King stumbled through the eerie silence, his every breath shallow and ragged. The oppressive weight of the cavern pressed down on him, suffocating in its stillness. Valjean was gone. Vanished into the void, leaving him to face the unknown alone. Her last words, "Don't give up," echoed in his mind, a mantra he clung to as the darkness around him seemed to breathe and shift, alive with hidden forces.
The altar lay before him, cold and empty, its power drained after the release of the Old Ones. The villagers had disappeared, swallowed by the same darkness that now hung over the chamber. A chill ran down his spine. Something was still there—watching, waiting. He had no idea where to begin searching for Valjean, but he couldn't leave. Not yet.
As King took a cautious step toward the altar, the ground beneath him shifted. The crack in the earth, which had once pulsed with unnatural energy, widened with a low rumble, and from its depths, something emerged—a thin, silvery thread of light, faint but unwavering. It stretched from the altar and snaked across the floor, disappearing into a narrow tunnel on the far side of the cavern.
Without hesitation, King followed the thread of light. It was faint, barely visible in the gloom, but he felt a pull, an instinct deep within that urged him forward. As he stepped into the tunnel, the air grew colder, and the walls seemed to close in around him, their rough surfaces wet with condensation.
For what felt like hours, he walked in silence, his footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. His thoughts swirled, a storm of fear and guilt. Had Valjean been taken because of him? Was the rift between them—the unspoken feelings he had hidden—what the darkness had fed on? The Old Ones preyed on weakness, on the fractures in bonds, and his heart was heavy with the realization that he had been too late to save her.
Suddenly, the tunnel opened into another chamber, smaller but no less ominous. At its center stood a familiar figure. Valjean.
But something was wrong.
She stood unnaturally still, her back to him, her body rigid and tense. The silvery thread of light snaked up from the ground, winding around her like a spider's web. King's heart leaped with both relief and fear. This wasn't right. Valjean was here, but it felt all wrong.
"Valjean?" King's voice cracked in the quiet.
She didn't respond.
He moved closer, slowly, his sword still gripped in his hand. As he reached her, he hesitated. The shadows in the chamber seemed to flicker and writhe, their presence heavy and suffocating. He extended a hand, reaching for her shoulder.
"Valjean, it's me. We have to go."
But the moment his fingers brushed her arm, she spun around.
Her eyes—once fierce and full of life—were empty. Hollow. Her face, pale and expressionless, sent a chill through King's veins. The Valjean standing before him was not the friend he knew.
"Valjean?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What happened to you?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eyes bore into his, filled with an eerie, unnatural light. She raised her hand, and for the first time, King noticed something clutched in her palm—a small, black stone, pulsing faintly with dark energy.
Before King could react, Valjean's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with unnatural strength. Her touch was cold, like death itself. The black stone flared to life, and a wave of dark energy surged through King's body, sending him crashing to the ground.
Pain shot through him as the darkness wrapped around his mind, dragging him into its depths. He fought against it, struggling to hold on to his consciousness, but the force was too strong. The shadows whispered in his ears, filling his head with doubt, fear, and guilt.
"Is this what you wanted, King?" a voice hissed from the void. "Did you think you could save her?"
King gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as the darkness crept into his thoughts. "Valjean," he gasped, his voice strained. "This isn't you."
The voice laughed, cold and cruel. "She's already gone. Lost to the rift. And soon, so will you be."
With a final surge of strength, King forced himself to his feet, ripping his wrist free from Valjean's grip. The black stone fell from her hand, clattering to the floor. As it did, the darkness receded, and Valjean collapsed to her knees, gasping for air.
King rushed to her side, his heart pounding in his chest. "Valjean? Valjean, can you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they were clear again. The unnatural light was gone, replaced by the fierce determination he knew so well.
"King," she whispered, her voice weak but steady. "It's not over. The rift… it's still open."
King's pulse quickened. "What do you mean? I thought we stopped the ritual."
Valjean shook her head, struggling to sit up. "No. The Old Ones… they're not fully awakened yet. But they will be—unless we close the rift."
King's mind raced. "How do we do that?"
Valjean's gaze hardened. "We have to return to the altar. There's a way to seal the rift, but it requires a sacrifice. A life must be given to close the gap between worlds."
King's blood ran cold. "Whose life?"
Valjean didn't answer. She didn't need to. The look in her eyes told him everything.
"No," King said firmly, shaking his head. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't," Valjean replied, her voice quiet but resolute. "The rift was opened by a bond, and only a bond can close it. One of us has to stay."
King's chest tightened, the weight of her words settling over him like a crushing force. The bond between them, the unspoken feelings they had never addressed, had created the weakness the Old Ones exploited. And now, only one of them could stop it.
"No," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not leaving you here."
Valjean gave him a sad smile, her eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "You have to. It's the only way to end this."
King shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Valjean, please. Don't do this."
But before he could say anything more, the ground beneath them rumbled, and the shadows around the chamber began to stir once again. The rift was opening, and time was running out.
Valjean stood, her face set in grim determination. "It's time, King."
"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Not like this."
But Valjean had already turned toward the tunnel, her eyes fixed on the altar in the distance. She took a deep breath, her expression unreadable.
And then, without looking back, she stepped into the shadows.
The rift between worlds was opening, and with it came a choice neither of them had wanted to face. As King watched Valjean disappear into the darkness, his heart shattered. He knew there was no going back. The bond they had shared, the rift between them, would now decide the fate of their world.
But the shadows had one last twist left in store.
As the rift began to close, a voice echoed through the darkness—a voice that was neither Valjean's nor King's.
"Only one can stay. But which will it be?"
The shadows swirled, and suddenly, the choice was no longer theirs alone.