King stood in the desolate silence, the vast emptiness of the shattered rift yawning around him. His mind felt numb, the gravity of what had happened pulling him down into a hollow void of grief. Valjean was gone, consumed by the very force he had destroyed.
He had saved the world, but the victory felt like ash in his mouth.
The shard, once a pulsing beacon of hope and power, lay cold in his palm. The warmth of its light had died with Valjean, leaving behind a weight King could no longer bear. He let the shard slip through his fingers, watching it fall to the cracked ground with a soft thud. The sound echoed across the emptiness, reverberating in the hollowed landscape like a haunting reminder of what had been lost.
"Why?" he whispered to the wind, his voice hoarse. "Why did it have to be her?"
The wind did not answer. It swept past him, cold and uncaring, as if the world had already moved on from the sacrifice that had been made.
King's legs felt weak, and he sank to the ground, his hands trembling as they pressed into the dirt. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, sorrow, guilt—all swirling together in a torrent that threatened to drown him. Valjean had been more than his friend. She had been the one person who understood him, who had stood by him through every battle, every challenge. And now, she was gone.
He clenched his fists, the sharp sting of his nails biting into his palms. A part of him wanted to scream, to rage against the world that had taken her from him. But all that came out was a choked sob, his grief too deep for words.
"I failed you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I couldn't save you."
As the silence stretched on, a faint hum reached his ears—soft, barely noticeable at first, but it grew louder with each passing second. King blinked, lifting his head. The air around him shimmered faintly, as if the remnants of the rift's energy were still lingering, waiting for something.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled, and King's heart skipped a beat. He scrambled to his feet, eyes scanning the horizon, half-expecting the rift to reopen and drag him into its darkness. But what he saw instead sent a shiver down his spine.
A figure was emerging from the shadows.
At first, it was nothing more than a faint silhouette, barely distinguishable against the empty expanse. But as it drew closer, King's breath caught in his throat. The figure moved with an eerie grace, its form becoming more distinct with each step.
Valjean.
Or, at least, it looked like her.
King's heart raced as he watched the figure approach, her familiar features coming into focus. But something was wrong. The warmth, the spark of life that had always defined her was absent. Her eyes, once so full of light, were now dark, hollow, as if the rift had left a mark on her soul.
"Valjean?" King whispered, his voice trembling with hope and fear.
The figure stopped a few feet away, her expression unreadable. She said nothing, simply staring at him with those empty eyes. King took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Valjean, is it really you?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Please... say something."
For a moment, there was only silence. And then, in a voice that was cold, distant, and unfamiliar, the figure spoke.
"I warned you."
King's blood turned to ice.
The voice was hers, but it wasn't the Valjean he knew. It was as if the rift had twisted her, taken something vital from her and replaced it with something darker. She took another step forward, her movements slow, deliberate, and King found himself backing away, his mind reeling.
"What... what happened to you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Valjean's hollow eyes flickered with something—pain, anger, maybe even regret—but it was fleeting, gone before King could grasp it. She raised her hand, and the air around them crackled with energy.
"The rift took me," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth it once held. "And now, I am part of it. Part of something beyond your understanding."
King shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest. "No," he said, his voice desperate. "You're still in there. I know you are. I can help you. We can—"
"There's no helping me." Her words cut through him like a blade. "I've seen things, King. Things you can't even begin to comprehend. The rift showed me... everything."
The ground beneath them rumbled again, and the air grew thick with the same energy that had once surrounded the nexus. King felt a chill run down his spine as he realized what was happening.
The rift wasn't gone.
It had just changed.
"You should have listened to me," Valjean said, her voice softer now, almost sad. "You should have let me go. But now... it's too late."
Before King could respond, a surge of energy rippled through the air, and Valjean's form began to flicker, distorting as if she were caught between two worlds. Her eyes met his one last time, and for a brief moment, the warmth returned—the Valjean he knew flickered to life, her gaze filled with sorrow and regret.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and then, in a flash of light, she was gone.
The energy around King exploded outward, knocking him to the ground. He gasped for breath, his body trembling as the world around him shifted once again. The rift's presence had changed, but it was still there, lurking just beneath the surface.
And Valjean... she was part of it now.
King lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, his mind racing with the realization of what had just happened. The rift had taken her, consumed her, and now it was stronger than ever. He had failed, not just her, but the world.
And the worst part was... he wasn't sure how to stop it.