The city of Veyra was a jewel born of calamity, a place where the pulse of realms bled into mortal life.
From the observation deck of the Reclaimer Citadel, the skyline shimmered with artifact-light. Towers crowned with glowing crystals pierced the heavens, their resonance humming like the voices of unseen spirits. Along canals and bridges, lamps of realm shards shed a steady brilliance, weaving mortal stone with immortal radiance. And far to the east, looming beyond the glittering spires, hung the wound in the sky: the eastern portal, a jagged arc of otherworldly light that scarred the horizon. Even from miles away, it pulsed faintly, ripples spreading like the breath of a slumbering giant.
To the merchants of the market, that distant glow promised profit: tinctures refined from flora never meant for Earth's soil, blades stronger than steel and lighter than bone. To the faithful, it was the silent gaze of forsaken gods. To the slum-born, it was dread incarnate, the ever-looming chance of breach, of creatures descending before Reclaimers could stand in their path.
And to Leo Rivers, alone in the Citadel's armory, it meant expectation sharp enough to cut.
The youth tightened the straps of his armor, fingers clumsy despite months of drilling. At eighteen, he had worn the Reclaimer badge only as an auxiliary: hauling supply crates, tending gear, charting safe passages. He had glimpsed portals from afar, but never dared cross one. Today, the veil would part. Today, the weight of worlds would test him.
The mission was not extraordinary, at least on record. A Class II portal, stable, opening in the Aedric Forest east of Veyra. Recovery, not conquest. Yet Leo felt the storm in his chest. Survive this trial, and he would ascend from shadow into rank. Fail, and he would be discarded to gray corridors and forgotten vigils, or his name whispered with sorrow at the flame-lit memorials.
He drew a long breath.
You're ready. You've trained. You belong here.
It was not his thought, but a voice that lingered in memory. Sofia Blake, his mentor, the one assigned to weigh his worth.
The Citadel doors groaned open, and she entered like a blade unsheathed. Her black armor gleamed with subdued light, runes inscribed along its edges whispering faint resonance. At her hip rested a longsword forged of mortal steel bound with artifact crystal, humming as if eager for blood. Her hair was bound tight, her gaze sharp enough to pierce hesitation.
"You're trembling," she said, voice stripped of softness.
Leo straightened. "Just… focused."
The corner of her mouth quirked, not quite a smile. "Good. Fear is the shadow of wisdom. Only fools walk into the Gate without it."
Behind her, the rest of the team followed. Owen Carter, satchel stuffed with scanners and drones, glasses glowing as data streamed into his wristpad. Evelyn Torres, serene as a temple statue, her healer's gauntlets glowing faintly as if longing to drink wounds into themselves.
Leo's chest eased. He was not alone. Not entirely.
Sofia tossed a holo-slate onto the briefing table. A map shimmered into being, the Aedric Forest, its rivers like veins upon the land. A crimson marker pulsed where the portal awaited: Site 73-B.
"Opened last evening," she said. "Stable, Class II presence confirmed. Carrion-wolves, spined hides, molten cores. Dangerous, but not beyond us. At its heart, the Council believes an artifact rests."
At the word "Council," Owen scoffed. "Or the Council just wants another relic to barter with their lapdogs."
Sofia's gaze turned cold as steel. "Save your venom for after the mission."
Leo hesitated, then asked, "Why us? Why not send a higher-ranked team?"
Sofia's eyes fixed on him, unflinching. "Because this is your Gate, Rivers. You either step through and return a Reclaimer, or you do not return at all."
The silence that followed was heavier than armor. Then she turned, and the march began.
The Aedric Forest loomed vast, its ancient trees like pillars carved to uphold the heavens. Villagers had gathered beyond the warded perimeter, whispering prayers and curses alike. Leo caught fragments, pleas to the Light, warnings of divine punishment, chants from cultists who called the realms Heaven's inheritance. To many, the Reclaimers were not saviors but blasphemers.
The team ignored them. For years, Reclaimers had carried the dual mantle of protector and heretic. Heroes when they triumphed. Cursed when they failed.
And then, the clearing opened.
The portal rose like a wound in the air. Its frame was carved from black stone veined with glowing runes, far older than any known script. Its heart churned with liquid light, neither flame nor water, a mirror that refused to reflect. The air chilled, humming with an energy that prickled like unseen claws across the skin.
Leo's breath caught. He had seen portals in lectures, in recordings. But standing before one was to stand at the edge of infinity. His soul quivered, a grain of dust before an endless ocean.
"Check gear," Sofia commanded.
Owen's drones lifted into the air, scanning with beams of light. Evelyn's gauntlets kindled, runes flowing like water across her arms. Sofia drew her sword; the blade whispered, its crystal veins flaring.
Leo gripped his rifle, heartbeat loud as war drums.
"Form up," Sofia said.
And with that, she strode into the Gate.
The world on the other side tore the breath from his lungs.
The air tasted metallic, sharp, as if lightning had been ground into dust. The sky was wrong, fractured, shards of color woven together like a shattered mosaic. The forest of Earth was gone. Here stretched a black plain of jagged stone, fissures glowing with molten fire. From far across the horizon lumbered a silhouette vast enough to eclipse mountains. His mind refused to name it.
"Welcome to the other side," Owen muttered, awe laced with fear.
The ground shuddered.
"Stay sharp," Sofia ordered. "The Gate won't hold forever."
They advanced. Shards of broken structures jutted from the earth-pillars etched with the same runes as the portal frame, stairways leading to nothing, fragments of bridges suspended in air as if time itself had forgotten them.
"Do you see this?" Leo whispered.
Evelyn's gaze lingered on the ruins. "Every realm carries scars of those who built the Gates. All roads lead back to them."
The howl broke the silence.
It began as a tremor, then climbed into a shriek that shook bone. From the fissures leapt prowlers, wolf-shapes of obsidian and molten eyes, spines jutting like blades.
"Formation!" Sofia roared.
The beasts surged forward.
The battle was chaos. Owen's drones flashed beams of light, blinding and staggering the prowlers. Evelyn darted among them like flowing water, dragging back the wounded, her gauntlets knitting torn flesh with glowing threads of essence. Sofia was death incarnate—her blade danced, arcs of silver cutting through beasts as ichor sprayed like molten rain.
And Leo—Leo's rifle trembled in his hands. His shots scattered wide, grazing but never piercing. His heart thundered, shame pressing heavier than armor. He was a shadow among giants.
A prowler slipped through, jaws snapping toward Evelyn. Leo raised his rifle, desperate, pulled the trigger.
A violent recoil. A misfire.
The beast's maw opened.
"Rivers!" Sofia's voice tore across the plain, but too far, too late.
The world slowed.
The ground split. Leo fell into a crevice, stone raking his side. The screech of the beast above blurred, drowned by gunfire. He groaned, pushing himself upright, vision swimming.
And then he saw it.
Buried in the crack of black stone pulsed a crystal, faint but steady, its glow matching the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
He reached out.
And in that instant, the world changed.