Kael gasped as he was dragged into the heart of the Rift, his breath stolen by a cold that pierced deeper than flesh. Fragments of glass-like memories floated around him—each a tiny, living moment. His hand twitched instinctively, grasping for Eidolon, but the blade remained lost. He was alone in a storm of forgotten lives.
Before him, a memory took shape: a hall of blackened stone, torches casting flickering shadows. A young boy knelt before a hooded figure, his trembling hands gripping a sword far too large for him.
"You must never falter," the hooded figure whispered. "The blade chooses you. Wield it… or be consumed."
Kael flinched as the boy raised the sword, its runes flaring to life. His scream echoed through the hall, a sound of terror and pain, and the memory shattered into dust.
"Stop it!" a voice cried out.
He turned. Liora floated within the Rift's grasp, her limbs outstretched as if held by invisible chains. Her violet-silver eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto him. Shadows crawled across her skin, whispering secrets in a language older than time.
"Kael! Help me!"
He reached for her, but the space between them twisted, folding in ways that defied understanding. Every step brought her farther away, her figure dissolving into fragments. The Rift pulsed, hungry and insatiable.
"Eidolon…"
The blade's name whispered in his mind. He closed his eyes, felt the pulse of its runes, and called it.
A blinding light exploded from the void. Eidolon appeared in his hand, the weight familiar, the connection electric. As his fingers closed around the hilt, the memories surrounding him surged toward the blade, their cries of anguish and despair filling his ears.
He swung the sword through the darkness. The runes carved a path of light, severing the chains binding Liora. Her body fell into his arms, cold and trembling.
"Hold on," he whispered, his voice shaking.
The Rift howled, its essence roiling with fury. Shadows coalesced into a monstrous form—a towering figure with eyes like burning stars. Its limbs writhed like smoke, and its maw stretched wide, filled with endless teeth.
"Bearer of the blade," it rumbled. "You cannot escape the weight of what you carry."
Kael stood, Eidolon glowing fiercely in his grasp. "I don't intend to escape."
He charged.
The creature's maw snapped toward him, but Kael moved with the speed of a man who had danced with death too many times. He leaped into the air, Eidolon a brilliant arc of defiance. The blade met the darkness, and for a moment, time seemed to shatter.
Memories rushed through him—his own, the blade's, the world's. He saw a kingdom consumed by war, a sister's tearful goodbye, a friend's betrayal. He felt the weight of each loss, the sharpness of every regret.
But he did not falter.
With a final, shattering strike, he drove Eidolon into the heart of the Rift's form. Light exploded outward, blinding and all-consuming.
When the brightness faded, Kael found himself on solid ground once more. The forest was silent, the storm clouds gone. Liora lay beside him, her breathing steady but shallow.
He knelt, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, but he remained alert. The Rift had been silenced—for now—but its hunger still lingered in his bones.
Liora stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Kael… what did we see?"
"The truth," he said softly, his gaze distant. "And it's only the beginning."