The Closing of Rift

Eila stirred awake to the pale light of morning seeping through the fabric of her tent. Her limbs felt heavy, her head clouded with the remnants of the strange and vivid dream—the voice of the Moon Goddess still echoing faintly in her mind.

She jolted slightly when she heard the soft rustle of her tent's flap being pulled open.

Leonard's familiar voice followed, cautious but firm. "Eila? Are you awake?"

Clearing her throat hastily, she responded, "I'm up! Just… give me a moment."

Leonard paused, his silhouette retreating from the entrance to give her privacy. Eila rubbed the sleep from her eyes and quickly gathered herself, smoothing her hair and adjusting her dress. Her body still carried a faint ache, a residual weight from both the journey and the divine vision that had left her with more questions than answers.

Finally, she emerged from her tent, greeted by the cool morning breeze. The camp was already bustling—warriors sharpening their weapons, others tending to the horses, some preparing for the day's long journey ahead.

A small spread had been laid out for breakfast—strong, dark coffee, sweet buns, and dried figs. Eila poured herself a tin cup of coffee, letting the warmth seep into her cold fingers. She popped a couple of figs into her mouth and wrapped a bun in cloth, tucking it into her pocket for later. She wasn't truly hungry—her stomach was tight with anticipation—but she knew she'd need the energy.

Leonard was already directing preparations to move. The plan was clear: they would journey non-stop until they reached Hollowfang Glen, halting only briefly to let the horses rest and drink. The warriors were swift, efficient. The convoy began its crawl across the rugged path leading westward, the distant silhouette of the Sunashi Mountain range looming larger as the day progressed.

Time passed in a blur of forest greens, rocky inclines, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels over uneven ground. Their midday meal was modest—dried ham passed around, just enough to sustain without slowing anyone down. Eila nibbled without complaint, her mind preoccupied with the inevitable confrontation that awaited them.

By the time the sky bled into hues of dusky orange and purple, they arrived at Hollowfang Glen.

The air was damp from an earlier rain, and the soil beneath Eila's boots was soft and fragrant with the scent of earth. She stepped out of the carriage, her muscles stiff and sore from hours of sitting. Stretching her arms high, she took a long, deep breath, letting the clean air cool her lungs.

Her eyes wandered, admiring the jagged peaks of the mountains cradling the glen and the glint of the setting sun cresting beyond them. The beauty of it all was undeniable—until her gaze fell upon it.

The rupture.

It stood like a living wound in the air, pulsing with a sickly energy that made the very ground around it feel tainted. The air grew colder, thinner, as though the rupture itself was consuming the life around it. Eila's heart began to pound—not from fear, but from an inexplicable pull.

Her legs moved on their own, as if bewitched, guiding her towards the fissure in space. She tried to halt her steps, but her body betrayed her—something deeper, some subconscious call, was luring her forward.

The camp behind her was alive with activity, warriors establishing fortifications, assembling tents, and readying defenses. They paid her little attention, believing her merely surveying the glen.

But Eila stood now just a few feet from the rupture, the swirling darkness reflecting in her wide eyes.

This is it, she thought. The time is now.

She inhaled deeply, forcing her frantic heartbeat to slow. Raising her hands before her, she called upon the reservoir of magic within. The energy surged to her fingertips, glowing faintly as it poured outward in a steady, focused stream toward the rift.

At first, nothing happened—but then she felt it. A resistance. A current, like pushing against a powerful tide. But within that, a rhythm—a pulse she could match, sync with. She closed her eyes, tuning herself to that frequency, and pushed harder.

The rupture shuddered, the swirling dark light beginning to constrict, collapsing inward as if suffocating under her power. Every thread of magic she channeled left her weaker, her legs trembling beneath her. But still, she persisted.

Voices called her name—Leonard, Zois, others—but they felt distant, like echoes in a dream.

She didn't stop.

With a final wave of force, the rupture sealed with a deafening snap, leaving behind a hollow quiet, as if the world itself had just exhaled.

Eila swayed, her vision dimming. She felt her knees buckle, the ground rushing to meet her. Her body surrendered to exhaustion, her mind already sliding toward unconsciousness.

The last thing she remembered before slipping under was the sound of hurried footsteps, someone shouting her name—but she was too far gone.

She had done it.

The rupture was closed.