The sky above Eldermere churned.
Storm clouds, black and unnatural, pulsed with the same energy that had seeped from the Rift since the battle began. They swirled in slow, deliberate movements as if the Rift itself was breathing.
The valley below had changed.
Where once there had been farmland and forests, there was now only a shifting landscape of mist and ruin. The Rift's glow pulsed beneath the surface, cracks of violet light running through the earth-like veins. And at the center of it all—standing at the edge of the valley—were the Riftmarked.
Hundreds of them. Silent. Waiting.
Their armor was tattered, their weapons rusted, but there was no mistaking the purpose of their stance. They were not here to negotiate.
They were here for him.
Aric stood atop the eastern wall, watching them. He did not speak. He did not need to.
Because he could hear them.
The Riftmarked did not shout.
Did not raise banners.
Did not call for surrender.
Instead, one figure stepped forward.
A man clad in a darkened plate, his armor adorned with sigils from a kingdom long dead. His face was partially hidden beneath a broken helm, but his voice carried through the valley like a whisper only Aric could hear.
"You were never meant to stay here."
The words sent a chill through him.
"You have walked too long in the skin of a man. You have pretended to be something you are not."
The Rift pulsed.
"No more."
A pause.
Then—
"Come with us. Or die a false king."
----
Aric turned his gaze westward.
The noble army—what remained of it—had regrouped on the opposite side of Eldermere. Their banners fluttered in the dying light, though their numbers had dwindled since the siege began.
House Valtor's men stood at the front, their leader barely visible through the haze of torches and steel. Behind them, the remnants of House Margrave's forces prepared for one final stand.
Aric could see it in their posture.
They would not retreat.
They would not surrender.
And if they could not win…
They would burn everything down before letting him take it.
The first sign was the fire.
A single torch tossed carelessly onto the thatched roofs of the outermost houses. Then another. And another.
Within seconds, smoke began curling into the sky.
The village was burning.
Aric's grip on his sword tightened.
The Riftmarked stood waiting behind him.
The nobles stood defiant before him.
And in the middle—Eldermere was caught between two forces that would see it destroyed.
----
"You can still leave."
Lira's voice was quiet, but it cut through the chaos like a blade.
Aric turned to find her standing a few feet away, watching him. Her expression was unreadable, but there was something desperate in her eyes.
"You don't have to do this," she said.
Aric exhaled slowly. "Do what?"
"This." She gestured toward the valley, toward the Riftmarked who stood motionless, waiting. "You're not like them. You don't have to be like them."
Aric studied her carefully. "You don't believe that."
She let out a short breath, shaking her head. "No," she admitted. "I don't. But I need you to believe it."
He said nothing.
Because deep down—he wasn't sure he did.
Lira stepped closer. "This war doesn't end here. You know that. Even if you take Eldermere, even if you win—this doesn't stop. The Rift will never stop calling you."
The Rift pulsed.
Aric closed his eyes briefly, listening to the hum of its power beneath his skin.
"Leave," Lira said again. "Before you become something you can't control."
Aric opened his eyes.
"You think it's too late, don't you?" he asked.
Lira hesitated. Then, quietly—"I think it was always too late."
A cold wind swept through the ruins of the village.
The Riftmarked did not move.
The nobles did not falter.
And the Rift waited.
By dawn—everything would change.
----
Eldermere was crumbling.
Not from war.
Not from siege engines or an enemy at its gates.
But from fear.
The moment the Riftmarked appeared in the valley, the villagers knew.
This wasn't just another battle.
This wasn't just another war.
This was something else.
Something unnatural.
And so, one by one, they began to flee.
Aric stood on the wall, watching as carts rolled out from the village, packed with whatever families could carry. Farmers and blacksmiths, mothers and children—they loaded their belongings onto wagons, their eyes darting between the looming Riftmarked and the noble army ready to set their homes ablaze.
Some went on foot, leading their animals toward the river, toward the hills beyond.
Others simply ran.
No direction, no plan—just a desperate, frantic need to get away.
A man shoved past another, pushing his way through the thinning crowd. A woman screamed as she tripped over a broken cart wheel, her child crying at her side.
Order was breaking.
And no one could stop it.
"We're losing them."
Kael's voice was quiet, but firm.
Aric didn't turn. He continued watching as more and more villagers disappeared into the distance.
"They were never mine to keep," he murmured.
Kael exhaled sharply. "If you keep thinking like that, soon you won't have anything left at all."
Aric didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure if that was wrong.
----
The Rift had whispered before.
Soft, distant. A presence at the edge of his thoughts.
But now—
Now, it spoke.
And this time, it was clear.
You were never meant to rule them.
Aric stilled.
The battlefield around him blurred, faded, and fell away.
He was standing nowhere.
Nothing but darkness. Nothing but a void stretching endlessly around him.
And in the center—
The Rift.
Not as a tear in reality. Not as a force of destruction.
But as a throne.
Standing tall. Rising from the abyss.
Waiting.
"Who am I?" Aric's voice cut through the void.
The Rift answered.
You are what was lost.
You are what was promised.
You are Aelthar.
The name sent a shock through his chest.
A name from another time. Another life.
A name he should not remember, but did.
He clenched his fists, willing himself to wake. To pull himself away from this place.
But the Rift had no intention of letting go.
It pulsed.
And for the first time—
It commanded.
Return to us.
----
The vision shattered.
Aric was back on the wall, his breath uneven.
Lira and Kael were still there. The village was still falling apart before his eyes.
But the Rift's words had not faded.
And its presence had not left him.
"You have to make a choice."
Kael's voice was too steady.
Aric looked at him, searching for something—doubt, hesitation, anything that showed this wasn't real.
But it was.
And Kael wasn't done.
"By morning, Eldermere will be gone," he said. "You know that."
Aric turned his gaze back toward the Riftmarked.
Still waiting.
Still watching.
Still calling him.
And for the first time—
Aric truly didn't know what to do.
Because every step he had taken, every war he had fought—had led to this.
This was the moment that decided everything.
Would he fight for Eldermere?
Or would he become what he was always meant to be?
The Rift pulsed again.
And Aric closed his eyes.