The moment Aric's fingers grazed the cold, polished surface of the throne—the world cracked.
A force slammed into his chest, not with impact, but with gravity. The air ripped away, his breath vanishing as his mind was wrenched backward.
Darkness folded around him.
Then—
The past roared to life.
The ruins disappeared.
Velmiris was no longer a corpse of a city. It breathed, alive with golden light and towering spires. The Rift's glow shimmered through the streets—not the unstable fractures of magic he knew today, but controlled, refined, woven into the very foundation of the empire.
This was Velmiris at its height.
His throne room was full.
Armored warriors lined the marble floors, their helmets gleaming in the candlelight, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Cloaked figures—**advisors, mages, strategists—**stood behind them, faces unreadable but attentive.
And there, at the center—
Aelthar sat upon his throne.
Aric was looking at himself.
Not as he was now.
As he had been then.
The man on the throne was not just a king.
He was a ruler of an empire that stretched beyond the horizon, held together by power, fear, and the Rift's unbreakable grasp.
And worst of all—he looked at Aric.
Not through him. Not past him.
At him.
Aric's breath stalled.
His past self knew he was here.
And he was waiting.
----
Aelthar leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.
Aric couldn't move. He wasn't just an observer in this vision—he was inside it. Trapped.
The air was thick, and heavy with something more than memory.
It was power.
And then—the room around him shifted.
The throne faded. The court dissolved.
Aric was somewhere else.
Velmiris stretched before him, its skyline gilded in Riftlight, a city not just alive, but thriving. Soldiers patrolled the streets, their uniforms marked with the sigil of the empire. Markets bustled with merchants, their stalls lined with goods not just from this world, but from others.
Magic was everywhere.
Controlled. Mastered. Bent to the will of the empire.
Aric felt something deep in his bones.
He had built this.
He had ruled this.
And the people had feared him.
A whisper curled through the air, threading into his mind like silk.
"You were a god to them."
Aric spun.
Aelthar stood behind him.
No longer on his throne. No longer distant.
He was here.
And he was smiling.
"You feel it, don't you?" Aelthar murmured.
Aric swallowed hard. "This… this is just a vision."
Aelthar tilted his head. "Is it?"
The Rift pulsed.
The city around them shimmered.
And suddenly—
Aric remembered everything.
----
A flash—
And the sky turned red.
The golden spires of Velmiris cracked. The Riftlight that had once shimmered through the streets burned black.
And the people—
The people were screaming.
Aric's breath came fast, his pulse hammering as he turned—the empire was collapsing.
Soldiers fought in the streets, their once-loyal banners torn and aflame. Riftborn creatures twisted into monstrosities roamed between the buildings, their forms no longer bound by human shape.
This was not war.
This was annihilation.
Aric's knees felt weak. His mind struggled to pull away, to wake up, to escape.
But Aelthar's voice was still there. Close. Dangerous. Inevitable.
"Do you see it now?"
Aric couldn't speak.
"You ruled the world."
Aelthar stepped beside him, gaze fixed on the burning city, his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was not one of grief.
It was understanding.
"And they destroyed you for it."
Aric felt his pulse hammer against his ribs.
The memories were clearer now. The betrayal.
The one who had turned against him.
He tried to grasp the face, the name, the moment—but it slipped through his mind like sand through fingers.
The Rift pulsed again.
"This was your empire, Aelthar," Aelthar murmured. "And they ripped it from your hands. But the Rift… the Rift never forgot. The Rift never let you go."
Aric felt his knees buckle.
The sky cracked, splitting open in veins of black light.
The throne room returned.
The vision of the burning empire faded.
And Aric was back in the ruins.
The Riftmarked still knelt before him.
Vaelthas still stood, waiting.
Kael and Lira still stared, horror and desperation warring on their faces.
The throne pulsed beneath his fingers.
He felt different.
Because this wasn't just memory.
It was rewriting him.
And Aric realized, too late—
The Rift wasn't just showing him the past.
It was bringing it back.
Aric staggered back from the throne, his breath ragged, his vision swimming.
