Chief Lewyyd's voice sliced through the thick tension, sharp and commanding, echoing off the cavernous walls. "Who is he?" The question, loaded with expectation and authority, demanded not just a response but the truth. His eyes, intense and probing, seemed to bore into my very soul, seeking answers I was hesitant to give.

The air around us felt charged, every breath heavy with anticipation. I found myself momentarily caught in the Chief's gaze, the kind of look that compels truth even when silence seems the safer harbour. "His name is Griffin Langley," I admitted, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. My eyes darted briefly to the severed ropes in his grasp.

"And?" Chief Lewyyd's insistence was a palpable force, a clear indication that partial truths wouldn't suffice here.

I exhaled, a sigh heavy with resignation. The pride I had once felt at capturing a Portal Pirate was now overshadowed by the immediate peril his escape posed. "He's a Portal Pirate," I confessed, the title hanging between us, laden with the gravity of its implications.

A collective gasp cut through the group, a chorus of shock and disbelief that seemed to ripple through the cave. Yet, Chief Lewyyd’s focus remained unflinchingly on me, as if our exchange had drawn him into a world apart from the reactions of those around us.

"Go home, Krid," Chief Lewyyd ordered, his voice a stern command that somehow didn't break our intense eye contact. At the mention of her name, I couldn't help but glance towards the cave's entrance. Krid's small, curious face was framed by the wild dance of her curly hair, caught in the wind’s embrace. "Sorry, Cody," she called out, a note of genuine regret in her voice before she disappeared, her presence melting into the flurry of falling snowflakes.

A brief, involuntary smile flickered across my lips, despite the severity of our situation. Krid, with her boundless curiosity and fearless heart, had always had a knack for finding herself at the centre of intrigue. That she had been the one to alert the leadership was both entirely unsurprising and mildly amusing. Her spirit, a beacon of light in the often too-serious backdrop of our lives, reminded me of the stakes we were playing for—not just the safety of our community, but the preservation of the very qualities that made us human.

"Any idea where he might be?" My question was an attempt to steer the conversation towards actionable intelligence, a hope to claw back some semblance of control over the spiralling situation.

"No," Chief Lewyyd responded, his face a mask of stoicism, revealing nothing of his thoughts or concerns.

"Didn't you track his footprints through the snow?" I pressed, clinging to the hope that physical evidence might lead us to Griffin. The idea that we could simply follow his trail and resolve this crisis was a desperate one, but desperation had become a familiar companion.

"There weren't any," Fryar chimed in, his voice cutting through the silence. "Freya and I studied the snow carefully." His words, intended to be helpful, only deepened the mystery, casting a shadow of unease over the group. The absence of tracks was an unsettling development, one that hinted at skills or technologies far beyond our understanding.

The silence that followed was thick, a tangible presence that seemed to press down on us with the weight of unanswered questions. My mind, unbidden, drifted to fragments of conversations and theories discussed in quieter times, each memory flickering like a candle in the dark, illuminating possibilities but providing no warmth.

"That must mean he either knows how to fly or he's gone deeper into the cave," Chief declared, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

"He could have left through the Portal, couldn't he?" Freya ventured, her question laced with a mix of hope and fear.

"Maybe," I admitted, my response tempered with uncertainty. The mechanics of the Portal Pirate technology, their limitations and requirements, were still shrouded in mystery. "I'm not sure if they can without their partner, though.”

"Where's his partner?" Brogyin asked, his quiet observation giving way to participation. His question was a piercing one, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"I assume he went through the Portal before..." My attempt to put forward a plausible scenario was abruptly interrupted by Chief's growing impatience.

"Assumptions aren't good enough, Cody!" His voice was a sharp rebuke, a clear indication that speculation was no substitute for action in his eyes.

"Let him continue," Freya's voice was a soothing balm, her intervention a beacon of support in the face of Chief's burgeoning frustration.

Swallowing the knot of anxiety that threatened to choke my words, I mustered what was meant to be an appreciative smile towards my daughter. The gesture, however, felt twisted by the tension gripping me, likely morphing into something that bore closer resemblance to a grimace. The oppressive weight of our predicament bore down on me, the search for the Portal Pirate looming large as we stood on the precipice of the unknown within the icy confines of the cave.

“I was going to say that I think he went through the Portal before Luke closed it,” I managed to articulate, the words feeling heavy in the cold air.

"Luke Smith?" Freya’s voice cut through the tension, her sudden movement from the rock where she sat a testament to her surprise and concern.

“Yeah,” was all I could muster in reply.

“Damn,” Fryar interjected. “Do you think they’re safe?”

