The night was quieter, and the city's hum softened as Elias sat in the corner of a dimly lit bar. His eyes scanned the room, observing the people—ordinary, simple. Just as the world was supposed to be. But beneath the surface, he could feel the faint tingle of magic.
It was there, like static in the air, barely perceptible.
He had always known that Elyndros was a world of pure chaos, where magic thrived in its rawest form. But in this world? Magic wasn't supposed to exist. At least not like this. Yet, he could feel it, pulsing, waiting. Something had ruptured the veil between their worlds. It wasn't just Adrian; it was the entire fabric of reality bending.
Elias's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of his glass. His mind raced, trying to piece together the mystery. He had been brought back for a reason. The gods were never that merciful.
His mind wandered back to Adrian. The boy from the farm. The savior. The hero.
Adrian's life here—ordinary, untouched by war—was a lie. The hero had no memory of his crimes, of the blood he had spilled, of the promises Elias had once made him swear. But Elias could feel it. The magic that surrounded Adrian. It wasn't just divine power—it was something darker. Something they had both been part of.
The question echoed again in his mind: Why did the gods bring me back?
---
Elias knew it wouldn't be long before things started to unravel. Magic, like a disease, had been suppressed in this world for centuries. And now, it was leaking in—uncontrollable, dangerous.
A crash sounded from the street outside, followed by panicked screams.
Elias stood, instinctively, his senses sharpening. The magic in the air flared—blinding. People screamed as a shadow flashed by the bar's window, too fast for the human eye to track.
The familiar sense of danger settled over him, and Elias's hand moved to his jacket, brushing against the cold hilt of the blade he had found earlier. It pulsed, resonating with his growing power.
Magic. In this world. A broken reality.
---
Elias stepped into the night with practiced ease, blending into the shadows of the city. The air had changed—charged with a violent energy, like a storm on the horizon. Magic was running wild, and the disruption felt like an echo of something familiar. Something that had once been his power, now distorted by the cracks in reality.
A few blocks away, a figure moved in the alley—quick, fluid. Too quick to be human.
Elias didn't hesitate. He reached for the knife strapped to his belt, his fingers brushing the cold steel. It felt like an extension of his will, a weapon forged in a world where blood and violence were the only constants. A sharp breath in, and he moved.
The alleyway was narrow, littered with debris. A figure in a black cloak moved swiftly through the shadows, dodging the trash and twisting as if following some unseen path. The faint glow of arcane symbols, glowing softly on his cloak, caught Elias's attention.
The figure wasn't just a random threat. This wasn't a human—a man in the city's underbelly. No. This was something… older. More dangerous.
Elias's eyes narrowed. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife. Without thinking, he closed the distance, a predator stalking prey. But just as he was about to strike, the figure turned, its face hidden by the hood.
For a moment, everything stood still. A deep, unnatural silence spread across the alley. Even the magic seemed to hold its breath.
Then, the figure spoke, its voice low and resonant, sending a chill down Elias's spine.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Elias tensed. His heart skipped a beat. The figure's words… they weren't the words of a mere assassin or rogue. They felt… prophetic.
"What are you?" Elias's voice was a cold growl. His grip on the blade tightened, his body poised for the strike.
The figure didn't answer right away. Instead, it stepped forward, revealing the edges of its cloak, covered in ancient symbols that pulsed with the same energy Elias had felt earlier. The figure's face was a mask, emotionless, but Elias could feel the weight of its gaze beneath.
"The veil has torn," the figure said cryptically, its voice echoing in Elias's mind. "And you, Elias, are the reason it's bleeding."
Elias's breath caught in his throat. He'd only heard those words once before—spoken by an old sorcerer in Elyndros, before the fall. The gods had warned him of the consequences of his quest, the unsealed magic. But this—this was different.
"What do you know about me?" Elias demanded, stepping closer.
The figure's lips curled slightly. "You're the one who crossed the line. You and the others."
"Others?" Elias hissed. His mind raced. "What others? Speak plainly."
The figure's hood tilted as if it were assessing him, a silent appraisal that sent a shiver down his spine. "You were chosen, Elias. Not just by the gods, but by the forces beyond their reach. And now, you're paying the price."
A pulse of magic surged from the figure, and Elias stumbled back. His instincts flared, his body reacting faster than his mind. His hand flew to the dagger, but before he could strike, the figure was gone—vanishing into the shadows as if it had never been there at all.
Elias stood alone in the alley, breathless, pulse racing.
The words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain. You're the one who crossed the line.
He looked down at the blade in his hand, now slick with cold sweat.
Something had shifted. The world wasn't the same. Not anymore.
And neither was he.
---