The air was thick with dread.
Eldermere stood on the edge of silence, its people gathered along the wooden walls, staring out at the valley below.
The army of House Margrave had arrived.
And they did not move.
They stood in perfect stillness, their ranks stretching across the valley in a sea of black and silver armor. Their banners, marked with the three-eyed raven, barely stirred in the cold wind.
It was unnatural.
Soldiers, no matter how disciplined, always fidgeted. Shifted their weight. Whispered among themselves.
But these knights?
They were as motionless as statues.
Aric's hands clenched into fists.
The Rift had reacted violently when they approached. And now, as the knights stood before them, he felt it again.
A pressure in the air.
A sense of something wrong.
Something watching.
The silence stretched too long.
Lira, standing at Aric's side, muttered under her breath. "They should've sent a messenger by now."
Kael, perched on the edge of the watchtower, flicked a dagger between his fingers. "Maybe they're waiting for us to panic."
Aric exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. He would not give them that satisfaction.
His voice was steady. "Open the gates."
The command was met with uneasy glances.
But no one disobeyed.
The heavy wooden gates of Eldermere groaned as they were pulled open, revealing a path to the valley below.
And only then—did the knights move.
A single rider broke from the army's formation.
Slow. Deliberate.
His horse's hooves barely made a sound against the frost-covered earth.
The figure was draped in black and silver, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. A noble.
But there was something wrong about him.
Even from a distance, Aric felt it.
The air around the rider seemed heavier, distorted.
Lira inhaled sharply. "Look at his face."
Aric's gaze sharpened.
The noble's features were obscured by a mask, smooth and polished like dark obsidian.
But his eyes—
They were glowing.
Not with human warmth, not with the reflection of light.
Something else.
A deep, unnatural silver, swirling like mist trapped within glass.
Kael muttered a curse. "What the hell is that?"
Aric had no answer.
Because this was not just a noble.
This was something else.
And it had come for him.
The rider reined in his horse several paces from the gates.
For a moment, he said nothing.
The silence dragged.
Then—he spoke.
And the air trembled.
"Aric of Eldermere."
His voice was wrong.
It did not belong to one man.
It was layered—a whisper and a shout, speaking at the same time.
The villagers standing along the walls shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away, crossing themselves.
Even Lira, who had faced battle without flinching, tensed.
Aric stepped forward. "You have my name. I don't have yours."
The noble tilted his head just slightly.
"I am merely a voice. A herald."
His silver eyes gleamed beneath the mask.
"And I bring a message from House Margrave."
Aric's jaw tightened. "Speak, then."
The noble's hands remained motionless on the reins.
But his presence pressed forward, suffocating.
"Eldermere is no longer yours."
A sharp, cold wind cut through the air.
The villagers murmured behind Aric.
The noble's next words rang like steel striking stone.
"Kneel before House Margrave. Swear your loyalty. And you will live."
His glowing silver eyes did not blink.
"Refuse—and be consumed."
Silence.
Lira exhaled sharply. "That's not a negotiation. That's a threat."
Kael scoffed, twirling his dagger lazily. "At least they're honest."
Aric's fingers twitched at his side.
The Rift pulsed.
Louder.
Harder.
As if it rejected the noble's presence.
Aric's voice was steady. "You speak of consuming Eldermere as if it's already yours."
The noble did not blink. "It will be."
Aric narrowed his eyes. "And if we fight?"
The noble was silent for a moment.
Then, very slowly, he raised one gloved hand.
And snapped his fingers.
The reaction was instant.
The knights of House Margrave—all of them, every last one—drew their swords in unison.
Not like men preparing for battle.
Not like soldiers bracing for war.
Like puppets obeying a single command.
The sound was deafening.
Metal scraping against metal.
The wind held its breath.
The Rift shuddered.
And for the first time since this war began—
Aric felt cold.
----
The Rift did not like him.
The moment the noble emissary snapped his fingers, something shifted in the air.
A low vibration trembled through the earth, like a slow heartbeat beneath the surface.
Then—a pulse.
Not seen.
Not heard.
Felt.
It rippled outward from the Rift's scar, rolling through the valley like an unseen wave.
For the first time, the knights of House Margrave reacted.
They did not flinch.
They did not stagger.
But every single one of them turned their heads.
In perfect synchronization.
Toward the Rift.
As if they had heard something.
Aric felt something.
A whisper. Not words. Not a voice.
But a pull.
An urge.
Like fingers curling around his ribs, dragging him forward.
It wanted him closer.
The Rift was calling him.
And the knights were listening.
Lira took a sharp step back. "Did they just—"
Kael cut her off. "Yeah. They did."
The noble emissary's silver-glowing eyes did not move.
He simply waited.
As if he already knew what Aric would say.
Aric forced his hands to remain still at his sides.
Even though every instinct screamed at him to draw his blade.
He spoke, voice cold and sharp.
"You want me to kneel?"
The emissary inclined his head ever so slightly.
"It is not a request."
Aric held his gaze.
The Rift pulsed again.
The knights' armor hummed.
And deep down, Aric understood.
This was never about conquering Eldermere.
This was about him.
House Margrave had come for him.
The Rift had woken for him.
And the two forces—one mortal, one beyond understanding—were now in conflict.
The Rift rejected the noble.
And the noble rejected the Rift.
Which meant that whatever lay beyond that storming scar in the earth…
It knew Aric was its own.
Lira's hand was already on her blade.
Kael had stopped smirking. His stance had shifted—just slightly. Ready for a fight.
Aric let one last second pass.
Then he spoke.
His voice was calm. Cold.
"Go back to House Margrave."
A single breath of silence.
The emissary did not blink.
Aric's next words cut the air like a blade.
"And tell them I don't kneel."
The Rift shuddered.
The knights moved.
The noble emissary tilted his head.
And then—
He smiled.
It was not a human smile.
It was wrong.
Too slow.
Too precise.
Like someone who had practiced the movement without ever knowing what it meant.
His lips curved, but his eyes remained empty.
And then he spoke.
The words sent ice through Aric's veins.
"Then the first death begins."
He turned his horse without another word.
Rode calmly back to the waiting army.
And behind him—
Every knight, without a sound, raised their swords.
In perfect, eerie, absolute unison.