The Riftmarked stood in rows across the valley, their faces unreadable in the pale glow of the Rift above.
Some had knelt immediately, their foreheads touching the dirt, murmuring in the tongue of a forgotten age.
Others… stood motionless, their hands on their weapons.
Watching.
Waiting.
Judging.
Aric could feel the weight of their gazes.
The Rift's hum pressed against his mind, but it was not what unsettled him most.
It was the silence.
The way these warriors, clad in armor older than the land itself, did not cheer.
Did not rejoice.
They simply… waited.
Then, a voice broke through the stillness.
Deep. Rough. Unyielding.
"You claim to be him."
The speaker stepped forward.
A warrior, taller than Aric, broader, wrapped in black and silver armor marked with the sigils of the old world.
His face was scarred, his eyes glowing faintly with the Rift's energy.
And in his grip, he held a massive war axe, its blade inscribed with ancient runes.
The warrior stopped a few paces from Aric.
"I have seen kings rise and fall."
His voice was like stone grinding against stone.
"I have fought beneath banners that burned."
A pause.
Then, lower—
"But I have never knelt to a ghost."
A murmur rippled through the Riftmarked ranks.
Some warriors nodded in agreement.
Others remained still, watching.
Waiting.
Aric exhaled slowly.
He knew this moment would come.
A king was not made by birth alone.
A king was proven.
And if the Riftmarked did not believe in him—
They would tear him down.
----
The warrior lifted his axe, pointing the blade toward Aric.
"The Blood Pact."
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
"Take it. Or leave this place in ruin."
A shift rippled through the Riftmarked ranks.
Some warriors looked at each other, nodding.
Others grinned, anticipation flickering across their expressions.
They had been waiting for this.
Waiting to see if Aric was worthy.
Lira's voice cut through the moment.
Sharp. Angry.
"What the hell is the Blood Pact?"
She had moved closer, one hand resting on her sword's hilt.
Her eyes locked onto the Riftmarked warrior.
The warrior did not even look at her.
His gaze remained on Aric.
"A bond. A trial. A curse."
His fingers tightened on his axe.
"It is the only way we will kneel."
Kael, standing just beyond the firelight, exhaled sharply.
"This is insane."
His tone was low, steady—but lined with warning.
"If they don't want to follow you, Aric, then leave them behind. We don't need them."
The Riftmarked reacted immediately.
A low, rumbling laughter moved through their ranks.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
But as if Kael had spoken something naive.
"You do not understand."
The warrior finally looked at Kael.
And in his glowing Rift-marked eyes, there was something ancient.
"We are not asking him to take it."
He turned back to Aric.
"We are demanding it."
Silence fell again.
And Aric knew—
If he refused, there would be no second chance.
No negotiations.
No uneasy truces.
He would never control them.
Never command them.
He could feel Lira watching him.
Kael's stare burned into his back.
But they were not the ones who mattered.
The Riftmarked did.
And they were waiting.
Aric exhaled.
"Fine."
He stepped forward.
"Tell me what I have to do."
----
The warrior grinned.
Not in mockery.
But in approval.
"Then bleed."
A dagger was drawn.
Not a weapon of war.
But a blade of ritual, curved, dark, inscribed with glowing symbols.
The warrior extended it toward Aric.
And the moment his fingers closed around the hilt—
The Rift reacted.
A pulse of energy rippled outward.
The ground beneath them cracked.
The air hummed with unseen forces.
And the Riftmarked dropped to one knee, bowing their heads.
The warrior's voice was low, steady.
"Cut your palm. Spill your blood. Speak the words. And know that once this is done, there is no undoing it."
A pause.
Then—
"The Rift will mark you forever."
Aric lifted the dagger.
It felt heavy in his grip.
Not just in weight.
But in meaning.
Lira's breath hitched.
"Aric, don't."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"You don't know what this will do to you."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"You don't have to do this."
Aric's hand did not shake.
Because deep down—
He knew.
This was always meant to happen.
The Rift watched.
The Riftmarked waited.
And Aric—
Aric pressed the blade to his palm and cut.
Blood dripped onto the earth.
And the Rift sang.
----
The moment Aric's blood touched the earth, the world shifted.
