The morning came veiled in frost.
Eila awoke to the muted clang of weapons and the low murmurs of warriors outside. Zois was already up, standing near the window with a sword strapped across his back, steam rising from his breath in the cold.
"They're heading out for the first scouting mission," he said, turning to her. "You should eat something before we leave."
Eila dressed quickly. Her limbs felt sore, but her spirit was sharpened like steel. As she joined Leonard and Lukas outside, the village square was already bustling with activity. Warriors strapped on armor, fed the horses, and discussed strategy with hushed urgency.
Chief Surana handed them a rough hand-drawn map. "The rupture site lies near the old ruins—half a day's ride. Strange winds gather there, even on calm days. And the land itself… shifts. Like it's breathing."
Leonard took the map with a grim nod. "We'll take a team of ten. Eila stays in the middle."
"No," Eila interrupted gently. "I walk where the rupture sings."
The look Leonard gave her was unreadable—but he didn't argue.
By mid-morning, they had set out.
The landscape grew more desolate with every passing mile. The air hung thick with a strange charge. Even the horses grew restless, their hooves stamping uneasily on the brittle earth.
As they approached the ruined outpost near the rift, Eila felt it again—that hum of energy just beneath the surface. Her fingertips tingled. Her heartbeat quickened.
Then she saw it.
The rupture.
It looked like a wound in the world—an obsidian gash cut through space itself, shimmering with sickly green light. The very air bent around it, and the trees near it twisted as if in agony. It pulsed with corrupted energy that clawed at her senses.
Eila stepped closer, but before she could summon her power, her knees buckled.
She gasped as the world tilted sideways—and then everything faded.
Darkness.
Cold.
And then—fire.
Eila stood in a place that was not a place: a swirling void of smoke and shadow. A jagged red sky loomed above her, cracked like glass. In the distance, lightning struck endlessly across blackened mountains.
And there he was.
Jeremy Soren.
Draped in tattered robes of black and rust, his face hidden beneath a hood. His eyes—visible only as pinpricks of violet fire—glowed beneath the shadow.
He was chanting.
Words older than time. A language that made her bones ache just to hear it.
Behind him stood a figure—a woman, cloaked in blue flame, her face veiled. And then… the second rift.
It hung in the air like a star about to go supernova. Red veins of Varium pulsed through it, and beneath it, monstrous shapes twitched, eager to break through.
"You sealed the first," Jeremy said, his voice echoing as if from underwater. "But what will you do… when the sky opens above your own home?"
Eila stepped forward, fists clenched. "I'll stop you."
"You're running out of time," he whispered. "Even now, the Veil thins. And once the third seal breaks… she will rise."
Suddenly, the dream-world cracked.
The ground beneath her feet shattered—and she fell, spiraling down through screaming winds and memory until—
"Eila!"
She jolted upright, gasping.
Zois was beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly. Leonard knelt across from her, brows furrowed, while Lukas stood guard, his sword half-drawn.
"You fainted," Leonard said, voice tight. "Are you hurt?"
Eila shook her head, trying to breathe. "No… it was him. I saw him. He's planning to open another rift—near us."
Lukas stiffened. "Where?"
"I don't know yet. But he's not alone. Someone—someone powerful—is helping him."
Leonard's jaw clenched. "Then we move faster. Tonight, we prepare to close this rift."
"And after that," Eila said, her voice steady despite the chill running through her bones, "we go after him."