The gates of Eldermere lay in ruin.
Smoke choked the air, thick with the scent of burning wood and blood-soaked earth. The shattered remains of the barricade lay in splinters, and through the smoldering wreckage—
Death poured in.
House Margrave's knights flooded the streets, moving with eerie precision.
They did not sprint like raiders.
They did not roar battle cries like conquerors.
They moved steadily, advancing with the weight of inevitability.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Their boots crushed bodies underfoot, trampling over the fallen without care, without hesitation.
Their silver armor gleamed under the Rift-tainted sky, streaked with fresh blood.
And their swords—
Never stopped swinging.
Aric barely had a moment to breathe before the first knight was upon him.
The blade came fast, a flash of silver aiming for his throat.
He ducked low, the edge whistling past his ear.
His counterstrike was instinct.
Steel met flesh.
His sword sank deep into the knight's abdomen, piercing through chainmail and bone.
A fatal wound.
And yet—
The knight did not fall.
Aric's stomach twisted.
The knight stared at him, empty black voids where his eyes should have been.
No gasp of pain.
No recoil.
Just silent, unflinching malice.
The knight grabbed Aric's blade with his bare hands, forcing the steel deeper into his own body.
Then—
He lunged forward.
Lira's dagger flashed.
It buried itself into the knight's exposed throat, her other hand ripping Aric backward.
The knight staggered.
Twitched.
And then—
He took another step.
Lira let out a sharp breath.
"Are you f**king kidding me?"
Chaos consumed Eldermere.
The villagers fought desperately, but it was a slaughter.
The knights did not fall like men.
Some, after being run through with spears, simply pulled the weapons free and kept moving.
Some, after losing limbs, continued to fight with their remaining strength.
Some did not stop even after being decapitated.
Their bodies kept swinging.
Their heads lay in the dirt, still whispering.
Aric saw one of his men drive an axe into a knight's skull—
And the knight, without hesitation, grabbed the axe and drove it into his attacker's chest.
Blood sprayed.
Another defender collapsed, screaming.
And still—
The knights pressed forward.
----
Aric knew.
If they lost the square, Eldermere was gone.
"Form up!" he roared.
His warriors rallied, forming a tight circle around the well at the heart of the village.
Shields locked together.
Spears lowered.
They would not survive if they scattered.
Kael stood at Aric's side, his sword drenched in blood.
"We can't hold this forever," he muttered. "Where the fk are they all coming from?"
Aric didn't have an answer.
Because it didn't make sense.
House Margrave's army was large—but not endless.
And yet—
The knights kept coming.
Filling the streets.
Flowing through the village like a tide.
For every knight that fell—
Two more took its place.
A horn sounded from the rooftops.
Aric turned—
And his blood ran cold.
The knights were no longer just coming from the gates.
They were emerging from the ground.
The black soil split open, the earth cracking like dry stone.
And from the rift-torn dirt, knights crawled upward.
Not climbing.
Not struggling.
Rising.
As if the land itself was birthing them.
Their silver armor was caked in dirt, their blackened helmets dripping with thick, unnatural sludge.
They pulled themselves free, gripping their swords—
And they turned toward Aric.
-----
A low hum filled the air.
It wasn't a sound.
Not really.
It was a presence.
A vibration through his bones, his skin, his blood.
The Rift was changing.
It was no longer just an opening in the world.
It was awake.
The sky twisted.
The storm clouds pulled into unnatural spirals, flickering with green-blue light.
The air thickened, pressing down on Eldermere like a weighted blanket.
And Aric—
Aric felt it inside him.
A pull.
A whisper.
A call.
He clenched his jaw, shoving it away.
Not now.
Not yet.
But the Rift—
The Rift was no longer waiting.
It was reaching for him.
Lira gritted her teeth.
"Aric."
Her voice was low, urgent.
He turned.
And then—
He saw it.
Something was stepping through.
At the edge of the village, just past the battlefield—
A shadow moved.
Not a knight.
Not a man.
Something taller.
Something ancient.
Something that should not exist.
And it was looking at him.
The Rift shuddered violently.
The air cracked, bending around the entity.
And then—
It spoke.
Not with words.
Not with a voice.
But in his mind.
"You were the Emperor.
You will be again."
----
The air cracked like splitting bone.
A pressure descended over the battlefield, so thick it felt like drowning in tar.
Every soldier—knight and villager alike—froze.
Something was stepping through.
And it wasn't human.
Aric's breath hitched.
The storm above twisted violently, swirling like a vast, open eye.
The Rift throbbed, no longer just a wound in the earth, but something alive.
Something hungry.
And from its depths—
A figure emerged.
It was taller than any man.
Not a giant. Not a beast.
But something worse.
Its form was wrapped in a shifting, smoke-like cloak, its edges dissolving into the air like mist.
But beneath that veil—
A body of living shadow.
Its limbs were elongated, unnaturally slender, yet held the weight of something ancient.
Its fingers were long, tapering into clawed, blackened tips.
And its head—
No face.
Just a smooth, blank void.
Yet Aric knew it was watching him.
A horrible silence fell.
The knights of House Margrave—
They stopped.
They turned.
Not toward the villagers.
Not toward the defenders.
Toward the entity.
And then—
They knelt.
Lira gasped.
Kael's hand froze on his blade.
The knights—the enemy—
Were kneeling to this thing.
As if it were a king.
No—
As if it were their god.
The entity took its first step forward.
Its movement was silent.
Effortless.
Yet with every step—
The ground shuddered beneath it.
Reality itself bent in its wake.
Shadows twisted unnaturally, stretching toward the creature like starving hands.
Fires snuffed out.
And the air—
The air grew cold.
Aric's heart pounded.
His instincts screamed to run.
To flee.
To get as far away as possible.
And yet—
He didn't move.
Because something deeper held him in place.
Something older than fear.
Recognition.
The creature halted before him.
Then—
It spoke.
Not with words.
Not with sound.
But directly into his mind.
----
"You were the Emperor."
The voice was not one voice.
It was thousands.
A chorus of whispers, layered over one another, some deep as the abyss, some light as a dying breath.
Each word crawled inside his skull, pulling at something buried deep within him.
And then—
It spoke again.
"You will be again."
A horrible clarity crashed through him.
Memories he did not remember—
Visions of thrones made of bone.
A vast empire lost to time.
A kingdom he had ruled before—
And would rule again.
Because this thing—
This thing knew him.
Not as Aric.
Not as the warlord of Eldermere.
But as something more.
Something he had forgotten.
Something the Rift wanted him to reclaim.
His breathing came shallow, uneven.
Lira's voice snapped through the haze.
"Aric!"
She grabbed his arm, yanking him back to the present.
"Whatever that thing is—it knows you."
Her green eyes burned with fear.
"And that means we need to run. Now."
The entity did not follow.
It did not need to.
Because Aric had already heard it.
And he knew—
This battle was no longer about Eldermere.
It was about him.
Because the Rift was not an enemy.
It was a throne.
And it was calling him home.