The air snapped.
Not from thunder. But from presence.
Rei's boots ground into frost-laced stone, his fingers clenched around the blade Kaia had handed him days ago. Steel—not memory. But it would do.
Across from him, the man stood still. Cloaked in white and gold, half-torn mask gleaming silver like frozen starlight. Valek. The name had weight, but no warmth.
"This world was not meant for you," the masked one said, voice low, flat, unwavering.
Rei said nothing. Not yet.
Then—Valek moved.
No wind warned. No footstep echoed. He was simply there—blade humming through the air. Rei's instincts screamed, and he raised his sword.
Steel met steel.
The shock rolled through his bones. Sparks danced like snow catching flame. Rei staggered back, boots sliding over frost-slick stone. His shoulder ached. His stance buckled.
Valek didn't stop.
Another strike—this time from above. Rei rolled, narrowly avoiding a vertical slash that split the earth behind him like paper.
"You hesitate," Valek said, turning. "Why?"
Rei panted, blade raised. "Because I don't know what I am."
Valek lunged. "Then you will die as nothing."
Their blades clashed again, a vicious flurry of steel against steel. Rei blocked once—twice—but the third came from beneath. It nicked his ribs. Warm blood welled through cloth. He hissed.
Kaia moved to help.
"No," Rei growled. "Stay back."
The mask turned toward her for a heartbeat—calculating. Then Valek returned to Rei, blade rising like moonlight. "Good. You protect her. But will you protect yourself?"
He struck again.
Rei ducked, parried, then thrust low. A risky move. It grazed Valen's side. A tear opened in the cloak. No blood. Only silence.
Valek paused.
"Not bad," he murmured. "The Void stirs in you. But you fight like a man unsure of his shadow."
Rei spat blood. "Maybe I am."
Valek raised his blade, slowly now. "Then let's burn the doubt out."
The real dance began.
Rei met him—strike for strike. The world narrowed to motion and rhythm. Stone cracked beneath their feet. Steel sang. Rei ducked under a spinning slash, countered with a low sweep—missed. Valek twisted and sent him sprawling.
The mark on Rei's chest burned. Bright. Alive.
He rose again.
Faster.
Their next exchange was a blur. Parry. Riposte. Blade grazing arm. Elbow to ribs. Rei fell—rolled—rose again. His movements sharpened. Instinct overtook fear.
"I've killed the Riftborn before," Valek said.
"You didn't kill the first," Rei shot back.
Valen's head tilted, just slightly. "No. He broke first, vanished. Still the same."
The words stung. More than they should have.
"But I saw him," Valek continued. "The fire in his eyes. Same as yours now. But he couldn't bear the weight of it."
"And you could?" Rei asked, circling now. His sword low, knees bent, stance grounded.
Valek didn't answer. Not with words.
He lunged. A thrust aimed for Rei's heart—quick, clinical, final.
But Rei moved.
Not by instinct alone—by memory.
A dodge-roll. A counter-swing. A rhythm learned not in blood, but in pixels.
The click of a mouse. The ping of cooldowns. Hours hunched before a screen, learning boss mechanics, animation locks, i-frame windows.
In another life, they were just games.
Now, they were survival.
He stepped sideways at the last moment—frame-perfect. His blade came up in a practiced arc—sloppy, maybe, but fast. It bit into Valek's arm.
The masked man hissed. Not in pain—surprise.
"You adapt," he said.
Rei exhaled hard. "I've fought monsters before. Just… not with real blood."
Valek's next blow was harsher. Angrier.
Steel clashed. Sparks leapt.
But Rei was learning. Muscle memory kicked in—not from war, but from worlds he once escaped into. Timing. Movement. Control. His blade moved cleaner. His footwork tightened. Not elegant—but efficient.
A parry.
A sidestep.
A thrust—straight for Valen's mask.
Valek barely deflected.
"Good," the masked man said, breath short. "But you're still asking the wrong questions."
Rei blinked sweat from his eyes. "Then what's the right one?"
Valek stepped forward, blade lowered.
"What do you fear more—the power in you, or what it makes you do?"
The mark on Rei's chest pulsed. Not painfully. But like it heard.
And hungered.
Rei stared down at his hand. The blade. His pulse. The phantom rhythm of boss fights, the click-timing of combos, the fake deaths, the retries.
But this was not a game.
It was all real now.
The blood. The hunger. The Void.
He raised his sword again.
"…I don't know yet," Rei said.
Valek's blade pointed skyward. "Then let me help you find out."
And they clashed again.
This time—
Not as predator and prey.
But as two echoes of the Rift, trying to remember which of them came first.
The world narrowed to footwork and instinct.
Rei's legs burned as he stood. His grip on the hilt was too tight. His arm throbbed where blade met bone — but he didn't drop it. He couldn't.
Not now.
