The sky above Jerusalem burned crimson.
Lucien de Mireval raised his sword, the edge slick with black blood. His brothers fought beside him, their white mantles torn and red with dust. The air trembled with screams and the stench of ash. The holy city had become a battlefield of men and monsters.
The Rift stood before them like a wound in the world.A circle of light, pulsing and alive, tearing through the gates of Jerusalem.
"Hold the line!" shouted one of the knights. "For the Temple! For God!"
Lucien gritted his teeth and pressed forward. The creatures pouring out of the Rift were abominations — limbs of iron, flesh twisted with light, eyes like molten gold. Every strike of his blade sent sparks into the dark air, every breath tore at his lungs.
He knew they could not win.But they could seal it.
He planted his feet before the Rift and lifted his sword toward heaven."Lord, grant me strength," he whispered. Then he charged.
The last monster lunged — a hulking thing made of bone and fire. Lucien met its strike, his sword shattering under the impact. Pain exploded through his arm, but he did not stop. He threw himself forward, pushing the creature back into the light. His body followed, swallowed whole by the Rift.
And the gates of Jerusalem closed behind him.
Inside the Rift, there was no sky. Only chaos.
Lucien fought for what felt like hours, maybe days. His breath turned to smoke, his armor cracked, and his sword broke down to half a blade. Every step was a battle against the weight of exhaustion. The creature screamed and fell apart under his final strike.
Then silence.A silence so complete it drowned his thoughts.
Lucien sank to his knees, blood and sweat mixing on the metallic ground. His vision blurred. His faith flickered like a dying flame. He whispered a final prayer and fell into the dark.
Voices.
They came like echoes through water. Strange words, sharp and cold.
"Heal."
A soft light passed over his body. The pain faded, and warmth spread through his limbs. The wounds closed, but his mind remained heavy, as if his soul had not followed the healing.
He opened his eyes.
Men and women stood over him, clad in unfamiliar armor. Their weapons glowed with symbols that pulsed like living runes. Some wore sleek metal suits, others long coats lined with energy conduits. Their speech was French, but the words carried strange inflections.
He tried to rise. The world spun. Darkness returned.
"Is he alive?"Mira de Beaumont knelt beside the fallen man. Her armor gleamed blue under the Rift's dim light. A long musket rested on her shoulder, engraved with silver lilies.
Renan, the Tracker, placed a hand on the unconscious knight's chest. His pupils turned white as a faint light scanned Lucien's body.
"System window… open," Renan muttered.A translucent screen appeared in front of them.
[Name: Lucien de Mireval] [Age: 17] [Class: Blacksmith – Apprentice] [Level: 1]
"A blacksmith?" Mira frowned. "What is a level one blacksmith doing in a B-Class Rift?"
Renan shook his head. "No idea. He's human, though. And the readings are stable."
Mira straightened and looked toward the portal behind them. The Rift was collapsing."Take him with us. If he's alive, the Association will want to question him. We leave for Lyon."
Lucien dreamed again.
This time, the world was quiet.No fire, no screams, no light. Only the sound of his heartbeat and the faint ringing of a hammer striking metal.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Rift.He lay on a clean bed, under a ceiling of polished steel and soft blue light.
The scent of incense was gone.Only the hum of strange machines remained.
And Lucien de Mireval, last Templar of Jerusalem, realized he was still alive.