The path before them stretched into a hollow abyss of mist and silence. The further they walked, the more the world seemed to bend around them—shadows deepened, the air thickened, and the stars above flickered unnaturally.
Aric had stopped questioning it.
Everything about the Rift defied reason, and by now, he had learned that trying to make sense of it was pointless.
The Riftmarked warriors surrounding him moved without hesitation, their footsteps eerily synchronized. They knew where they were going.
Aric wasn't sure if that comforted him or terrified him.
The deeper they traveled into the valley, the more the terrain changed. The ground beneath them cracked in long, jagged fractures, pulsing faintly with something beneath the surface. The air grew heavier, almost pressurized as if something unseen was watching their every move.
Aric could feel it.
Not just as an observer—as a part of it.
This place wasn't unknown to him.
It was familiar.
His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling against his palm.
The Rift pulsed again.
A whisper curled at the edge of his thoughts.
You are home.
His breath came slower. He clenched his jaw. No. This wasn't home. This was madness.
And yet, his feet kept moving forward.
----
They crested the final ridge, and there it was.
A city.
Aric stopped.
The ruins stretched farther than his eyes could see. Towering structures of black stone jutted out from the cracked earth, their surfaces lined with glowing veins of Rift-light. Some of the buildings had collapsed into themselves, swallowed by time, but others…
Others stood untouched.
Aric's breath slowed.
He knew this place.
Not just as ruins.
Not just as echoes of something old and forgotten.
No—he remembered walking these streets.
He had seen them before they crumbled.
And that thought sent ice crawling down his spine.
Kael let out a slow, sharp breath beside him. "That's… that's not possible."
Aric didn't answer.
Because it was possible.
Because it was real.
The Riftmarked warriors halted at the edge of the ruins as if waiting for something.
Or someone.
Aric took another step forward, and as his foot touched the broken stone, the city seemed to breathe.
A low hum reverberated beneath his skin, deep and slow. Not sound—a sensation.
Like the remnants of something once alive.
Kael cursed under his breath. "I hate this. I hate every second of this."
Lira was silent.
She wasn't looking at the city.
She was looking at him.
And Aric knew what she saw.
The way his posture had shifted. The way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was remembering how to move in a place that should have been lost.
But it wasn't lost.
Not to him.
The Rift pulsed again.
And for the first time, Aric wasn't sure if he was standing in the present—or reliving something from a life that no longer belonged to him.
----
He reached out, fingers brushing against the nearest wall.
The moment his skin met the stone—
The world lurched.
Darkness surged over his vision, and suddenly, he was somewhere else.
The ruins were no longer ruins.
The stone was polished and pristine. The sky above was not fractured with Rift-light—it was a deep, endless blue.
And the streets?
They were alive.
People moved through them, cloaked figures adorned in silver and black, their eyes glowing faintly with power. The air shimmered with magic, a force woven into the very foundation of the city.
And at the center of it all—
A palace.
A throne.
Aric inhaled sharply.
He wasn't just seeing the past.
He was standing in it.
A name drifted through his mind, unbidden, spoken in a voice he didn't recognize—but felt like his own.
Velmiris.
The city's name.
His city.
Then—
A scream.
Aric's vision snapped back.
The ruins reappeared, the Riftmarked still standing at his side, Kael and Lira watching him with wary expressions.
His hands trembled.
Velmiris.
The name rang in his skull like an old wound being reopened.
He had been here before.
But not as Aric.
As Aelthar.
The Rift pulsed once more, its whispers crawling through his mind.
Do you see it now?
Do you remember?
Aric let out a slow breath.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I remember."
But he wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
----
The silence was thick enough to suffocate.
Aric stood motionless, fingers still pressed against the ancient stone wall, his breathing slow but heavy. His pulse pounded against his skull, the weight of the vision settling into his bones like something physical.
He could still see Velmiris in his mind—not as ruins, but as it had once been.
The power. The people. The throne.
It wasn't a memory.
It was a reminder.
A shiver crawled down his spine, but before he could speak, Kael shifted behind him, exhaling sharply.
"Okay," Kael muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm just gonna say it—this place is wrong."
Aric turned, blinking away the last remnants of the vision. "It's just ruins."
Kael gave him a deadpan stare. "Right. Just ruins that make the Rift whisper in your damn head. Just ruins that somehow look like you've walked through them before."
Aric didn't respond.
