It clung to the land tonight, a dead and smothering shroud cast on the village by some malevolent deity. Kaelen was alone as he most usually was of late. He stood looking out to the horizon. It was a brooding silence tonight-no noise of chirping cricket or song of night bird-cut only by the distant crackling of fire, the muffled murmur of villagers preparing for the assault. The world seemed to shiver in the hush, readied itself upon some threshold, poised to make a lurch.
The Rift pulsed in the back of his mind—a quiet hum, a beckoning, like a heartbeat that was not his own. It felt familiar, almost comforting, as though it were a part of him now. And in many ways, it was. The Rift was both his weapon and his curse.
Kaelen's hands shook as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The weight of what he had decided, of the path he chose, hung heavy in the air. The village-these survivors-looked to him for hope, for leadership. They did not see a man standing before them, broken and torn. They saw a force of nature, a figure capable of leading them to victory. That was a lie. He was just a man, a man who had embraced the darkness within him, believing it was the only way to end the tyranny of the Regime.
And now, the world itself trembled on the edge of destruction, the fabric of reality itself threatened by the very power he had come to wield.
"Kaelen," a voice broke through the storm inside his mind. Adria. Soft, yet there was no mistaking the weight in her words. "Are you ready?"
He turned to her, and in the shadows of the night, her face was a mask of determination and fear. Kaelen could feel her gaze pierce through him, searching for the man she once knew, the one who still clung to the faintest vestiges of hope.
"Ready?" He said the word slowly, his voice dead. "How can one be ready for this?" He waved at the village behind them, the people who had put their faith in him. "How can we be ready for what we are about to do?"
Adria took a step closer, her voice a whisper. "We don't have a choice, Kaelen. The Regime won't stop. They'll hunt us down like animals until there's nothing left." Her hand brushed his arm, the fleeting touch heavier than words could convey. "We have to fight, and we have to win."
Kaelen nodded, his eyes straying out to the horizon, beyond which lay the fortress of the Regime, an ebony tribute to the terror they had inflicted upon the land. There would be a battle, unavoidable and relentless. He had known this from the very beginning-the moment he chose to spearhead this rebellion. But as the Rift stirred inside of him, the gnawing doubt began again. Was this truly the right path? Would the victory they wished to attain bring salvation or doom? Was there a difference?
The night wore on in silent passes as the villagers readied for battle. Torches fluttered in the dark, casting twisted shadows on the earth. Kaelen stood at the front of the line, his armor reflecting the light of the flames. His mind was elsewhere, clouded by the relentless voice of the Rift.
"You are the bringer of change," it whispered. "You are he who will shatter the chains that bind this world. There is nothing left now to fear. Only destruction. Only rebirth."
Kaelen clenched his fists. His knuckles were white with tension. The Rift was not his ally; it had become a part of him, soothing and driving him into madness. It had shown him glimmers of what might have been: the fall of the Regime, the razing of the old order. But it had shown him the costs, too. The Rift, like everything else, had come with a price. And the price for unleashing its full power was more than his soul. It was the world itself.
"We move at dawn," Kaelen said, his tone gruff, authoritative. He faced the villagers again. "Remember what we are fighting for: our freedom, for the future, and for the demise of the Regime.
They nodded in silent unity, faces grim, their hearts filled with both fear and resolution. Kaelen knew in the hearts of those who followed him, there was a flicker of hope-a hope that this battle would finally bring the peace they had been denied for so long. But deep down, Kaelen was no longer sure what he was fighting for: peace, freedom, or simply the end of it all.
The army marched under the cover of darkness, the heavy steps of the villagers thundering through the earth like the approach of a storm. The Regime's fortress loomed ahead, an imposing structure of stone and metal. Its walls were thick, its defenses nearly impenetrable. But Kaelen knew this was their only chance. If they did not strike now, the Regime would crush them like it had crushed so many before.
First light, the villagers charged toward the gates of the Regime's fortress. The battle was swift and brutal-a clash of wills. Kaelen led it. There was the ring of metal, screaming, the sound of men falling; for Kaelen, some other place stirred in his mind as they struggled forward-smacked full with strange, intoxicating energy, that of the Rift. It was in the air, in the ground beneath his feet, in the very fabric of the world itself. He could feel it, pulsating, humming, beckoning him.
Then, as they broke through the gates, he saw it—the Noduri Rift. An arc of glowing, shimmering energy, torn open like a wound in the real world. It was here, in this instant, that Kaelen could feel the full force of the Rift's power. It was more than just a tool—it was a living thing, an entity unto itself.
"Do it," the Rift whispered, "take control, destroy the Regime, end it all."
But at that moment, Kaelen hesitated. A sharp pang of guilt-a brief flicker of something human-pierced through the darkness of the Rift that had consumed him. His hand tightened on his sword, and in one motion, he cut through the soldiers that stood in his way.
