Varian's golden eyes burned like dying stars, piercing through the darkness that had entombed him for centuries. His presence **felt wrong—**as if he existed in two places at once, as if time itself had struggled to erase him and failed.
Reinhardt steadied his grip on his sword. This was the man they had come for. The only Fateborn who had survived erasure.
And yet, standing before him, Reinhardt wasn't sure if they had just freed an ally—or something far worse.
Selene was the first to speak. "You look… well."
Varian smirked, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off centuries of imprisonment. "And you look desperate." His gaze shifted to Reinhardt, studying him for a long moment. "I see why you came."
Reinhardt met his stare evenly. "Then you know why we need you."
Varian let out a slow breath. "You want to stop the Keepers. To break the cycle." He took a step closer. "Tell me, Knight—do you even understand what you're defying?"
Reinhardt didn't blink. "Fate itself."
Varian chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. "You say that like it's something you can simply strike down with a sword."
Selene crossed her arms. "If you have a better plan, now's the time."
Varian exhaled, running a hand through his silver hair. "I do. But first—" His gaze darkened. "We need to leave."
The air shifted. The shadows along the walls twisted.
Reinhardt turned, gripping his sword. Something was wrong.
The Hollow Bastille was reacting.
___________________________________________________________
The Unseen Warden
A low, guttural sound rumbled through the prison, like the growl of a beast too massive to comprehend. The torches flickered violently, their light fighting against something unseen.
Selene took a step back. "What is that?"
Varian's expression darkened. "The warden."
Reinhardt frowned. "You said this place was a prison."
Varian's lips curled into a humorless smirk. "And every prison has its keeper."
The air rippled as the shadows bent unnaturally. Then, the darkness itself began to move.
Reinhardt's instincts screamed at him to prepare for battle.
Selene's magic flared to life. "Can we kill it?"
Varian tilted his head, as if considering. "No."
Selene shot him a sharp look. "You could've led with that."
The growl became a roar, the very walls of the Bastille shaking. The floor beneath them split apart, and from the abyss below, something began to rise.
A colossal form, shapeless yet overwhelming, its body shifting like liquid void, its presence suffocating. It had no face—only a gaping maw of endless hunger.
Reinhardt clenched his jaw. "Then how do we get past it?"
Varian smirked. "We don't."
He raised his hands—and the world shattered.
For a brief moment, Reinhardt felt himself falling—through time, through space, through something far greater than either.
And then—
They were gone.