Because he wasn't wrong.
Kael exhaled through his nose, running a hand over the bandage on his arm. His injuries had slowed him, but not enough to dull his instincts. His shoulders were tight with tension, his gaze flickering between Aric and the towering structures that loomed around them.
"Why does it feel like the walls are watching us?" Kael muttered.
Lira, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Because they are."
Kael shot her a sharp look. "That was supposed to be rhetorical."
Lira didn't answer.
Instead, she tilted her chin toward the tallest building at the city's center—the throne hall, or what remained of it.
"Something is in there," she murmured. "Waiting."
Aric followed her gaze, his fingers twitching at his side.
She was right.
The Riftmarked had stopped at the city's edge. They weren't following anymore. They weren't guiding.
Because they had already brought him where they needed him to be.
Now, it was his turn to step forward.
And whatever was waiting in that hall—it was waiting for him.
----
The air changed as soon as they stepped inside.
The moment Aric crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped. The space around them stretched as if the walls were breathing, shifting, adjusting to their presence.
Faint glimmers of Rift-light pulsed in the cracks of the black stone, casting eerie, shifting shadows along the broken floor. The architecture was unlike anything Aric had seen in this lifetime—tall, curved pillars that twisted toward the ceiling like reaching arms, archways that seemed too perfect, too deliberate.
A throne room.
Or at least, what had once been one.
The grand chamber was hollowed out, the remnants of banners long faded, their insignias unrecognizable. The throne itself—a massive obsidian seat at the far end of the hall—stood untouched by time, its surface smooth and polished, reflecting the faint Rift light in a way that made it look almost… alive.
Kael took a slow step forward.
"I hate this," he muttered. "I hate this so much."
Lira didn't speak, but her stance was rigid, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword.
They weren't alone.
Aric felt it before he saw it.
The presence.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then—
A figure moved at the edge of the throne room.
Kael's hand went to his weapon immediately. "Shit—"
"Wait," Aric muttered.
The figure didn't charge.
It didn't attack.
It simply stood there.
The shadows clung to its form, making it difficult to make out details. But Aric could see enough—the broad frame, the long cloak that dragged along the ruined floor.
And then, as the Rift pulsed once more, the figure spoke.
"You've kept us waiting, Aelthar."
Aric's blood ran cold.
The voice was low, deep, and old.
Not just in years—but in something else.
The weight of history, of time.
Of memory.
Aric clenched his fists. "That's not my name."
The figure tilted its head slightly, like a predator studying its prey.
"It was," it murmured. "And it will be again."
Aric's pulse thundered in his ears.
He took a slow step forward, ignoring the way Kael tensed at his side.
"And who the hell are you supposed to be?" Aric asked.
The figure finally stepped out of the shadows, and for the first time, Aric got a clear look at its face.
His breath caught in his throat.
Because he knew this man.
Not in this life.
Not as Aric.
But as Aelthar.
The memories came rushing back before he could stop them.
Flashes of battles.
Loyalty.
Betrayal.
The man before him had once knelt before his throne. Had once fought at his side. Had once sworn his life to him.
But now, he stood against him.
Aric's fingers twitched. "You're dead."
The man smiled—a cold, knowing smile.
"So are you."
----
The Rift pulsed one last time.
The city trembled.
The walls vibrated, the very foundations shifting beneath their feet. Rift light surged through the cracks in the stone, running along the floor like veins bursting to life.
The throne at the far end of the room shuddered.
Kael cursed, stepping back. "What the hell is happening—?"
Lira unsheathed her sword, her stance lowering, her instincts screaming at her to move.
The man before them didn't flinch.
Instead, his gaze stayed locked onto Aric's, and he smiled.
"It remembers you," he murmured.
The throne pulsed.
Aric's body seized.
Pain lanced through his skull, visions slamming into his mind like a blade through flesh.
The city wasn't just waking up.
It was remembering.
It was remembering him.
Flashes of faces, voices, names he had forgotten.
They whispered through his mind like ghosts clawing for a way back into the world.
You built this place.
You ruled it.
And then you burned it down.
Aric gasped, stumbling back, his vision fracturing.
The Rift wasn't just pulling him closer.
It was dragging him back.
The man—his former ally, his former knight—tilted his head.
And then he knelt.
"Aelthar has returned," he whispered.
The city shuddered.
And deep beneath the ruins, something stirred.