“Pirates are sneaky bastards, no doubt about that,” I found myself saying, a bitter taste accompanying the words. And this one has already killed Joel and I’m certain he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. The rest of the thought lingered in my mind, a dark cloud I couldn't bring myself to voice out loud, the reality too grim to lay bare.

“Obviously,” Chief’s voice was laced with a hardness as he brandished the severed ropes once more, a visual reminder of the threat that had slipped through my grasp.

“I don’t think we can assume he has left here yet,” I ventured, voicing the gnawing fear that had taken root in my mind. The possibility that Griffin might still lurk nearby, or worse, return, was a scenario we couldn't afford to overlook.

Chief turned to Brogyin, decisiveness etching his features. “Have some of our sharpest people set up camp here. Keep watch night and day. If the bastard is still here, or returns, we’ll catch him.” His orders were a clear directive, a plan of action that brought a sliver of determination amidst the fear.

Brogyin’s nod was swift, his understanding immediate. Without a word, he turned and strode towards the cave’s entrance, bracing himself against the wintry blast that marked the transition from the cave’s relative shelter to the harsh elements beyond. His departure was a silent promise of vigilance, a commitment to guard against the threat that had so suddenly and violently intruded upon our lives.

"Not good enough, Cody. You know our people are already in a fragile state of mind. They don’t need this right now," Chief’s words, laced with disappointment, struck me like a physical blow. Each syllable seemed to weigh heavily on my conscience.

“I know,” I murmured, the admission barely escaping my lips. Internally, I berated myself for the oversight, for the lapse in vigilance. There’s no excuse for sloppy work. The mantra echoed in my mind, a relentless critique of my actions—or, more accurately, my inactions. I should have done better.

As Chief disappeared into the swirling snow outside the cave, his figure momentarily outlined by his dark hood against the white landscape, I found my gaze drifting to the small truck parked inconspicuously to the side. The rest of the group, caught up in the urgency of the moment, seemed to have completely overlooked it. The decision to leave the truck untouched was made in silence, a quiet resolve settling over me. The presence of the lifeless body, hidden from view but heavy on my mind, was a secret I was not yet ready to reveal. The implications of sharing that grim discovery with the community, already teetering on the edge of panic, were too dire to contemplate. Until we had a clearer understanding of Griffin’s fate, the shock and fear such a revelation would provoke were unnecessary burdens. Besides, I hadn’t decided what to do with it yet. Bringing it to Belkeep was never my intention. Maybe Freya would help...

“Fryar and I will stay here until the guards arrive,” Freya’s voice, firm and decisive, snapped me back to the present.

Turning to face my daughter, I was struck by the sight of her long hair, whipped into a frenzied dance by the wind, framing her face with an almost wild grace. Her determination was palpable, a trait she and Fryar shared, a drive to put themselves in harm’s way for a cause greater than their own safety. The instinct to protect them, to keep them safe from the dangers that lurked in shadows and secrets, was a fierce pulse within me. Yet, the realisation that any attempt to dissuade them from their chosen path would be futile was equally strong. Their courage, their willingness to face danger head-on, was not just typical of the twins; it was a fundamental part of who they were. A long time ago, I had come to understand that arguing with them, trying to curb their selfless instincts, would be an exercise in futility.

Fryar's methodical pacing at the cave's entrance was a silent testament to our shared tension, his steps measured and deliberate as if trying to map out our unseen adversary's potential moves. Freya, in contrast, found a semblance of calm by reclaiming her spot on her favoured rock, embodying a quiet strength that I've always admired in her.

“Be careful,” I found myself warning them, the concern in my voice palpable even to my own ears. “He’s armed enough to cut a rope. If he’s still around, he won’t hesitate to strike.” The reality of our situation was grim; an armed foe, potentially still lurking in the shadows, was a threat that we couldn’t afford to underestimate.

“That’s unlike you to leave a man armed with a knife,” Fryar remarked, his pacing coming to a brief halt. His observation stung, a pointed reminder of my oversight that had led us here.

“I don’t think he’s got a knife,” I countered, my gaze drifting to Freya. Her expression, a mix of understanding and concern, silently affirmed my suspicions. The weapon used wasn’t as simple or as benign as a knife, a fact we were both uncomfortably aware of.

“Then what?” Fryar's inquiry, laden with confusion and a hint of fear, momentarily anchored him in place once again.

As I sighed, the weight of the situation settled around us, the cave walls seemingly echoing the burden of our predicament. The remnants of a wine bottle, now scattered across the ground, served as a physical reminder what had unfolded, the dim light casting shadows that seemed to play out the night’s events in a haunting reenactment.

