King stood in the empty cavern, the cold stillness pressing against his skin like a heavy shroud. The rift was gone, closed forever, and with it, Valjean. He had made his choice—to live—but now the weight of that decision pressed on him like a burden too heavy to bear.
For a long time, he stayed where he was, staring at the place where she had disappeared. His breath was shallow, his heart heavy. The silence in the chamber felt unnatural, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something—or someone.
He had chosen to live, but what kind of life could he have without Valjean?
The faint echo of her last word lingered in his mind: "Live."
King's eyes closed, his hands trembling as he pressed his palms against the cold stone floor. "I'm sorry, Valjean," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "I didn't want it to end like this."
But the darkness was silent. Valjean was gone, and the rift had taken her with it. Or so he thought.
As he rose to his feet, the ground beneath him trembled—just slightly, like a shudder passing through the earth. His eyes snapped open. At first, he thought it was just an aftershock from the collapse of the rift, but the sensation grew stronger. A low, distant hum filled the chamber, faint but unmistakable.
Something was still here.
King's heart raced, and he turned toward the tunnel he had come through. The silvery thread of light that had once led him to Valjean was gone, but the air around him felt… charged. Like the energy from the rift hadn't fully dissipated. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he scanned the chamber, searching for the source of the hum.
And then he saw it.
In the far corner of the cavern, near the edge of the shadows, a faint glow appeared. It was soft at first, barely noticeable, but as King took a cautious step forward, the light grew brighter. It was the same silvery hue that had led him to Valjean—but this time, it seemed to pulse with its own rhythm, almost like a heartbeat.
King's pulse quickened. He didn't understand what was happening, but he couldn't ignore the pull of the light. Slowly, he approached it, his steps cautious but determined. As he neared the glowing object, he realized what it was: a small, jagged stone, no larger than his palm, pulsing with the same dark energy that had surrounded Valjean when she held the black stone.
This one, however, was different. Its light wasn't malevolent—it was… familiar.
King knelt down, his breath catching in his throat. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched the stone. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, a surge of energy shot through him, and his vision blurred.
Suddenly, the cavern around him dissolved, and he found himself standing in a vast, shadowy landscape—an endless expanse of darkness, broken only by swirling currents of silvery light. The air was thick with the same hum he had heard before, but now it was louder, vibrating through his entire body.
King's heart pounded in his chest as he realized where he was.
The Rift.
But how? He had sealed it—hadn't he?
Before he could fully grasp what was happening, a figure appeared in the distance, barely visible through the swirling shadows. King's breath caught in his throat. The figure was tall and slender, its outline familiar, though distorted by the shifting currents of the rift.
It was Valjean.
"Valjean!" King shouted, his voice echoing across the strange landscape. He ran toward her, his feet pounding against the ground, though the distance between them seemed to stretch impossibly with every step.
But she didn't turn. She stood still, her face turned away, the shadows coiling around her like living things.
"Valjean, I'm here!" King called again, desperation rising in his chest. He pushed forward, forcing his way through the swirling darkness, until finally, he was within reach of her.
He reached out, his hand trembling, and touched her shoulder.
She turned.
For a brief moment, her eyes met his—familiar, clear, filled with the strength and determination he had always admired in her. But then, in an instant, her expression shifted. The shadows around her darkened, her eyes clouded over, and her features twisted into something unrecognizable.
"Valjean?" King whispered, his voice thick with fear. But it wasn't her anymore.
The figure before him was a shadow of Valjean—her form, her face, but not her. The darkness had taken her, warped her. And now, it was using her to pull him deeper into the rift.
Before King could react, the figure lunged at him, its eyes glowing with a cold, eerie light. He stumbled backward, barely managing to raise his sword in defense. The blade clashed against the shadowy form, but it passed through her like mist, leaving no mark.
The creature let out a low, guttural hiss, its eyes boring into him with unnatural intensity. King's heart raced as he scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. This wasn't Valjean—this was something else, something born of the rift.
But why? Why was it taking her form?
The creature advanced again, its movements swift and fluid, like the shadows it came from. King swung his sword, but the blade passed through it again, as though it were cutting through air. Panic surged through him. He couldn't fight this thing. It wasn't solid. It wasn't real.
And yet, it was here, standing before him, wearing Valjean's face.
King backed away, his breathing ragged, his mind racing. He had to find a way out. He had to escape the rift, before it consumed him like it had consumed Valjean. But the shadow creature kept advancing, its cold, glowing eyes locked on him.
"Valjean, if you're in there…" King gasped, his voice shaking. "Please… fight this!"
But the creature didn't stop. It lunged again, and this time, its shadowy form wrapped around him, cold and suffocating. King struggled, his heart pounding in his chest, but the darkness was too strong. It was pulling him in, deeper into the rift, deeper into the shadows.
Just as the cold tendrils of the creature began to close around his throat, a flash of light burst from the stone in his hand. The shadows recoiled, hissing in pain as the light flared, pushing them back.
King gasped for air, stumbling backward as the creature retreated. The stone in his hand pulsed with energy, brighter and stronger than before. It was the only thing keeping the shadows at bay.
For a moment, King stood there, his chest heaving, the stone's light flickering in the darkness. And then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to the creature.
It wasn't gone.
The shadowy form of Valjean stood at the edge of the light, watching him, its eyes still glowing with that cold, eerie light.
King tightened his grip on the stone. "I'm not giving up on you," he whispered, his voice trembling but firm. "I won't let the rift take you."
The creature tilted its head, as if considering his words. Then, slowly, it stepped back, disappearing into the swirling shadows once more.
King stood alone in the darkness, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The stone in his hand continued to pulse with light, its energy the only thing keeping the shadows at bay.
He didn't know how long he had left. But he knew one thing for certain:
Valjean was still in there. Somewhere.
And he was going to find her.