The Hollow Glade was silent.
Not the kind of silence that meant peace, but the kind that came after a scream—long, raw, and world-shaking. The Rift had closed, and with it, the last remnants of her—the girl I had left behind, the one whose name I still hadn't remembered.
Only the promise remained.
The vow I had broken.
And the vow I had now begun to repay.
We didn't speak on the journey back.
Elira flew ahead in her hover-glider, her face unreadable, though I caught the occasional glance back. Rhys adjusted his goggles every few minutes, muttering under his breath about Rift anomalies and residual energies, but even he kept it quiet.
Me?
I stared at my hands.
The Voidbrand had changed.
Its dark markings no longer shimmered with crimson light. Instead, they pulsed with a faint blue glow—calmer, softer. Like the energy had settled after what happened in the Glade. But it wasn't just the color that had changed.
It was me.
I felt it in my bones, in the rhythm of my breath, in the aching hollowness where grief and memory used to war.
I had touched a dying echo of the past and found something worth carrying forward.
Back at Outpost Thirion, I expected interrogation.
Decontamination.
Maybe even isolation.
But instead, I was met with silence. A dozen Riftwatch operatives stood lined along the hangar as we landed, weapons at their sides—but not raised.
At their center stood an old woman, her eyes sharp like glass blades, silver hair braided with copper rings.
Rhys tensed beside me. "That's Commander Tarsa."
I swallowed.
The name meant nothing to me—but the tension it sparked in him said enough.
She stepped forward.
"You returned from a forbidden zone," she said, voice flat. "You closed a Class Crimson Rift. Alone."
I didn't correct her. Not about the alone part. Not yet.
"What are you?" she asked plainly.
I looked her in the eyes.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "But I'm ready to find out."
The next three days were filled with tests.
Physical. Magical. Psychological.
They drew blood and tears, measured my dreams, asked questions I didn't have answers for. Each time I gave them something, it only led to more uncertainty.
"You shouldn't be alive," said one technician.
"You shouldn't be stable," said another.
But I was.
And not just alive—I was awakening.
It started on the fourth night.
A quiet hum in my bones. A sense of something building. Something waiting to be used.
I walked the halls of the Outpost restlessly, unable to sleep. Lights flickered slightly as I passed. Doors whispered open without me touching them. Rune-bound panels dimmed in my presence, as though unsure whether I was part of their reality.
Elira found me sitting on the observation deck, watching the stars beyond the shield dome.
She sat next to me in silence.
I finally spoke.
"Do you think she was real? Or just... what was left of her?"
Elira didn't answer immediately.
Then, softly: "Does it matter?"
I glanced at her.
"She remembered me," I whispered.
"That's real enough."
I nodded, slowly.
Then said, "Her name was Aya."
Elira looked at me.
"I remembered," I continued, voice breaking. "Not all of it. But enough. We were together before the Fall. Before I got rewritten."
She waited, patient, calm, as always.
"I left her in that Rift," I said. "And she waited. Even when she started to fade, she waited for me."
"Then your return gave her peace."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm scared, Elira."
"Of what?"
"That it's not over."
She turned slightly, one hand brushing mine. Her fingers were warm, grounding.
"It's not," she said. "But you're not alone anymore."
The next day, Commander Tarsa summoned me.
This time, I expected punishment. Restraints. A wall of accusations.
Instead, she gave me a mission.
"You will travel east," she said, sliding a crystalline data scroll across the table. "To the Forgotten Spires. Reports indicate Rift anomalies are forming faster than we can close them."
I frowned. "You're sending me outside the sanctioned zones?"
"You've proven immune to corruption. You closed a Rift. We need that."
"And if I lose control?"
"Then the world dies with you," she said calmly.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
"Sounds fair," I said dryly, and stood.
Preparations for the journey began at once.
This time, we wouldn't be sneaking out.
We'd be leading a sanctioned expedition.
Elira would come—she insisted, and no one dared say no.
Rhys was more reluctant.
"I'm not a soldier," he grumbled, stuffing a volatile energy core into his pack. "I'm a researcher. I don't do field combat."
"You do now," I said.
He gave me a long-suffering glare, then muttered, "Damn Riftborn and your stupid protagonist aura..."
Before we left, I returned to the Hollow Glade alone.
Elira wanted to come, but I told her this part needed to be just me.
The forest had grown quiet.
No Rift.
No whispers.
Only the wind.
I knelt at the place where Aya had faded.
Placed a stone.
A memory.
A promise.
"I'm going to find out what really happened," I said. "I'm going to find them. The ones who rewrote us. The ones who built this world on ashes."
I touched the Voidbrand.
It pulsed once, quietly.
Then I stood.
And walked back into the light.