Adria's voice cut through his haze. "Kaelen! No! This is not the way!"
But it was too late. The Noduri Rift started to pulse, its energy rippling across the battlefield. The ground cracked open beneath them, sending waves of raw power through the Regime's fortress. Soldiers were torn apart, their bodies disintegrating as the Rift's energy engulfed them.
Kaelen stood at the center of it all, consumed by the force of the Rift. His body shook, his mind fragmented, caught between the call for destruction and the fragments of his own humanity. He had crossed the point of no return, and there was no turning back.
A war raged around Kaelen, a storm of fire and blood. Still, the cacophony of battle faded into the back of his mind. He was at the epicentre of chaos, looking down upon the shimmering Noduri Rift, pulsating in sharp, cruel light. The world felt distant, as though he were no longer part of it. His body moved on instinct, his sword slicing through flesh and bone, but his mind. his mind was elsewhere.
"This is it," the Rift whispered, the voice slithering through his thoughts like a serpent. "This is the moment of truth. The Regime falls. You rise. You are the harbinger of a new world. A world where you decide. Do you feel it, Kaelen? The power. the certainty?"
Kaelen's grip tightened upon his sword, slick with blood, but he did not feel it, feel anything-triumph, victory-just … nothing.
It wasn't until finally he heard Adria's voice cut through the haze. "Kaelen! Please! This is not what we wanted! Stop!
The words of her were the ones of a dream, a dream in which he had become entrapped. He hardly heard anymore. The more the Rift was calling to him, the farther he drifted away from the human souls around him. Their screams, their begging, their dying meant little now. His gaze turned back to the Rift, glowing, pulsing, at the core of it all.
"Accept it," the Rift said, "The Regime is nothing. All that is left is power. Your power. Don't hesitate. Now. Destroy them all."
The voices… the voices were louder now. They had always been there, buried beneath the surface of his mind, but now they rose, demanding to be heard. Kaelen's breathing quickened as his mind started to fracture. The memories of his past, his family, village, the people he lost, now blurred and twisted in his mind. The faces that once haunted him, the guilt he had carried, now were distances, like passing shadows.
He raised his sword to strike down another soldier, but the action felt mechanical, detached. The movements were not his own, driven by the Rift, by the darkness that had seeped into his very soul.
"You have become the weapon," the voice of the Rift continued, husky, sweet. "The one who shall shape the future. The one who will decide who shall live and who shall die. You are the ruler now. The world is your plaything."
Kaelen's breath caught and quickened, the weight of those words pressing upon him. He had wanted this, had wanted to destroy the Regime, to take control. But now, with a growing clarity, the cost of that power was becoming clearer: he was losing himself. He was no longer the man he once was. The Rift was consuming him, and he didn't care.
The ground around him exploded in chaos, the earth shaking. Kaelen stood in the midst of it all, his eyes fixed on the Rift, his mind a swirling maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. It was as though the very fabric of reality was tearing apart, and he could feel it deep within him. The power of the Rift was too much-he was too far gone.
The energy of the Rift surged, and the fortress of the Regime shook. The walls cracked, splintering from the pressure. Kaelen's heart was racing, his body shaking, but he could not stop. He did not want to stop. The voices in his head turned louder, begging him to continue, to destroy everything.
"Do it," the Rift cooed. "Destroy them all."
Kaelen stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate, almost in a trance. He felt the world weighing down on him, and the villagers-most of whom had followed and believed in him-scattered behind him, the cries getting lesser and lesser while the destruction claimed them. The walls of the fortress crumbled and the earth rumbled beneath them. The sky seemed to be tearing open, its torrent gushing forth as if it wanted to consume all in its path.
But Kaelen could no longer see the destruction. All he saw was the Rift-the glowing, pulsating, all-consuming Rift.
"Adria…" he muttered, his voice distant, as though he were speaking through a fog. "I can't… I can't stop it…"
The world around him was not real; it was some kind of never-ending dream in which he had to stay asleep. His line of vision began to blur, and his mind grew foggy with the Rift's influences. He was no longer human; he was going to be something else beyond that.
"Kaelen," Adria cried, shaking with fear. "Please, fight it! This isn't you! Not you! Don't let it control you!"
But Kaelen could not hear her. He could not hear anything except the voice of the Rift, calling to him, pulling him deeper into the abyss.
"Yes…," whispered the Rift, its voice wrapping itself around his consciousness in tendrils of darkness. "Embrace chaos. Let go of your humanity. Let go of your weakness. You are stronger now. You are a god. They are nothing. They are beneath you."
Kaelen felt his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts. He felt the weight of his actions now-the lives he had taken, the lives he had sacrificed to reach this point. Was it worth it? Was this what he had wanted? Was this the price of power?
