King felt the weight of the air shift around him, like stepping through a veil into a world just out of sync with his own. The glowing symbol beneath his feet pulsed rhythmically, the energy surging upward and wrapping around his body like a second skin. He steadied himself, trying to focus, but his heart raced with anticipation—and fear.
The voice he'd heard, Valjean's voice, echoed faintly in his mind, a whisper that wouldn't leave him. His promise to find her hung in the air, and he knew there was no turning back now.
As he stood on the threshold of the glowing symbol, the world seemed to grow distant, the landscape warping at the edges of his vision. The familiar forest that had surrounded him was fading away, replaced by something darker, something ancient. The energy pulled at him like a strong current, dragging him forward into the unknown.
"Where are you taking me?" he muttered, his voice swallowed by the strange hum that filled the air.
Without warning, the ground beneath him cracked, splitting open with a sharp sound like stone fracturing under immense pressure. King stumbled, trying to regain his footing, but the symbol pulsed brighter, and before he could react, he was falling.
The world tilted, and the sensation of freefall overwhelmed him. His stomach lurched, and the darkness around him deepened, swallowing him whole. The hum grew louder, reverberating in his bones as he plummeted into the abyss. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the fall stopped.
King hit the ground hard, his breath knocked from his lungs. Pain shot through his body, but when he opened his eyes, he realized he hadn't landed on stone or earth. Instead, he was lying on a strange, shifting surface—neither solid nor liquid, but something in between. The texture beneath his hands felt foreign, like touching the skin of an alien creature.
He pushed himself to his feet, his body trembling from the impact. All around him was an endless expanse of dark, swirling energy, like the heart of a storm. The sky above was a swirling mass of black clouds, and flashes of strange blue lightning illuminated the space intermittently. It was like standing inside the belly of the rift itself.
"Where am I?" King whispered, though he knew the answer before the question left his lips.
He was inside the rift.
But how? The rift had been destroyed, or so he had thought. Yet here he was, in a place that mirrored the chaotic energy of the rift they had fought so hard to close. Only now, it felt more alive, more intentional—like it had been waiting for him.
King's eyes scanned the horizon—or what he thought was the horizon. The landscape shifted constantly, with no clear boundaries or landmarks, only swirling energy and flashes of light. Every step felt unstable, as though the ground beneath him could give way at any moment.
And then, in the distance, he saw it.
A figure.
It was faint, almost indistinguishable from the swirling energy around it, but it was there—standing still amidst the chaos. King's heart leaped in his chest. "Valjean!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the strain.
The figure didn't move.
King's legs felt like lead as he forced himself to run, each step a struggle against the shifting terrain. He kept his eyes locked on the figure, refusing to let it slip away. "Valjean!" he called again, but the wind swallowed his words.
As he drew closer, the figure came into focus—a tall, slender form, shrouded in the same swirling energy that surrounded him. It stood with its back to him, unmoving, as if waiting for something.
King's breath came in ragged gasps as he reached the figure. "Valjean?" he whispered, reaching out with trembling hands. His fingers brushed against the figure's shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat.
The figure turned.
It wasn't Valjean.
The face that stared back at King was unfamiliar—gaunt, hollow-eyed, with skin that seemed to ripple with the same energy as the rift. Its eyes were dark voids, empty and unfeeling, yet somehow, King could sense intelligence behind them. It regarded him with a cold, calculating stare, as if measuring his very soul.
"Who are you?" King demanded, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it reached out, its hand—if it could be called that—hovering just inches from King's chest. The air between them crackled with energy, and for a moment, King felt an overwhelming pressure, as though the weight of the entire rift was bearing down on him.
The figure's mouth moved, but the words it spoke were a language King couldn't understand. The sounds were sharp and jagged, like glass scraping across stone. But even though he didn't understand the language, the meaning was clear:
"You don't belong here."
King staggered back, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the energy swirling around him intensify, and the ground beneath him shifted violently. The figure's eyes never left him, cold and unyielding.
"Where's Valjean?" King shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. "What have you done with her?"
The figure tilted its head slightly, as if considering the question. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, it stepped aside, revealing something behind it that made King's blood run cold.
A doorway.
It was unlike any door he had ever seen—shimmering with the same swirling energy that filled the rift, but solid, tangible. Beyond the doorway, the space was dark, impenetrable, but King could feel it. The pull. The same pull that had drawn him here.
"She's there," the figure said, its voice echoing inside King's mind, though its mouth never moved.
King's heart raced. He didn't trust the figure, but there was no other choice. If Valjean was beyond that door, he had to go. He had made a promise, and he wasn't about to break it.
He took a step toward the doorway, his body tense, ready for whatever might come. The figure didn't move to stop him. It simply watched, its dark eyes following his every move.
As King approached the doorway, the energy around it hummed with power, and he could feel the pull growing stronger. His body ached with exhaustion, but he forced himself forward. With one last glance at the figure, King stepped through the threshold.
The world tilted again, and King was swallowed by darkness.