—Kaia's Perspective —
The snow held its breath.
Kaia stood at the ruined edge of the frostbitten tower, her hand ghosting the hilt of her bone knife — but she did not draw it. Not yet. Her golden eyes fixed on Rei.
He stood alone beneath the broken spires, a shadow of wind and resolve, facing the cloaked stranger whose presence unraveled the very air. The man moved like silence made flesh — all grace, no excess, not even menace. And yet… Kaia had felt it. The moment his feet touched snow, something old and wrong returned to the world.
Valek.
She knew his kind. Order-forged. Doctrine-bled. But this one... this one smelled of freedom once earned and then cast away. An outcast, perhaps. Or something worse — a believer turned doubt incarnate.
And Rei stood before him.
No shield. No training. Only instinct. And that cursed mark, pulsing with something ancient and hungry.
Kaia's fingers tightened around the knife again.
But she didn't move.
Why?
Because Rei hadn't yet fallen.
Because something in him was rising.
The clash began with no warning. Steel screamed against steel. Sparks sprayed into the winter air like dying stars. Rei's form faltered, corrected, faltered again — but never yielded. Kaia could see it in the way his body moved, the way his feet shifted. Not trained… no, not formally. But familiar.
Muscle memory? No, more than that. Pattern. Timing. Precision born not from war, but from years behind a glowing screen. She had heard him speak once of "RPGs." Of parries and patterns, of bosses that could kill in a single strike.
And here he was now — living that fantasy. Bleeding inside it.
Kaia's throat tightened.
She had fought beside warriors. Frostfang. Beastkin. Blood kin. She had seen courage and fury and fear. But this—this quiet defiance in the face of overwhelming force—it was something else.
She should've stepped in.
But she stayed.
Watched.
And with every swing, every breathless dodge, something within her chest coiled tighter. Not in fear.
In awe.
The Riftborn was not winning.
But he wasn't losing either.
Then came the blade's kiss — a shallow cut across Rei's shoulder, bright with blood. She moved forward instinctively, boots crunching over snow— No. She stopped herself.
He didn't need saving.
He needed witnessing.
Her heart pounded, wild as any hunt. Her claws bit into her palm. Not because she doubted him… but because she believed.
Foolish, she thought. You'll die believing in a stranger.
But even that thought rang hollow now.
Because when Rei struck back—when his blade found its mark and the stranger stepped back—Kaia felt it. Like a drumbeat against the bones of the world.
The Void stirred.
Rei's stance shifted. The air around him grew tense, sharp. Kaia didn't see it—but she felt it. The change. The connection. The mark on his chest pulsed, and for a heartbeat, it was as if something… looked back.
Then came the second assault — violent, merciless.
Rei flew.
Cracked stone. Choking dust. His body lay still.
Her heart stopped.
"Rei!"
She was moving before she realized it. Down the broken slope, across frost and ruin, eyes burning with something primal.
He coughed.
Still breathing.
She dropped to her knees beside him. His eyes fluttered — dazed, defiant. His hand still clutched the blade like it was part of him.
And before she could speak, she heard it.
"You're not ready."
The voice of the stranger — flat, judgmental.
Then the wind took him. Cloak unwound like fog and faded. Gone.
Kaia exhaled only when she was sure he was gone. Her hands hovered over Rei's wounds, unsure where to touch. His skin was fever-hot, but his eyes were clear — and they looked at her first.
She dropped to her knees beside him. His chest rose and fell — ragged, but steady. His blade still gripped, knuckles white with effort, breath steaming in the cold.
Kaia leaned in. "You stubborn fool…"
Rei opened his eyes. Bruised. Glowing faintly violet.
And he smiled.
"I knew you were watching," he murmured, voice like cracked ice. "That's why I didn't fall."
Kaia stared at him — struck silent.
Then, softly:
"I would've stepped in."
He shook his head, just barely.
"No," he whispered. "Don't steal it from me."
She blinked. "Steal?"
"This fight," he rasped. "This moment. Let me… earn it."
The words hit her like a quiet blade.
Not pride. Not arrogance.
But a plea.
Let me grow. Let me become.
Kaia reached out, touched the edge of his sleeve, then let her fingers rest on his chest — right above the mark that still glowed faintly through the torn fabric.
"You're a damn fool, Riftborn," she whispered.
But her voice was steady.
And her hand stayed.
And for a moment, the silence wasn't cold.
It was sacred.
Not love. Not yet. But something deeper.
A vow not spoken, but felt.
She would walk beside him.
Through frost and shadow.
Through failure and flame.
Because something ancient had returned.
And he—this boy from another world, this Riftborn not-yet-whole—
He stood in its path.
And she would not let him face it alone.