Valek moved again — fast, cruel, graceful. The kind of movement that left no echo, only aftermath. Another strike came from the right — high feint, low cut. Rei's knees dipped, his foot turned — a sidestep born not from training, but from habit.
His thumb flicked the guard slightly as he parried.
A move from a game.
Not real training. Not sword school. But reflex, ingrained from hours upon hours spent with a controller in hand — dodging death in pixelated dungeons. Executing combos. Knowing how a boss telegraphs.
This was different.
But his body remembered the rhythm of a fight. Not with mastery, but with obsession.
Valek's blade swept again — this time toward his midsection.
Rei spun back, blade braced at his hip. Deflect. Recenter. Wait.
Kaia's voice rang faint behind him, tight with restraint. She wouldn't interfere unless she had to. She knew what this was.
Not a duel.
A forging.
Valek's strikes came faster now — cutting arcs, fluid as rivers. Rei met each one with steel and stagger. Bruises bloomed, blood welled, but he held his ground.
Until —
A slip.
The sole of his boot hit a patch of slick stone. Too late to fix. Valen's blade surged forward.
The mark on Rei's chest flared — violet, alive, ravenous. The air warped. Time didn't stop… but it slowed.
Flash.
A memory — not his.
A view from above. A hand not his own. A strike, reversed mid-air. The blade turning, dancing, devouring.
Rei moved.
Not with thought. Not with control.
But with something older. Something buried inside the mark. His blade snapped upward in a perfect crescent. A parry-turn-counter. The kind you'd only see from high-level combos.
Valek's blade skidded against his in a scream of metal.
The white-cloaked figure tilted his head — amused.
"Ah. There it is," Valek murmured. "The instinct of the dead."
Rei didn't reply.
He charged.
This time he moved first. No finesse — just rage. Blade high, crash forward, drive him back. Sparks burst again. Steel kissed steel in a blur.
Valek retreated a step, then pivoted and swept Rei's feet out. Rei hit the ground hard, breath torn from his chest.
Valek's blade came down — a deathblow.
Rei rolled.
His shoulder screamed, but he was up again.
Their weapons locked once more. Close now. Too close.
"Who taught you to fight like that?" Valek asked, voice quiet, blade grinding against Rei's. "You weren't born with it."
"I… played games," Rei spat, pushing with everything he had.
Valek gave a dry laugh.
"Fantasy turned real. That's how it always begins."
He disengaged, stepping back.
"But the Rift doesn't honor fantasy," he said. "It unmakes it."
Then — he vanished.
Rei barely turned in time to meet the next strike — from behind. A sharp elbow cracked against his ribs. He stumbled. Blood filled his mouth.
Valek's blade arced again — faster, harder. Rei caught it, only just. Their swords hissed along each other like angry siblings.
"You're adapting," Valek said, like a teacher mid-lesson. "That's rare."
Rei grunted. "What are you trying to prove?"
"That you're not ready."
Valek's boot slammed into Rei's chest. He flew backward, landed hard against a tree, snow exploding around him.
The mark flared again — this time with defiance.
Violet light rippled from his chest, seeping through the cracks of the world.
Valek paused.
His blade lowered.
And in the moment of stillness, their eyes locked.
"You think this is the Rift's gift?" Valek said, gesturing to the mark pulsing with quiet fire. "It's a leash."
Rei pushed to his feet, panting.
"Then I'll break it."
Valek tilted his head.
"You remind me of him."
Rei blinked. "Who?"
"The first," Valek said. "The one before you. The Riftborn who bore the flame… and bled into the dark."
"What happened to him?"
Valek didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Steel flickered between them again — no more tricks, no teleportation. Just raw exchange. Blow for blow.
Rei countered high, dipped under, slashed low. Valek turned, twisted, cut across.
They circled like dancers lost in some ancient rhythm — not just fighting, but reading.
Each clash told a story.
Each pause was a question.
And with every strike Rei survived — with every wound he took and answered — Valek's strikes grew less sharp.
Not weaker.
But uncertain.
Like he was testing a theory.
Their swords locked one final time, shoulder to shoulder.
"I'm not like him," Rei growled through clenched teeth.
"No," Valek whispered. "You're worse."
Valek's blade gleamed — a final arc like falling starlight.It struck Rei's ribs with a crack, and the world blurred as his body crashed through bark and splintered into a frozen tree. He dropped to his knees—then spat blood onto the snow.
And with that, he twisted and vanished again — not with a roar of magic, but with intent.
Snow fluttered in his wake. The air changed, like it breathe once more.
Kaia rushed forward, crouching beside Rei, breathing hard.
"You're bleeding."
"I noticed," Rei winced, wiping blood from his brow.
She helped him to sit against a nearby root, watching the sky grow darker above.
"What was he?" Rei asked, chest heaving.
Kaia looked out into the forest.
"A warning."
He nodded slowly.
But the mark on his chest pulsed once.
Not in fear.
But anticipation.