The Fall That Never Ended

Kaelen plunged into the abyss.

There was no up. No down. No sense of time, no air rushing past him, no stomach-churning lurch of freefall. It was nothing and everything, like sinking into an ocean where the water was made of light and shadow, where gravity had been rewritten, and reality had lost its meaning.

He had fallen before. Off cliffs, through traps, into rivers, into battle. But never like this.

This was not falling.

This was being pulled.

The hand—the one that had grabbed him, the one that had let him go—he had seen it before. The face from the memory. A stranger. And yet, someone he knew.

His heart pounded. His limbs felt weightless, yet unbearably heavy at the same time. Around him, the abyss shifted, morphing into fragmented images, half-formed memories that weren't his.

A kingdom in flames.A woman standing before an altar, whispering a name.A child with silver eyes, staring into the dark.

Not real.Not his.

And then—

He hit the ground.

Kaelen gasped, coughing as he rolled onto his side. He had landed on something soft, yet solid. Not stone, not earth, not air—something in between.

The sky—if it could even be called that—was a swirling mass of black and violet, streaked with shifting golden veins that pulsed like the beating heart of something alive.

He pushed himself up, his body aching but unbroken. That in itself was impossible. He had fallen too far, too fast.

His surroundings stretched endlessly in all directions. There were no mountains, no landmarks, only the vast, empty landscape of shimmering glass-like ground, reflecting the shifting sky.

He was alone.

"Elira?" His voice echoed unnaturally. "Orin? Dain? Varian?"

No answer.

Only silence.

Then, in the distance, footsteps.

Kaelen turned sharply, hand on his sword. The air rippled, and from the shifting void, a figure emerged—

Tall. Cloaked in deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that glowed faintly in the dim light. Their hood was up, their face obscured.

But the moment they spoke, Kaelen's blood ran cold.

"It took you long enough."

The voice.

The same one from the vision.

Kaelen drew his sword without thinking. The steel caught the light of the strange sky, but the reflection was… wrong. The blade didn't reflect him.

"Who are you?" Kaelen demanded.

The figure tilted their head. "You already know."

No.

No, he didn't. He couldn't.

And yet—

A whisper in his mind. A name on the edge of his memory.

"You're—"

The figure took a step closer. "Tell me, Kaelen," they said, voice calm, unshaken. "Do you know why you're here?"

Kaelen clenched his jaw. "I fell."

The figure shook their head. "No. You were brought."

Brought.

Kaelen's grip tightened on his sword. "By who?"

The figure laughed. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… knowing.

And then, they removed their hood.

Kaelen staggered back. His breath caught in his throat.

Because the face staring back at him was—

His own.

"No." Kaelen's voice came out hoarse, shaking. "This is a trick."

The other him only watched, silver eyes gleaming. Too silver. Too perfect.

"You always assume deception before truth," the Other Kaelen said. "That is why you have always been blind."

Kaelen lifted his sword. "I don't know what kind of magic this is, but it won't work."

The Other Kaelen smiled faintly. "Magic? No. This is simply… remembering."

Kaelen's pulse thundered in his ears. "Remembering what?"

"Who you were."

The words hit like a blade to the chest.

Kaelen shook his head. "I know who I am."

The Other Kaelen sighed. "Do you?"

And then, suddenly—Kaelen was not standing in the empty abyss anymore.

A throne room.

Tall, obsidian pillars stretched toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Torches lined the walls, their light flickering unnaturally, burning blue instead of gold.

And at the end of the long, blackened stone hall—

A throne.

Massive. Twisting with golden veins, pulsing like the sky outside. And seated upon it—

Kaelen froze.

It was him.

No—not him. Not exactly.

This version of himself was clad in dark silver armor, a cloak draped across his shoulders. His hands rested on the armrests of the throne, fingers tapping lightly against the metal.

A crown sat upon his head.

And his eyes—they were empty.

No recognition. No warmth. Only the cold gaze of someone who had forgotten what it meant to be human.

Kaelen tried to step back—but his feet would not move.

The throne-room Kaelen tilted his head. "So. You finally came back."

Kaelen's body was rigid, every muscle locked in place. "What… what is this?"

The Kaelen on the throne simply watched him. "A past you refused to remember."

"No." Kaelen shook his head. "No. This isn't real."

Throne-Kaelen leaned forward slightly. "Then why do you recognize it?"

Kaelen opened his mouth—then stopped.

Because he did.

He didn't know how. He didn't know why.

But he knew this place.

A whisper of a name danced at the edges of his mind, just out of reach.

"You were never just a soldier," the Other Kaelen said, stepping beside him. "You were never just a lost traveler."

Kaelen clenched his jaw. "Then what was I?"

The Other Kaelen exhaled. "You were the first to wield the artifact."

Kaelen's breath stalled.

No.

That wasn't possible.

The artifact—the cube—it was ancient. Lost to time. Older than kingdoms, older than the gods themselves.

And yet.

And yet.

He could feel it now. The weight in his soul. The familiar pull.

He had held it before.

And he had used it.

The memory was locked deep, buried beneath centuries of time and magic.

But it was there.

Kaelen had been here before.

And now—he had returned.

To be continued...