Another day passed. The cavernous sky above the Rift's surface layer remained in its eternal twilight, pale threads of light filtering through jagged crevices high above. Kaelien's boots crunched over scattered shards of obsidian-like stone, his breath steady despite the tension slowly knotting in his chest. He had to keep moving.
Somewhere in this cursed place, Seren was still alive. He didn't know how far ahead she was or whether she had already descended deeper. He only knew he had to find her—before they did.
Seren
Seren had reached the edge of the passage to the second layer. The descent loomed like the throat of some ancient beast—narrow, twisting, alive with faint pulses of energy that shimmered against the stone walls. But she didn't descend. Not yet.
She had fought too hard and lost too much to rush into death.
A pocket of collapsed stone provided a narrow shelter just near the edge. There, she built a silent camp. No fire. No sound. Just her breath and the Rift's distant, maddening hum.
She leaned against the stone, staring down into the abyss, her thoughts a blur of exhaustion and questions. The Warden of Silence was dead. Kaelien had vanished. And Velmora… Velmora had sent a Steelkeeper to kill her. She wasn't just an exile now.
She was a hunted traitor.
Vyrathis
The Scorching Gale had entered the Rift.
Like a windstorm in human form, Vyrathis moved faster than any mortal eye could follow. His cloak of scorched silk flared behind him as he ran, leaving trails of dry heat in his wake. The edges of his boots hissed with friction as they struck the stone, leaving faint burn marks. He needed no map. No guide.
All he needed was the scent of heat.
He paused atop a ridge of jagged black stone, his golden eyes narrowing. There. Twenty meters. A human heat signature. Familiar. Panicked. Slower than it should be.
"Kaelien," he growled.
He did not shout. He did not roar. He simply moved.
Kaelien
Kaelien felt the change in the air before he heard or saw anything. Heat. It was subtle, but it was there—a strange pressure creeping over the rocks, rolling toward him like a coming wave.
He looked up and saw the flicker of red-gold in the far distance.
His blood turned cold.
Vyrathis.
There wasn't even a question of fighting. Kaelien was strong—but not Emberlord strong. Not Scorching Gale strong.
He turned and bolted, weaving through narrow pathways and ducking under hanging shards of crystal. He needed to lose line of sight. He had seconds—if that.
He threw himself into a crevice, body pressed to stone. His heart thundered, loud in his ears.
But hiding wouldn't work. Vyrathis didn't track people with his eyes. He felt them. The heat of breath, the warmth of blood, the burn of movement.
Kaelien reached over his shoulder and pulled five arrows from his quiver. Each was ignited with a snap of his fingers—small flames dancing at the tips. Then, one by one, he loosed them.
Five arrows arced in five directions—each toward a different high ridge or cavern wall.
As the last left his bow, Kaelien grit his teeth and focused. He closed his eyes and pushed down—deep. Lowering his body temperature. Slowing his breath. Pulling the heat into his center and snuffing it out like a dying ember.
Moments passed.
Then he felt it. Vyrathis passed overhead, chasing one of the arrows.
Kaelien didn't move. Not yet. He waited—ten heartbeats, twenty. No return. No burn in the air.
He had done it.
He stood, breath trembling in his chest.
That won't work twice.
Kaelien sprinted forward, each step carrying more desperation than the last. There was only one option now. He had no nation. No army. No allies.
Only her.
He had to find Seren.
Alone, he was a dead man. But maybe, maybe with her…
…they could kill a storm.