Chapter 26: The Rift's Heart
The rift-tower loomed like a jagged wound against the storm-churned sky, a spire of black stone veined with veins of seething violet light. Its peak disappeared into the swirling clouds above, a silent threat reaching for the broken heavens. Around it, the Ashen Wastes howled with endless wind, the dead sands shifting in tortured patterns.
Kael stood at the base of the tower, feeling the relentless hum vibrating through his bones. It was different from anything he had faced—the scouts' frail resistance, the soldiers' blunt force—this was stronger, deeper. The Tyrant's whisper slithered through his mind: "Now…" A single word, but heavy as an executioner's blade.
From above, faint and mocking, Ashka's voice drifted on the gale, her taunt threading down the tower's face: "Kael… Strong… Soon…" Her silhouette, little more than a smear of darkness against the roiling sky, was quickly swallowed by the tempest.
Kael flexed his aching hand, feeling the crusted blood along his cheek where a rift-flame had grazed him earlier. His runes, etched into his skin like a second heartbeat, glowed dimly, pulsing with the aftermath of Weaver's Wrath. His muscles ached, but inside him, a fire burned, steady and unyielding. The fall of Moonfall, the battles, the wounds—all had tempered him for this.
Beside him, Tynar crouched low to the ground, his whip coiled tight in one weathered hand. His single violet eye, sharp and predatory, scanned the jagged entrance to the tower. Inside, rifts shimmered and pulsed, threads of shadow and flame weaving a deadly dance across the threshold.
Tynar grunted, voice cutting low and rough through the shrieking wind. "Heart's deep," he said, jerking his chin toward the entrance. "Ashka's weaving the gate already. Soldiers guard it. Worse things stir inside. You've cut hard to get here… now cut smart."
Kael didn't reply immediately. He watched the entrance, seeing the faintest ripple of violet light—almost invisible threads layered atop each other, traps meant to rip apart anything careless enough to step wrong. He clenched his fist, feeling the threads coil from his palm, quicker and sharper now since Tynar had reforged his bindings.
"Traps?" Kael asked, his voice tight, the battle-high still vibrating in his blood.
Tynar nodded grimly. "Rift-spun traps. Old magic, layered nasty. Move wrong, and you're not just dead—you're unmade." He lifted his hand, runes along his forearm igniting. A single thread snapped out, brushing the edge of a rift.
A burst of flame erupted instantly, the ash scattering like angry hornets. Kael instinctively stepped back.
"Good reflex," Tynar said dryly. He flexed his fingers. "Move quick, small. You've got a rune for it now—'Blink Strike.' Rewind a breath of time. Dodge the kill."
Kael's jaw clenched. Memories flashed across his mind—Moonfall, his final reset, the three-day rewind that had cost them so much. Tide's Turn was gone, faded with the rift-moon's destruction.
"Smaller than before," he muttered under his breath. He opened his hand, watching as the faint shimmer of Thread Pulse sparked across his palm. The hum of the tower seemed to sync with his heartbeat.
"Show me," he said.
Tynar's scarred mouth twisted into a smirk—a rare crack in his usual grimness. "Feel the burn," he said. "Catch the moment. Snap it back. Watch."
Without warning, Tynar moved. His rune flared brightly—Rune Reset: Blink Strike!—and for a moment, he became a blur. A hidden rift-trap flared to life, lashing a sheet of flame toward him—too fast to dodge. But Tynar snapped back five meters away, untouched, as if time had recoiled.
Kael exhaled slowly, tension prickling along his spine. His turn.
Focusing, he summoned his threads, forcing them to coil tightly. Rune Reset—the faintest pulse flickered—but nothing happened. Sweat beaded instantly along his forehead.
"Will it!" Tynar barked sharply, cracking his whip against the ash-strewn ground. "Burn it into your veins! Now, boy!"
Kael gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He felt the threads inside him—slippery, disobedient—and commanded them. His runes flared brighter, violet light etching across his arm.
Rune Reset: Blink Strike!
The world flickered, a jolt in his gut—and five seconds rewound. He found himself standing where he had been before, the rift-trap dormant, untouched.
"Good," Tynar said, voice gruff with something close to pride. "Fast enough to live."
Kael shook off the burn that crept up his arm. His chest heaved, but the power felt clean, right. Stronger than he had ever felt before.
"Strongest I've seen," Tynar muttered, his lone eye glinting. He nodded towards the tower's mouth. "Go. Heart's waiting."
Kael nodded once. The Tyrant's whisper in his mind coiled tighter: "Now…"
He stepped forward without hesitation, Tynar falling in silently behind him.
⸻
Inside, the tower swallowed them whole. The black stone walls pulsed with an eerie life of their own, threads of violet weaving from the stone like veins under rotting skin. Light from Kael's runes barely pushed back the darkness.
Rifts shimmered at the edges of corridors, each one a seething mouth ready to devour. Threaded traps hung in the air—arcs of rift-flame, whips of shadow-thread, volleys of ash waiting to be triggered.
Kael narrowed his eyes and moved.
Thread Step: Phantom Blitz!
His form blurred into a streak of motion, teleporting forward in chained bursts, each step landing precisely between flickering rift-traps. Ash exploded behind him as one trap ignited—Rift-Flame Lash!—but Kael didn't slow.
A rift-flame whip cracked at him from the left.
Blink Strike!
He felt time recoil—saw the trap spring again—and shifted just enough to avoid it entirely.