"I'll fill you in," Freya interjected, her voice a beacon of clarity in the murky sea of our current crisis.

"Thank you," I responded, the gratitude in my voice tinged with the exhaustion of carrying a secret too heavy. Fryar, perhaps sensing the personal nature of what was to come, turned his gaze outward, towards the expanse beyond the cave’s entrance. The frozen landscape, with its whispering winds, seemed to echo the uncertainty and fear that gripped us, a blustery reminder of the unknown dangers that lay in wait.

In that moment, the cave felt more like a refuge and a prison all at once, a sanctuary against the elements and the unknown, yet a place of confinement to our fears and the daunting task that lay ahead. The resolve to protect my family and community was a flame that burned brightly within me, yet the shadows cast by doubt and the weight of leadership threatened to engulf it.

“I need to go home,” the words left my lips, hanging visibly in the frigid air as I frantically searched for my winter coat, a shield against the biting cold that awaited outside the cave.

"Shit!" The curse slipped out, a raw expression of my frustration and the mounting pressure. The realisation that the coat, likely pilfered by the very threat we were now mobilising against, was gone, felt like another setback in a day already fraught with too many.

“Here, take mine,” Freya offered, her voice a warm contrast to the chill that enveloped me, as she began to shrug off her own coat in a gesture of selfless concern.

"No, you keep it. It’s only a five-minute run from here," I countered quickly, refusing to let her sacrifice her comfort for mine.

I turned to Fryar, finding solace in the solidarity between us. "I'll be back as soon as I can. There's something I need to find first." The words were a promise, a vow to return not just with answers but hopefully with a solution to the peril that loomed over us.

"What is it?" Freya’s curiosity was piqued as she moved closer, her silhouette framed by the cave’s entrance, the backdrop lending her an ethereal quality.

"I'll let you know if I find it," I answered, cryptic not out of desire but necessity. The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for—only that it was vital, a missing piece in the puzzle of our current crisis.

With a final glance at my children, their faces etched with concern and the determination to stand guard, I steeled myself for the run. The chill seeped through my clothes, a harsh reminder of the environment's indifference to my plight. Rubbing my arms in a futile attempt to ward off the cold, I took a deep breath, the icy air sharpening my resolve as I prepared to dash into the wintry wilderness.

"What are you looking for?" Krid's question, filled with the innate curiosity that seemed to guide much of her young life, floated towards me as I wrestled with the deep chest by the foot of my bed. Its weathered wood groaned in protest, like an old man being asked to stand too quickly, as I heaved open the lid. I began to extract several large blankets, letting them fall in a careless heap beside me, their fabric whispering softly to the floor.

Pausing, I looked up to find Krid's inquisitive eyes on me. She was perched on the edge of the bed, her small legs swinging with an energy I envied at the moment. The candlelight flickered across her face, casting her in a warm glow that belied the cold dread that had taken residence in my heart since returning from the Portal Cave. Krid had greeted me with a smile that could outshine the sun and an embrace full of apologies I didn't need. Her heart was in the right place, always.

“I’m looking for my old journals for information on the Portal Pirates,” I found myself explaining as I dove back into the chest, the scent of must and memories rising to meet me. There was a certain comfort in the familiar smell, a reminder of days spent in pursuit of knowledge, of secrets unlocked within these very pages. Somewhere amidst these relics of the past lay the answers I sought about our current threat. Griffin's knowledge of Belkeep, his ability—or lack thereof—to navigate the Portals without Nelson, it was all a puzzle that needed solving.

As I continued my search, Krid's presence was a quiet constant, her curiosity now meshed with a sense of solemnity as she watched me unearth journal after journal. The leather-bound volumes, each a keeper of my past thoughts and adventures, felt heavy in my hands. I skimmed through pages filled with notes, sketches, and theories, the soft rustling sound accompanying my frantic search like a soundtrack to the urgency pulsing through my veins.

“I’ve heard Clivilius too,” Krid’s voice, unexpected and soft, momentarily halted the frantic pace of my search. The statement, so innocently delivered, drew my attention back to the present.

"You have?" My curiosity piqued, I looked up from the journal I was holding, my focus shifting entirely to her. "What did it say?"

“It told me to always smile,” she replied simply.

I regarded her with renewed interest, puzzled by the straightforwardness of the message. “Is that all?” I probed, knowing that the depths of Clivilius's communications were seldom so shallow.

Krid shook her head, her movements quick and decisive. “I’m not allowed to tell you anymore.” The firmness in her voice belied her years, and it brought a wave of concern over me. Clivilius, reaching out to Krid with a message she was forbidden to share fully? The implications were as unsettling as they were curious.

