THE RIFTWALKER
Riven screamed as the pain tore through him.
The sigil on his chest, once a brand of power, now glowed like a sun pressed against skin. The light from the Lunarch Heart pulsed in tandem, erratic and volatile. It was no longer responding—it was reacting. To the being above.
The figure drifted slowly from the tear in the sky, feet not touching ground, its body wrapped in half-real armor wrought from bone, dusk, and time. Its face was veiled—yet behind that veil shimmered echoes. Of someone Riven had seen in dreams. In fire. In visions.
Elara stumbled backward. "What is that?"
Aeron did not move. But the tremor in his voice betrayed the truth.
"It's… impossible."
The being hovered in front of them now, arms outstretched, cloak of shadows billowing in an unseen wind.
"You broke your oath," it said in a voice that wasn't one voice. It was hundreds. Thousands. A choir of forgotten soldiers, witches, vampires, kings.
"You were the first revenant, Aeron Vale. The one who bound us. The one who left us."
Riven blinked through the pain. "Who is it talking to?"
Aeron stepped forward. "They were once a brother," he said. "But when the Rift consumed them… it didn't kill them. It made them remember what we were. What I did."
His hand tightened around the broken sword.
"I left them behind to close the breach. I thought—no. I hoped—they would die."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "Who was he?"
Aeron's silence was an answer.
The Riftwalker hovered lower, hands now curled into fists of dark plasma.
"You remember me now."
Aeron finally spoke the name.
"…Khaedros."
The ground buckled beneath them.
The Battle Reignites
Khaedros—once a revenant like Aeron, now something more—slammed into the ground, unleashing a shockwave that shattered every window in the chapel. Beasts fell to the ground in writhing spasms, and even the corrupted ones fled.
This wasn't a remnant.
This was a witness.
A survivor of the First Rift War. Warped not into monster—but memory incarnate.
Riven forced himself upright. "Then let's finish what you started."
He launched forward—but Khaedros was already there.
In a blink, Khaedros was in front of him, and Riven's body flew through the air and struck a tree, splinters impaling his side. Blood sprayed across the altar.
Elara screamed and struck with twin glyphs—chains of obsidian and starlight—but they passed through Khaedros, only slowing him slightly.
Khaedros looked at her—and his helm peeled back, revealing a face made entirely of weeping shadow.
"You share blood with the traitor," he said, "but you are not bound. Not yet."
And then he raised his hand.
The blood Riven had spilled began to float—twisting. It hardened into needles, blades.
He was turning Riven's blood into weapons.
"Elara—run—!" Riven gasped.
But she didn't.
Instead, she stepped in front of him, arms wide, and opened her mouth wide—too wide—and screamed.
It wasn't human.
It wasn't vampire.
It was ancient.
The scream echoed into the Rift, into every realm connected by it, and Khaedros staggered. The blood he'd lifted dropped. Elara blinked, her eyes golden-red.
"I am done hiding," she snarled. "I am Elara Duskveil of the Nyxis bloodline. I command the blood."
Khaedros hissed.
Aeron stepped in. "Riven—get the Heart. Now! It's your only chance."
Riven crawled to the altar. The Lunarch Heart was spinning now, so fast it blurred—pulling air, light, time into it.
He reached toward it—and it stopped.
Then pulsed once.
And then it spoke in his mind.
"The oath can only be broken by blood."
And Riven understood.
He drove his claws into his chest.
Elara screamed. Aeron turned—but too late.
Riven's blood struck the Heart—and it awoke.
A blast of light erupted, hurling Khaedros back into the sky. The beasts were incinerated. Elara was thrown through the chapel wall. Aeron vanished in the blast.
And Riven…
Riven floated.
No longer flesh. Not entirely.
The sigil on his chest had merged with the Heart. He was the key.
And something in him—something old—opened its eyes.