Chapter 29: The Rift Within

Ethan dropped to one knee, gasping. The glow around his Beastmark pulsed violently, fading slowly like embers after a firestorm. The Warden's voice still rang in his ears—You are the key.

Footsteps pounded behind him.

Zeila appeared from the upper level, blades ready. "What happened? I felt the Rift spike—like a star collapsing in on itself."

Kael wasn't far behind, weapon drawn. "I saw the shadows shift. Did it attack again?"

Ethan pushed himself to his feet. His body trembled—not from fear, but from the energy that had coursed through him like lightning. "The Warden. It was here. In the archive."

Zeila's eyes narrowed. "You fought it?"

Ethan nodded. "Barely. It could've ended me—but it didn't. It was testing me again." He met her gaze. "It said I was born of the Rift. That I'm its key."

Kael whistled low. "That explains the mark lighting up like a supernova."

"No," Ethan said, his voice steadying. "It's more than that. The Rift isn't just reacting to me. It knows me. The Warden said I could reshape the world with its power."

Zeila lowered her blades. "And what did you say?"

"I told it to go to hell," Ethan said flatly.

Kael smirked, but it faded quickly. "That doesn't mean it'll stop trying to push you toward whatever destiny it thinks you have."

Zeila reached for the medallion. "We need answers. You said there might be something here?"

Ethan turned toward the inner sanctum of the archive—the forbidden section. Locked behind a Rift-sealed gate, only a Guild Seer or High Scribe could enter. Unless…

He raised his marked hand.

The seal reacted instantly, ancient glyphs lighting up along the iron gate. The air shimmered with Riftlight, and then—click. The gate opened.

Kael blinked. "Okay, that's… not normal."

"Not normal is kind of my thing now," Ethan muttered, stepping inside.

The chamber beyond was narrow and tall, lined with stone shelves carved directly into the Riftrock. Books, scrolls, crystal memory shards—this was knowledge lost to most of the world. Ethan's mother had once studied here. Maybe she had left something behind.

Zeila helped scan the walls. "Look for anything referencing Bonebound, Rift keys, or symbols like the medallion."

Kael tapped his visor and activated a pulse scan. "There's a sealed compartment behind this shelf."

Ethan moved toward it. The panel was etched with the same eye-and-fang sigil.

He pressed his hand to it.

Thrum.

The compartment slid open. Inside was a small, black-bound tome wrapped in Rift-silk, and beside it—a hollow ring of bone filled with runes.

Zeila stared at the ring. "That's not just old… that's pre-Breach. From before the Rift gates ever opened."

Ethan picked up the tome and flipped through its brittle pages. His mother's handwriting filled it. Notes, maps, fragments of prophecy. And then—a single passage underlined in red ink:

If the Warden awakens, the last Key must resist the Call. For the Key is not just the door—it is the lock. If broken, the Rift unseals, and the Hunger returns.

Ethan read it twice.

"The Rift isn't just power," he whispered. "It's a prison."

Zeila's eyes widened. "The Warden wants to unlock it."

Kael's voice turned grim. "And you're the last Key. If they control you… they control the prison door."

Ethan set the book down, fire in his eyes. "Then we don't give them the chance."

"But how do we stop something like that?" Kael asked. "We're not exactly stacked with ancient god-slaying artifacts."

Zeila turned the bone ring over in her hand. "Maybe we don't need to kill it. Maybe we seal it again. This ring—this might be part of the original lock."

Ethan nodded slowly. "Then we find the rest of it. Before the Warden does."

A sudden quake rocked the archive, and from above, a horn sounded—long, low, and filled with dread.

Kael turned to the others. "That's the Guild's breach alarm."

Zeila cursed under her breath. "Something just came through the Rift."

Ethan stepped toward the exit, voice cold with resolve. "Then the Warden's not wasting time."

As they raced toward the surface, Ethan felt his Beastmark thrum in rhythm with the tremors. It was calling to him again. Not to surrender—but to choose.

The Rift within was growing.

And it would be his to command—or to destroy.