The Rift's voice yelled on down his mind, urging onward, and it fed into that swelling part of him in the dark. "You are master now," the voice hissed, "and naught remains but ruling."
His grip on his sword tightened as the Rift's energy surged through him, consuming him utterly. He could feel the life force of the soldiers around him, their pain, their fear, their deaths-all of it feeding the Rift, feeding his power.
And then, there was nothing. The battlefield fell silent.
Kaelen stood amidst the ruin, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that tugged at his soul. The villagers were gone. The Regime was in ruins. The Rift pulsed in the distance, its glow brighter than ever, but Kaelen felt… empty. Hollow.
He had won, but at what cost?
The world was silent. The chaos, the destruction, the pain-all of it had faded into nothing.
Kaelen knelt alone amidst the wreckage, his breathing shallow and slow, his hands shaking. The battlefield around him was still, as if Time itself had stopped to catch its breath, to continue its merciless march. The smoke of the ruins curled upwards to the sky, the sun burning a dull, indifferent orange above him. His body was battered, blood-stained, but it was the emptiness inside him that made the pain seem insignificant.
The useless dull sword lay there by his side on the ground now. The shrieks, screaming, battle—now all heard so far behind, like this last echo of a dream disappearing. He looks up to the skies, his empty eyes as in search of something that was just not there.
"Was this worth it?" Kaelen asked in a whisper toward the heavens. It was quiet, barely heard, but as a cut against silence, the sharpness hit home.
He had brought destruction upon the village, his people, their lives, his life, and all of human existence-what for? To topple the Regime and court the power of the Rift… for what awaited him across the breach was nothing but a victory devoid of depth.
The Rift was gone now, but its influence no longer pressed down on him. Yet the echoes lingered on, reverberations throughout the dark corners of his mind, entwining his thoughts in a maze he could not escape. The power, the control-it had consumed him, and now… it was gone.
His fingers quivered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Movements slow, deliberate, the flicker of the lighter illuminated his face for a brief moment, showing the hollowness, the brokenness of the expression etched into his features. He took a drag, filling his lungs with smoke, the harshness a sharp juxtaposition to the quiet around him.
"I thought I was fighting for something," Kaelen grumbled, exhaling the smoke out slowly. "But now. now it makes me wonder whether everything was only done in order to fill the emptiness inside me."
The cigarette had long since burned to the filter between his fingers, but Kaelen did nothing to put it out. His mind was spiraling, twisting, consumed by that very darkness he had once fought with every fiber to escape. The weight of his actions-the lives he had taken, the lives he had destroyed-crushed him with a force he had never known.
"Is this the price of power?" He closed his eyes, the words a bitter taste on his lips. "To become so lost in it, so consumed by it, that you don't even recognize yourself anymore?"
Now, there was an eerie serenity in his mind, as though the futility of it all had finally sunken in. He had fought for freedom, for justice, but all he'd ever done was to become just another tyrant. Just another tool of destruction. This war was never about the Regime; it had always been about this void inside. It had always been the emptiness inside that he'd tried to fill with blood and fire and violence.
He plunged a hand into the coat pocket again, his fingers caressing the cold metal of the pistol he had carried since it all started. The weight felt reassuringly familiar, comforting even in its chill. He just stood there staring at it, thoughts swirling through his mind in the long silent instant, but nothing was weighing in on him; no doubts or fear.
This was it. The end. The last act.
"I thought I was a hero. I thought I was something more than just a man," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind that had begun to stir around him. "But I was wrong. I was just another fool. A fool who thought he could change the world, only to destroy himself in the process."
Kaelen raised the pistol to his head, hands trembling ever so slightly. The weight of it in his hands was almost a release, the final release from the prison that was his mind. He had fought so long, so desperately, only to find the true battle was within himself.
"What if there is no redemption?" he whispered, his voice a broken whisper. "What if this is the end, and there is nothing left?"
The world was quiet. The sun had fallen low, casting long shadows over the world. He shut his eyes. His thoughts whipped around his head like a maelstrom. For an instant, he thought he heard the Rift's voice again, a distant, dim whisper.
"You don't have to do this."
But it was too late. Kaelen's hand was steady now, the cold metal pressed against his temple. The weight of the gun felt like nothing compared to the weight of his own soul. He had given everything for this moment-for the power, for the revolution-but now, he saw it all for what it truly was.
Foolish. Empty.
It would continue to go round, irrespective of whether he was part of it or not.
He took one final, shaking breath.
"I am not the man I was. And I never will be again."
And with that, the world fell silent once more.
"The world is nothing but a tale we tell ourselves to fill the void. And in the end, no more than specters of our own regrets, walking toward the abyss, feigning the ability to outrun it."