"Oh," I managed, my thoughts swirling with questions and theories. What secrets did Clivilius hold that it chose to share with a child? And why the restriction on sharing? "Maybe you should write it down somewhere? Keep it safe so you don’t forget it." It was advice born out of my own practices, a way to hold onto the fleeting whispers of wisdom or warning that our strange world offered.

“Is that what you did?” Her question was innocent, yet it cut to the heart of my own endeavours.

"Yes," I answered, my voice softened by the glow of memory. I glanced down at the black, leather-bound journal in my hands, one among many that chronicled my thoughts, discoveries, and fears. "But I have so many now that I don’t know which one contains the information I want."

“Can I read some?” Her interest was genuine, a mirror of my own thirst for knowledge and understanding in my early days.

"Of course you can. Start with this one," I suggested, handing her another journal from the pile. This one, its cover worn from handling, held the beginnings of my journey into the unknown. "This was my first one."

"Thank you," Krid accepted the journal with a reverence that warmed my heart. She opened it carefully, as if the pages were treasures to be unveiled. Her concentration was absolute, the candlelight illuminating her features, casting her in an aura of earnest curiosity.

In that quiet room, with only the rustle of pages and the crackle of the fireplace for company, a sense of camaraderie settled over us. It was a moment of peace amidst the storm, a shared connection through the written word that transcended our current predicaments. As she delved into the past recorded on those pages, I returned to my search, both of us seeking answers in our own way, bound by the quest for understanding in a world that often offered more questions than it did solutions.

Time seemed to evaporate, each moment blending seamlessly into the next as I thumbed through the pages filled with my past explorations, theories, and encounters.

“Aha!” The word burst from me, a beacon of success in the dimly lit room. I had found the entry I was searching for, a significant moment captured in ink that felt as fresh now as when it had first been penned.

Krid’s attention snapped back from her own reading, her eyes alight with the spark of curiosity and wonder. “What does it say?” she inquired, her voice a mix of eagerness and excitement. She leaned forward, her youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the ancient whispers contained within the pages of my journal.

“Well, this portion is actually about a conversation that I had with Jeremiah in my early years as a Guardian,” I began, the memory of the conversation already unfurling in my mind like a well-worn tapestry.

"Your Guardian Atum?" Krid interjected, her question slicing through the air for clarification.

“Yes. My Guardian Atum,” I confirmed with a nod, acknowledging the unique bond shared between a Guardian and their Atum.

“About the Portal Pirates?” Her query was pointed, honing in on the heart of the matter with the precision of a seasoned investigator.

“Yes,” I responded, meeting her gaze, which was now brimming with an unspoken plea for more. The anticipation in her eyes was palpable, a mirror to the thirst for knowledge that had driven much of my own journey. “Shall I read it to you?”

"Yes, please," Krid exclaimed, her excitement barely contained as she sat up straighter, embodying the essence of childlike curiosity that made moments like these truly special.

I shifted my position, giving my knees a brief respite from the unforgiving hardness of the wooden floor. Sitting back, I cleared my throat gently, preparing to dive into the narrative that had been etched into the journal so many years ago.

As I delved into the details of the journal, the weight of the history it contained seemed to press down on me, a tangible reminder of the gravity of our situation.

“From what we can tell, the Portal Pirates always travel in pairs. They have to. The device they use – unique technology developed over half a century ago by Italian Physicist, Ettore Majorana, has two distinct components. They need one part of the device on either side of the Portal – the Clivilius side and the Earth side. Very few understand the mechanics of Ettore’s work, and it is well rumoured that he worked closely with his uncle, Quirino Majorana, an experimental physicist whose connections ran deep through the University of Rome, extending his realm of influence well into the highest echelons of government, providing Ettore with both the scientific and financial resources needed to achieve such a significant technological breakthrough.

With the two halves of the device, one on each side of the Portal, a signal composed of what has become known as Majorana particles, could be transmitted from Earth without the need for wire devices, and be received by the device in Clivilius. The result, the capability of recording both Earth and Clivilius locations with such precision and permanency that enable Portal Pirates to access any recorded Clivilius location from any recorded Earth location. The reverse is also believed to be true, that they can access any recorded Earth location from any recorded Clivilius location.

Over the years that have followed since the technologies development, it is believed that the Portal Pirates have amassed a large database of locations, which they exploit ruthlessly.”

"But why?" Krid's question wasn't just a query; it was a challenge, a prod at the edges of known territory that beckoned me towards the unknown. Her inquisitive nature, always so vibrant and unyielding, pushed the boundaries of the conversation into realms I hadn't considered venturing into at this moment.

