"Still dreaming, Riftborn?"
The voice did not speak in the ordinary sense. It slithered beneath the stars, curling into his chest like smoke seeping into bone, cold and ancient, amused and cruel. It was a presence, a weight, something that did not touch the ears but dug into the marrow.
He stood in darkness bleeding violet. Veins of Riftlight streaked through it, jagged fractures in a skyless world that seemed to hold its breath. His bare feet pressed against nothing, his body naked—not flesh, but essence.
A dream. A memory. A warning.
"You wander again," the voice whispered, smooth as obsidian on stone. "To when you were still… someone."
A shadow shifted. No face. Only horns, curling like crescent blades. The Void twisted, rippling under him, and then it shattered.
Tokyo. Omori Station. Evening.
Rei's boots scuffed the platform. Electric hums buzzed in his ears, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the faint violet haze of the city's neon washed the tiles in bruised light. The doors of the train hissed shut behind him. Relief pressed against his chest, thick and quiet. Weariness followed close behind, like a shadow unwilling to leave.
His jacket smelled faintly of cheap ramen and printer toner. Suit crumpled. Tie askew. Hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and city grime. The day had been long—another string of clicks and forced smiles, of shallow bows and unremarkable nods. Another evening praying his PC wouldn't crash mid-session, that the dungeon event would spawn rare loot, that maybe, just maybe, something could be normal.
"I just… want to get home, log in… maybe try that new dungeon event."
He tugged at the strap of his worn laptop bag, trudged past the crowded crosswalks, past the vending machines humming quietly, until a small beacon of warmth drew him near. Lawson. Fluorescent glow spilling onto the concrete like a lighthouse in a storm of grey.
His stomach growled.
"…Curry bread."
Inside, the scent of fried dough and faint sugar warmed his nose. He paid in exact change, barely nodding at the bored cashier. Out on the street, he tore into the plastic packaging. Steam curled against his face, the bread warm and soft. Crunch. Savory. Peace. A small, stolen moment of calm.
Then came the sound.
It was not the city. Not the hum of tires or chatter. Not the squeal of a train braking. It was something low, vibrating, pressing into his chest and tugging at the base of his skull. It did not come from the outside. It came from somewhere inside.
The bread slipped from his hands. Darkness cracked. Heat roared. Pain—no, unspooling. A sensation of unraveling.
He fell—not to the ground, but inward.
Skin peeled from soul. Names bled from memory. Faces fragmented into shadows. Screams—not his own, not human—ripped through him, borrowed agony echoing inside his chest. And then… silence.
Chains.
The wagon groaned as it creaked over desert ruts. Dust choked his throat. Twin suns blazed above, unflinching, impartial, merciless. He moved—shackles yanking back, wrists raw and blistered, tongue thick with blood and the weight of silence.
All around him, shadows sat. Slaves. Not people—not anymore. Only bodies, hunched and heavy. Only weariness. Even the guards said nothing, eyes shaded beneath helmets, voices swallowed by the heat.
The desert stretched, empty and unyielding. No clouds. No breeze. Just the wheeze of wooden wheels and the rasp of chains sliding across sun-scorched wood.
Rei drew his legs up. Head leaned against splintered planks. How long had he been here? Where even was "here"? Memory fractured. Only flickers remained: blue light on a monitor. A fantasy map sprawled across a desk. The glow of a sword. The hum of a train. Plastic wrapping. Curry bread. Warm. Now… gone.
Rust. And fire. Not burning. Becoming.
Fragments returned. Eyes chanting in a red chamber. A circle, symbols painted in blood. Heat roiling from within. Hands twisting him, wrenching his core, until a scream—borrowed, alien, echoing through the marrow. And then, nothing.
Now… this.
The sun glared down like an executioner. Chains pressed against his wrists, biting, intimate, familiar.
Movement beside him. Slow. Calculated.
A girl. No. Beastkin.
Snow-white hair streaked with silver, catching the light of twin suns and fire alike. Cat ears twitching with alert precision. Eyes gold, sharp, unyielding. A body coiled—ready, not broken, not bowed.
She did not meet his gaze. Yet she knew.
Had known since the first night. When they had woken together beneath the same sky, bleeding and confused, refused words.
Not afraid. Suspicious. Watching.
She sensed it. The mark etched in his chest. Pulsing when he dreamed. Whispering when the fires went out.
He hadn't shown it. But she knew. Night after night, when breath trembled and memory sharpened teeth, it reminded him: he was not one of them. Less? More? Someone else entirely.
The wagon stopped. Ruins rose from the dusk, sand swallowing stone like water. A collapsed tower, blackened and hollowed, whispered of the power that once shaped it. Guards shouted. Whips cracked. Slaves were pulled from wagons, chained to standing stones. Echoes of magic long dead hummed faintly in the dust, like memories of wind and fire.
Rei slumped near the edge, shoulders aching, wrists bleeding. His eyes roamed the ruins. Broken spires, cracked steps, wind through hollow stone—it felt like something buried inside him had built this place… or died here.
"You're not from here."
Steel cut the silence.
He flinched. Turned.
Beastkin. Arms folded. Tail swaying slowly, like a pendulum measuring life in heartbeats. Eyes fixed.
"You don't smell right," she said. Low. Cold. Certain. "Not human. Not beast. Something else."
He did not answer. Did not know how.
"I don't remember who I am," he whispered.
Shadow brushed his feet as she stepped closer.
"That's a lie."
"I swear—"
"Lies stink worse than piss."
He looked down. The mark on his chest throbbed beneath scorched cloth. It had heard her. Agreed.
"I'm not your enemy," he murmured. "I don't even know where the hell I am."
She tilted her head, fire behind her crackling softly.
"You're in chains," she said. "That's all that matters."
No pity. Only certainty.
"I don't even know your name."
She walked away, sat by the fire. Embers danced over her profile. Hair wild, eyes distant.
He watched her. Words cut deeper than the whip. Perhaps because they were the first that had felt real.
And in the far distance, beyond dunes and dusk—Blackstone Keep rose.
A scar against the horizon. Fire-forged monsters stirring within.
Here. Here would begin Rei's journey. Here, the Riftborn would awaken.