It was not just a pulse of power.
It was a fracture.
A tear between what was real and what had already been.
The Rift surged above them, spiraling inward, its glow twisting through the valley like a living thing.
The Riftmarked bowed lower, their chanting growing louder.
Their voices merged together, an ancient hymn spoken in a language Aric did not know—
And yet, somehow understood.
The ground beneath him darkened.
The sky split.
And suddenly—
He was not standing in Eldermere anymore.
He stood in a throne room of black stone.
A hundred warriors knelt before him.
Torches lined the walls, burning with blue fire.
And on his head—
A crown.
Aric's breath caught.
Because he had seen this place before.
Not in books.
Not in dreams.
But in memory.
The weight of the crown pressed against his skull.
The blade in his hand dripped with fresh blood.
And before him—
A man lay dying on the floor.
A sword buried deep in his chest.
A man Aric had just killed.
The throne room was silent.
Waiting.
Watching.
And then, a voice—
His own voice—
But not his.
"It is done."
A pause.
Then—
"The pact is sealed."
The warriors bowed deeper.
And Aric—no, Aelthar—
He smiled.
The vision ripped away.
Aric gasped, staggering back to the present.
The Rift's glow was pulsing violently, reacting to what he had seen.
The Riftmarked were still chanting.
And the dagger in his hand—
It was not just wet with his blood anymore.
It was dripping with something darker.
Something older.
Something that did not belong in this world.
Aric's breath came fast.
Because now he understood.
This was not the first time he had taken the Blood Pact.
It was the second.
And the Rift had not forgotten.
----
The chanting reached its peak.
The Riftborn warrior stepped forward.
His glowing eyes locked onto Aric's.
"The Pact has been acknowledged."
A pause.
Then—
"But it has not been completed."
Aric's fingers clenched.
"What does that mean?"
The warrior did not blink.
"A pact is an exchange."
"You have taken the blood of the past."
"Now, you must give something in return."
Aric's stomach turned to stone.
He should have known.
Nothing with the Rift was ever free.
Kael moved forward immediately.
"No."
His voice was sharp, furious.
"No more of this. You've already given enough—"
The Riftborn's gaze snapped toward him.
And for the first time, Kael took a step back.
Because the warrior's expression did not hold anger.
Only patience.
Like he had seen this before.
Like he had heard these words a thousand times across lifetimes.
His voice was calm.
"You do not understand."
"Aelthar gave more than blood."
His glowing eyes returned to Aric.
"And so will he."
The Rift shuddered.
The ground split.
And Aric felt something pull at him.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
But deep inside.
Like something was unraveling.
Like something was being taken.
A voice whispered from the Rift.
Not spoken.
Not heard.
But felt.
"A name."
"A memory."
"A piece of what you are."
"You must give."
Pain lanced through his skull.
Visions flashed behind his eyes.
A woman's laughter.
A hand in his.
A promise whispered in the dark.
A name—
And then—
It was gone.
Aric staggered.
His breathing ragged.
His hands shaking.
But he could not remember why.
Kael was shouting something.
Lira was reaching for him.
The Riftborn warrior was nodding.
And the Riftmarked—
They were kneeling.
Because the pact had been sealed.
And Aric—
Aric had paid the price.
Even if he did not know what it was.
----
The Rift's glow began to fade.
The pulsing slowed.
The chanting stopped.
And the warriors rose.
All of them.
But something was different.
Aric felt it before he saw it.
A heat, a pressure against his skin.
He lifted his hand—
And froze.
A new mark had formed on his forearm.
A symbol etched in black, shifting with faint blue light.
It was not a wound.
Not a tattoo.
But something deeper.
Something woven into him.
Something he could never remove.
The Riftborn warrior bowed his head.
"It is done."
A pause.
Then—
"You are ours now."
The Riftmarked dropped to one knee in perfect unison.
Thousands of warriors.
Their voices spoke as one.
"We kneel to the one who was lost."
"We serve the one who has returned."
"We follow the last king of ruin."
And Aric—
Aric stood in silence.
Because he knew—
There was no undoing this.
No going back.
The Rift had taken its price.
And now—
It owned him.