“Exploit? I don’t know,” I replied, my gaze lifting to meet that of my dedicated student. The journal, resting open in my hands, felt like a treasure chest whose contents had suddenly vanished, leaving us with more questions than answers. “That’s where the journal entry stops.” The finality in my voice was unintentional, a reflection of the frustration that came with hitting yet another dead end in our quest for understanding.

"Is there a way to find out?" Krid wasn’t deterred; her voice, laced with determination and a hint of excitement, pressed on. Her eagerness to unravel the mysteries of the Portal Pirates was not just commendable—it was infectious.

"I'm not sure," I admitted, my thoughts a whirlwind of possibilities and dead ends. My mind raced, trying to keep pace with Krid's relentless curiosity. Was there a piece of the puzzle we were overlooking? A clue hidden in plain sight that could lead us to the answers we sought? The thought that there might be a way to unveil more secrets about the Portal Pirates and their exploits stirred a mix of excitement and apprehension within me.

“I think speaking with Jeremiah will be a good place to start,” Krid suggested, her statement slicing through the contemplative silence that had enveloped us. Her solution was so straightforward, yet it held the promise of unlocking doors I hadn’t even considered knocking on.

My eyes lit up at her suggestion, a spark of hope igniting in the sea of uncertainty. “Exactly! You are perfectly right there, Krid.” The idea of consulting Jeremiah, someone who had been a part of my early years as a Guardian and who possessed a wealth of knowledge and insight, suddenly seemed like the missing piece of the puzzle. “I will speak with Jeremiah and see what more he knows. Somebody has to know more than this by now,” I said, a newfound resolve strengthening my voice as I held up the now closed journal.

The serene atmosphere of scholarly pursuit was shattered in an instant by Freya's breathless entrance. “Father! The truck has gone!” Her voice, tinged with urgency and panic, sliced through the air, pulling me sharply back to the present dangers that lurked beyond our walls. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dimming light, her expression etched with concern.

"What happened?" I found myself rising to my feet, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. The scholarly curiosity and contemplation of moments ago felt like a distant memory, replaced now by the immediate need to understand and react.

“Fryar and I were ambushed.” The words fell heavy in the room.

“Ambushed? How?” My mind raced, trying to piece together how such a thing could happen under their watchful eyes.

"I’m not sure," Freya admitted, her brows furrowed in confusion and frustration. "We both blacked out." The admission sent a chill down my spine. The implications were dire, suggesting an enemy capable of striking swiftly and silently, leaving no trace behind.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. "And Griffin?" My heart raced as I awaited her response, fearing the worst.

“We’re pretty sure it was him. No idea how. There are no signs of any tracks beyond the cave, so we believe he’s taken the truck through the Portal.” Her words painted a clear picture of our vulnerability, of how precariously we balanced on the edge of safety and disaster.

“I guess that answers one question then, doesn’t it, Krid,” I said, attempting to mask my rising concern with a semblance of calm. I turned to the young child, who had been following our exchange with wide, understanding eyes. “Griffin had boasted that they had already recorded Belkeep’s location. So that must mean once they have the location recorded, the requirement for the two halves of the device no longer holds true.” The realisation dawned on me with chilling clarity, reshaping my understanding of the threat we faced.

“You speak wise logic,” Krid replied, her grin offering a brief moment of levity in the midst of our troubled thoughts. Her ability to find a spark of positivity, even now, was a small beacon of hope.

"Do you think Belkeep is in any danger?" Freya’s voice, laced with worry, brought the conversation back to the immediate concerns. Her question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of potential consequences.

“I don’t think so. They’ve likely known of our location for years and if they haven’t bothered us yet, the chance that they would start now, I believe, is very slim.” I tried to sound more convinced than I felt, clinging to the logic as a shield against the fear. “Griffin told me himself, they don’t like it here. Besides, I’m certain I interrupted the pair before they could record their intended location, which would mean that Nelson is trapped in Luke’s settlement somewhere.” This thought, at least, provided a small comfort, a silver lining in the cloud that hung over us.

Freya let out a loud sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping slightly as the tension began to ebb away, if only just a little.

“But talk with Chief. Tell him to have the people be extra vigilant. Just in case.” My words were a reminder that vigilance was our best defence, a necessary precaution in a world where threats could materialise from thin air.

As Freya nodded, a silent agreement forged between us, I couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility pressing down. The safety of our community, the protection of our secrets, and the constant battle against the unknown were burdens we bore together. In that moment, bound by duty and driven by a shared determination to safeguard our way of life, we were more than just a family; we were part of a legacy that transcended time and dimension.