"Smart," he muttered under his breath, feeling the strain tighten his ribs.
Threads spiraled from his palm as he moved.
Thread Dance: Razor Weave!
Glowing strands lashed out, slicing through a rift's hum. The trap sputtered and collapsed in a puff of ash.
He pressed deeper. Corridors twisted and turned, defying logic. The tower was alive, reshaping itself to confuse and trap him.
From the wall to his right, chains of shadow lashed out—Shadow-Thread Bind!—seeking to ensnare him.
Kael flickered, Phantom Blitz sending him past the chains, but more traps flared ahead—flame, ash, shadow.
He grit his teeth, fighting through the rising burn in his muscles. Every dodge, every reset, shaved away his strength. But he would not fall.
Not here.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber. Cracked stone formed a wide bowl, and at its center, the rift-gate pulsed—an enormous spiral of threads, rift energy weaving a vortex that clawed at reality itself. Shadows oozed from its base, taking form, gathering strength.
And in front of it, a figure waited.
A Hollowborn lieutenant, clad in shadow-thread armor, twin swords crackling with rift-flame. His voice hissed across the chamber like a blade scraping bone.
"Kael… Die…"
Kael spun his dagger into a reverse grip, his runes flaring bright, casting long shadows across the stone. He smiled grimly.
"Gate's yours?" he called, voice rough with effort.
The Hollowborn spread his arms, twin blades igniting in answer.
"Gate rises…" he hissed—and then he struck.
Rift-Flame Barrage!
A storm of shadow-flame arcs ripped toward Kael, tearing gashes through the floor as they came.
Kael flickered left—Phantom Blitz!—then right, each dodge a dance with death. The arcs scorched past him, heat searing his skin.
"Too slow!" he shouted.
He leapt high, threads coiling around him—
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
—the strands launching him above the onslaught, flipping gracefully in midair.
He landed hard, but already was moving, threads spiraling from him—
Thread Dance: Tempest Cascade!
A storm of glowing strands lashed out, battering the lieutenant's armor. Shadow bled from the cracks, and the Hollowborn hissed in pain.
The enemy lunged, swords igniting again—
Shadow-Thread Slash!
Kael braced—
Thread Wall: Reflecting Tempest!
—a spinning barrier erupting around him, catching the vicious slashes and shattering them into a burst of violet shards. Several shards pierced the Hollowborn's arm, dark ichor oozing from the wounds.
Kael didn't hesitate.
Phantom Blitz!
He dashed behind the reeling lieutenant, his dagger slashing—
Razor Weave!
Threads cut deep, shadow peeling away in smoking chunks.
The Hollowborn whirled, swords merging—
Rift-Ash Volley!
Dozens of dark orbs rained down, clogging the air, choking visibility.
Kael spun, flaring his barrier again—
Reflecting Tempest!
The orbs burst against the barrier, some ricocheting back, slamming into the Hollowborn's chest, forcing a grunt of pain from him.
Still not enough.
The Hollowborn gathered himself, power crackling wildly.
Kael rewound—
Blink Strike!
Five seconds peeled away. A hidden trap—a Shadow-Thread Bind—missed him entirely now.
He pressed the assault—
Phantom Blitz! — Rune Pulse: Weaver's Wrath! — Tempest Cascade!
Threads battered the Hollowborn's legs, staggering him.
"Break!" Kael roared, launching himself skyward—
Sky Fang!
—and as he descended, he poured all his will into the blade.
Crescent Slash!
The dagger carved a glowing arc, slamming into the Hollowborn's chest and splitting him open in a burst of unraveling shadow.
The Hollowborn shrieked, swords igniting one final time—
Rift-Flame Crescent!
—a massive, sweeping arc of pure destruction.
Kael's runes flared—one last time.
Blink Strike!
The world snapped, time recoiling, and he dodged clean.
With a final surge—
Weaver's Wrath! Tempest Cascade!
—the Hollowborn was shredded into drifting ash.
Silence fell.
Kael staggered, blood dripping from his mouth, his body trembling. His runes flickered weakly.
And then he heard it—shouts. Familiar voices.
From the fractured corridor, Gavyn burst in, spear gleaming with salt-crystals, armor battered but unbroken.
"Storm-god!" Gavyn bellowed. "Bloody tower's a godsdamned mess!"
Lysa was close behind, flipping a coin between her fingers, eyes glinting with reckless glee. "Thread-weaver," she called, "you owe me a fat cut after this!"
Last came Maraen, her locket glowing faintly, casting a halo around her determined face. "Kael," she said, voice soft but fierce. "We're here."
Kael stared at them for a moment, heart pounding. They were real. Not illusions, not fragments of rift-madness.
Real.
"Took you long enough," Kael rasped, his mouth twitching into a lopsided grin.
Gavyn planted his spear into the ground, the earth cracking beneath it. "Forge's hot," he said grimly. "Couldn't sit idle."
"Reckoning's due," Lysa added with a wicked grin, flipping her coin—an explosion cracked a rift apart at her feet.
"For Moonfall," Maraen whispered, her hand tightening around her locket. A shimmer of light softened the oppressive hum of the gate.
Kael's runes flared again, just once, fueled by something stronger than rage or pain.
The Tyrant's voice whispered in his mind:
"Now…"
Kael smiled coldly.
"Together then," he said.
The rift-gate pulsed before them, shadows rising from its heart. Kael stood at the forefront, the strongest Gifted yet forged, his team at his side.
And they would cut the Tyrant's heart from the world.