. He could see the surging, liquid flames beyond the portal’s limits. The goblins they had fought must have only been the first wave; as he saw a rushing horde of thousands of the creatures approaching.

  Kneeling down, he planted his fist on the ground with the thumb tucked inside. It is going to cost a ton of essence to make this, he thought as he kept the increased cost in mind for ice elementalism due to hot or arid conditions – of which his current situation definitely qualified. He spun his essence crucible as fast as he could, feeling the surging cool race through him as he focused it down into his fist. “Ich beschw?re eine Wand aus Eis herauf.” (I summon forth a wall of ice).

  The wall began to grow – slowly – and the horde continued their charge. Tristan spun his crucible as fast as he could, feeling it begin to wobble from the speed as his essence surged out and tapped him dry – exhaustion taking over. The wall was only five feet high and ten feet long. Not enough to block the gap, and I’m already out of essence! What can I do?

  He wracked his brain for ideas. I know this realm has ambient essence, but I need to spin my essence crucible in reverse to suck it in…but the essence crucible is not a solid sphere, is it? It’s an ethereal object; part here, part in some weird other existence. He shut his eyes and focused on visualizing the sphere that was dull silver. He saw the visual in his mind’s eye. Alright. I want to make a line between the bottom and top.

  He saw the normally icy-blue cracks begin to move and shuffle towards the middle of the sphere, forming a ring that was still jagged but more condensed. Perfect, he thought. Now, I want the top half to spin to bring in essence, and the bottom half to push out the essence.

  The feeling in his torso was odd. He could feel tightness right behind his sternum, and at the same time a sense of unease as his lower torso and stomach began to squish around inside him; making him very aware of the organs sloshing around in his body. But…he felt it. The Fey Realm’s ambient essence was filling him up – entering the top of his essence crucible and then passing through it like a funnel, causing it to flare with the silvery light that then re-lit the crucible with the icy-blue coloration. The essence coming out the bottom of the crucible shot straight down his arm.

  Tristan, in that moment, knew he was channeling the very essence of the Fey Realm itself into his spell. And he felt tremendous power surging through his body as his essence channel was forced even wider, causing extreme pain that made him grit his teeth. Then, that pain spread to his whole body – and he screamed out in agony. Come on! Push through it! He saw the ice wall shoot up and fill the whole space of the rift.

  Thicker! He poured more essence into the spell and saw the wall growing thicker faster than it was melting. The temperature instantly grew cooler, and Tristan saw through the clear surface that the goblins were charging into the far side of the wall and coming up against the barrier to no avail. They were chopping into his ice – but he made it faster than the heat of that realm could melt it.

  He let out a laugh of relief as the pain faded and he felt the essence suffusing his entire body; his channels pushed out to wider than they had ever been. The raw, magical energy surging through him made him giddy and he laughed even louder as if he was told a hilarious joke.

  He was only pulled out of his revel when the fairy dragons landed, “Lord Tristan? Are you well?”

  Tristan looked at them – standing twenty feet away. And that’s when he noticed that the entire area of the hill – down to the jumpshrubs below – was coated in ice and rime. “I’m fine!” he said with glee. “I’m holding it! How do we close it?” He shook off the ice that had coated him from the backlash. Good thing that it doesn’t really affect me. Thank you, Winterbloom bloodline.

  “The Matriarch closes rifts,” one of them replied. “But she is busy.” They pointed up into the sky, and Tristan tracked their gaze. The Matriarch was engaged in a ferocious battle above. Her body was covered in burns; with fur burned away in patches showing raw flesh underneath. She had suffered gashes and crunching injuries as well.

  The dragon was in rough shape as well – but was coming out on top. I thought that The Matriarch was akin to a godlike being? As strong as Arch Drag- he spotted something. Something weird. A dull, red collar that had been indistinguishable from the scales, until now due to the blood streaking over it to reveal the different texture. Is it an item of artifice?

  His answer was confirmed as he saw the wounds of the creature seal over. “He’s healing himself with the collar,” Tristan said as he pointed with his sword hand.

  “We cannot get close without getting in The Matriarch’s way!” one of them shouted at him, panicking.

  Tristan glanced back at the ice wall which would take a good while to get through. “Hold the rift.” He stood up and began walking to the edge of the hill.

  “Forgive me, Lord Tristan…what can you do?”

  Tristan grinned and raised his hand, “I’m a gods-damned dragonslayer. I’m doing what I was born to do. Ich beschw?re die Wut von Eis und Frost herauf: Ich forme Splitter, die mein Ziel durchbohren und aufschlitzen” (I summon forth the fury of ice and frost: form shards that will pierce and slash my target).