The weight of **what he had just seen—what he had just lived—**pressed against his skull, thick and suffocating. The images of Velmiris, once golden and thriving, now burned into his memory.
The screams.
The blood.
The betrayal.
His hands trembled.
He could still feel the fire, the weight of the empire at its peak, the absolute power he had once commanded. It had been his.
And it had been taken from him.
The Rift pulsed beneath his skin.
No—inside his skin.
Like something had settled into his bones.
Something that had never truly left.
"Aric!"
A voice—Kael.
Aric barely registered it before hands gripped his shoulders.
His head snapped up, and suddenly, Kael's face was in front of him, eyes wild with something between fear and rage.
"Talk to me!" Kael hissed, shaking him once. "What the fuck was that? What the hell just happened to you?"
Aric tried to answer—tried to push through the thick fog pressing against his mind—but his mouth felt foreign, heavy, wrong.
It wasn't just his own anymore.
Kael's grip tightened. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," Aric rasped, but his voice sounded off.
Too low.
Too distant.
Like it didn't belong to him.
Kael's expression darkened. "Bullshit."
Before Aric could argue, Lira's voice cut through the tense air.
"We need to move."
Her tone was sharp, but not with urgency—with calculation. She wasn't just looking at him.
She was analyzing him.
Weighing him.
And for the first time, Aric saw something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
Doubt.
Kael saw it too.
"You don't trust him," Kael muttered.
Lira exhaled slowly. "I don't trust whatever the Rift just did to him."
----
Kael turned back to Aric.
"Tell me she's wrong," he demanded. "Tell me you're still you."
Aric opened his mouth—but hesitated.
Because the truth was…
He didn't know.
He could still feel the throne's pulse in his veins. The Rift's whispers had not faded. The weight of Aelthar's memories pressed at the edges of his mind, not like a vision, but like a presence.
Like he wasn't alone inside his head anymore.
Kael's fingers curled into fists.
"Gods," Kael muttered. "You're considering it."
Aric tensed. "Considering what?"
Kael gestured to the throne—to the city—to the Riftmarked still kneeling at his feet.
"This," Kael snapped. "Them. Him." He motioned toward Vaelthas, the knight who had once served him in another life. "You think any of this is real?"
"It is real," Vaelthas said smoothly.
"Shut the fuck up," Kael snarled.
Vaelthas did not flinch.
Neither did the Riftmarked.
They had no reason to.
Because in their eyes, this was not a battle.
It was a coronation.
And Aric knew, with a sickening certainty—
If he sat upon that throne, they would follow him.
No matter what.
No matter who he became.
Lira took a slow step forward. "Aric."
He looked at her.
Her expression was unreadable. But her fingers hovered near the hilt of her sword.
And that said everything.
Kael saw it too. His body went rigid, his breath sharp. "Are you serious?"
Lira didn't take her eyes off Aric.
"I need to know," she said quietly. "Is it you standing in front of me right now, or is it him?"
Silence.
The Rift pulsed.
And for a fraction of a second—Aric didn't know the answer.
----
The silence stretched.
Then—
The throne pulsed.
The Riftmarked lifted their heads.
Vaelthas stepped forward.
His voice was smooth, patient, and inevitable.
"You know the truth now," he murmured. "You have always known. Your rule did not end. It was stolen. And now…"
His gaze flicked toward the throne.
"You may reclaim it."
Aric's pulse pounded in his ears.
The Rift pulsed harder.
The air tightened around him, the weight of memory pressing down.
Kael tensed beside him. "Don't."
Lira's grip on her sword tightened.
Vaelthas held out his hand. "Your throne awaits, my king."
The Rift pulsed one final time.
And Aric—
Took a step forward.
Kael moved instantly, grabbing his arm. "Aric—!"
Aric shoved him away.
The impact sent Kael stumbling back, his boots skidding across the stone.
Lira drew her sword.
The Riftmarked rose.
And Aric—
Placed his hand on the throne.
The moment his skin touched the obsidian surface, the city trembled.
A deep, inhuman sound rumbled beneath the ruins.
The Rift roared.
And Aric—
Remembered everything.