King felt as if he were weightless, tumbling through endless darkness. The rift had swallowed him whole, and Valjean's final words echoed in his mind: "You have to live." But how could he live now, knowing she was trapped in this void, bound to a fate far worse than death?
The air around him was thick, suffocating. His fingers still clutched the glowing stone, its light dimming as the rift's oppressive energy drained its strength. He fought to focus, to find something solid in the swirling chaos, but there was nothing—only darkness.
For a moment, he considered giving up. The exhaustion, both physical and emotional, was overwhelming. Maybe it would be easier to let the rift consume him. To become part of the void and join Valjean in whatever twisted existence she had been forced into.
But deep down, something kept him fighting.
"Live."
The word, spoken by Valjean, echoed again. She had sacrificed herself to save him, to give him a chance. He couldn't let that be for nothing. King tightened his grip on the stone, summoning what little strength he had left.
The sensation of falling slowed, the darkness around him beginning to shift. There was something ahead—an opening, faint but visible through the abyss. A soft, blue glow pulsed at the edges of the darkness, growing brighter as King tumbled closer. He reached out, his hands trembling, desperate for a way out of the rift's grasp.
Suddenly, the light engulfed him, blinding in its intensity. For a moment, he felt the world spin, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden brightness. And then, just as quickly, it stopped.
He was no longer falling.
King opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light. He found himself standing on solid ground—no longer in the heart of the rift, but in a place that was still unfamiliar. The sky above him was a strange, deep blue, dotted with stars that seemed closer than they should be. The air was cool, almost calming, though there was a faint hum in the distance, like the lingering echo of the rift.
He was in a different world—another realm, connected to the rift, but outside of its immediate influence.
King turned in place, trying to get his bearings. There was no sign of Valjean, no sign of the darkness that had consumed her. But the glow of the stone in his hand had returned, stronger now, as if responding to the energy of this new place.
"Valjean…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Where are you?"
A sharp crackle filled the air, and King spun around. In the distance, beyond the strange landscape, he saw movement. A figure—vague but unmistakable—stood at the edge of a rocky outcrop, watching him. King's heart pounded as he squinted, trying to make out the figure's features.
It wasn't Valjean.
The figure moved closer, stepping into the light. It was tall, cloaked in flowing, dark robes that billowed in an invisible wind. Its face was obscured by a hood, but King could feel its gaze on him, cold and piercing.
"Who are you?" King demanded, his voice filled with both anger and desperation. "What is this place?"
The figure said nothing at first, only continued its slow approach. When it finally spoke, its voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried through the air with unnatural clarity.
"You are not meant to be here," it said, the words reverberating in the strange landscape. "This place… is beyond your reach."
"I don't care," King snapped, taking a step forward. "I'm here for Valjean. She's trapped in the rift, and I'm going to save her."
The figure paused, as if considering King's words. Then, slowly, it lifted a hand, pointing toward the distant horizon. "The rift consumes. It does not release," the figure said. "What you seek is lost."
"No!" King's voice was filled with raw emotion, his fists clenching at his sides. "I saw her! She's still in there. I'm not leaving without her."
The figure lowered its hand, its hooded head tilting slightly. "You think you can defy the will of the rift?" it asked, its tone almost curious. "Do you even know what you are up against?"
"I don't care," King growled. "I'll do whatever it takes. I'll fight it, I'll tear it apart if I have to. But I will get her back."
A long silence followed, the air between them thick with tension. Finally, the figure stepped closer, its dark robes brushing the ground as it moved.
"Bravery," it said, "is not enough. The rift is more than just a tear in the fabric of reality. It is ancient. It feeds on those who wander too close. It has taken many before her, and it will take many more."
King's breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn't back down. "Then tell me how to fight it. How to save her."
The figure stood still for a moment, then extended its hand toward King. In its palm was a small, shimmering object—a shard of some kind, glowing faintly in the dim light. "This is the key," it said, its voice barely above a whisper. "To enter the rift once more… and confront its heart."
King's eyes narrowed as he reached out and took the shard, feeling its cool surface against his skin. The moment he touched it, a surge of energy coursed through him, like a connection being made between him and the rift itself.
"What do I do with this?" King asked, his voice steady now, filled with determination.
The figure lowered its hand, its gaze still fixed on King. "The rift has a core—a nexus of its power. It is there that you will find the source of its hold over Valjean. But be warned: to destroy it is to destroy her connection to it. And in doing so… you may destroy her."
King's heart clenched, the weight of the figure's words sinking in. To save Valjean, he would have to break the very bond that kept her alive within the rift. It was a risk—a terrible, uncertain risk.
But he had no choice.
"I'll do it," King said, his voice steady. "I'll find the nexus. And I'll bring her back."
The figure inclined its head, then stepped back into the shadows. "So be it," it murmured. "But know this: once you enter the rift again, there will be no turning back. The path will be set, and your fate… sealed."
With those final words, the figure vanished, leaving King alone with the shard and the heavy burden of the choice that lay ahead.
He looked down at the glowing stone in his hand, then out at the strange landscape. He knew what he had to do. He would go back into the rift—into the heart of the darkness—and face whatever waited for him there.
Because Valjean was worth any risk.