The Breaking of the Rift

The Rift's Final Breath

The sky was dying.

Golden fractures splintered outward, spreading like veins of molten light through the abyss. Each crack pulsed, shifting the fabric of reality itself. The very concept of existence trembled beneath an unseen force—a presence that had been waiting since the dawn of time.

Ethan stood in the center of it all. His golden-shadow flames flickered around him, not as a weapon, but as the last constant in an unraveling universe. The air around him twisted, bending under the weight of something immeasurable.

A heavy silence stretched across the battlefield.

Then—

A pulse.

A slow, deep tremor rippled through existence. It wasn't an explosion. It wasn't a collapse. It was a breath.

The Rift—the very thing that had defined this war—was inhaling.

Preparing.

And exhaling for the last time.

The moment it did, the battlefield lurched.