The night was thick with silence, a suffocating stillness that wrapped around King as he sat in the clearing where Valjean had disappeared. His body felt heavy, weighted down by grief and exhaustion. The shard lay in his hand, now cold and lifeless, a reminder of what had been lost.
Valjean was gone.
King had replayed the moment over and over in his mind, searching for something he could have done differently, some way he could have saved her. But the truth was undeniable. The rift had taken her, just as it had tried to take him. And now, he was alone.
But the world wasn't at peace.
The air was different now—thicker, charged with an energy that prickled at the edges of King's consciousness. It was subtle, like a whisper in the back of his mind, but he couldn't ignore it. Something had changed when the rift collapsed. And whatever it was, it wasn't over.
King rose to his feet, his legs unsteady as he looked around the clearing. The trees swayed gently in the night breeze, their branches casting long shadows across the ground. Everything looked the same, but there was an unnatural quiet—like the calm before a storm.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy that pulsed faintly around him. It wasn't like the rift's chaotic force. This was more refined, more deliberate—like a ripple in the fabric of reality. It was as if the collapse of the rift had opened something else, something deeper and more dangerous.
King's eyes snapped open as he felt it—a tug, like a thread being pulled, leading him toward the edge of the forest. His heart raced, his pulse quickening as he took a step forward, drawn by the invisible force. It was faint, but unmistakable.
"Valjean?" he whispered, half-expecting to hear her voice in response.
There was nothing. Just the rustling of leaves in the wind.
But the tug was real. It wasn't Valjean, but it was connected to her—connected to the rift. And if King was right, it could be the key to understanding what had happened to her.
With a grim sense of determination, King set off into the forest, his steps quick and deliberate. The path before him was shrouded in darkness, the trees looming overhead like silent sentinels. But the pull of the energy was growing stronger, guiding him deeper into the woods.
Hours passed, though King barely noticed. His mind was focused entirely on the strange pull, on the invisible force that seemed to beckon him forward. He moved like a man possessed, driven by the hope—however faint—that this would lead him to answers.
Finally, the trees thinned, and King found himself standing at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking a vast, empty expanse. The sky above was clouded, the moon casting an eerie glow over the landscape. But what caught King's attention was the ground beneath him.
Carved into the stone at his feet was a symbol—a circular pattern etched into the rock, glowing faintly with the same energy that had been pulling him here. It was ancient, older than anything he had ever seen before, and it radiated with a power that sent a chill down his spine.
King knelt down, tracing the edges of the symbol with his fingers. The moment his hand touched the stone, the air around him shifted, a low hum reverberating through the ground. The energy pulsed, growing stronger, and King's heart raced as he felt the connection deepen.
"This… this is tied to the rift," King muttered to himself, his mind working furiously. "But how? What is this place?"
Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled, and a bright light shot up from the center of the symbol, enveloping King in its glow. He staggered back, shielding his eyes as the light intensified, filling the air with a deafening hum.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, the light dimmed, and the humming ceased.
King blinked, his vision adjusting to the darkness once more. But something was different. The air around him crackled with energy, and the symbol beneath his feet now pulsed with a steady, rhythmic light.
A voice echoed in his mind, faint but unmistakable.
"King…"
His breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice.
"Valjean?" he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.
There was no response. Just the faint hum of energy around him, the symbol glowing softly beneath his feet. But King knew what he had heard. Valjean's voice, as clear as day, had echoed in his mind.
The pull of the energy returned, stronger now, pulling him toward the center of the symbol. Without thinking, King stepped forward, his body moving of its own accord as the power surged around him. He could feel it now, the connection—the link between the rift and whatever this place was. And somehow, Valjean was a part of it.
The energy swirled around him, and King's mind raced with possibilities. Had Valjean's essence somehow been absorbed into the rift? Was she trapped in some otherworldly plane, connected to the rift's collapse? The questions tumbled through his thoughts, but one thing was clear:
The rift had left something behind. And Valjean wasn't gone—not completely.
As the energy pulsed around him, King knew what he had to do. There was still a chance—a slim, impossible chance—that he could bring her back. But to do that, he would have to dive deeper into the mysteries of the rift, uncover the truth behind its collapse, and face whatever forces lay hidden beneath the surface.
He looked down at the glowing symbol, his hands trembling as he clenched his fists. This wasn't over. The rift had taken Valjean, but it hadn't taken everything.
"I'll find you, Valjean," King whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I promise."
The wind howled around him as the symbol's light pulsed once more, and King stepped forward into the unknown.