Kaelien pressed his back to the stone wall, heart pounding louder than the whispers of the Rift. Every breath he took felt like a gamble, like Vyrathis might hear it and come tearing down upon him with that cursed, blazing fury.
He couldn't keep running forever. He had to find her.
Seren.
She was the only one who'd seen the Warden fall with him. The only one who knew what it meant to choose survival over loyalty. The only one who might not see him as a traitor.
But the Rift was vast—dark, winding, alive. Even on the first layer, it stretched for kilometers. How could he find her before Vyrathis did?
Then Kaelien's eyes narrowed.
A patch in the distance—a clearing of sorts—looked... wrong. Not empty, but quieter. The air there shimmered less with that invisible pulse of ancient magic. It was subtle, but he could feel it. A pocket where the magic's density thinned, and with it, the absence of Riftlings.
They were avoiding something. Or someone.
Kaelien ran.
The moment he neared the area, he slowed. Footprints, faintly imprinted in the ash-like dust, curved between tall, broken stone pillars. A discarded fire pit. A makeshift tarp.
And then—
A blade to his throat.
Seren had appeared without a sound, her sword pressed against the space just below his jaw, her eyes hard and steady as a mountain storm.
"I told you," she whispered coldly, "we'd part ways. We're enemies. What do you want?"
Kaelien didn't move. "I'm not with Kael'Thar anymore."
Seren didn't flinch, but her grip tightened. "That's convenient."
"They turned on me. Imprisoned me for not killing you. I barely made it out alive. The only reason I'm here is because one Flamelord took pity on me."
She said nothing.
Kaelien went on. "Now they've sent an Emberlord after me—Vyrathis. I can't fight him alone. And I know you're planning to go deeper into the Rift."
She finally pulled the blade back a hair's breadth. Her eyes still burned with suspicion, but something shifted in them—recognition. A flicker of pain she mirrored in her own way.
"You want me to help you," she said.
"I want us to help each other," Kaelien said. "We were stronger together. We survived the Warden of Silence, Seren. That wasn't luck. That was us."
Silence stretched between them, heavier than the cavern ceiling above.
Seren looked away. "I don't trust you."
"I know. But you and I are both alone now. And down there—" he nodded toward the chasm leading to the second layer, "—we won't last long without someone watching our back."
Her jaw clenched. But Kaelien could see it: the loneliness, the exhaustion, the quiet grief of exile.
She gave a single nod. "You stay close. You try anything, and I finish what the Steelkeeper started."
Kaelien let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Fair enough."
Then the scream tore through the Rift.
It wasn't human. It was something deeper. A shriek like molten stone cracking open, a violent sound that seemed to sear the air itself.
Kaelien's blood ran cold.
He turned toward the echoing corridor of stone and flame. "That's Vyrathis."
Seren stiffened. "You know that thing?"
"I was raised hearing his name. Emberlord. They call him the Scorching Gale. He can sense heat signatures like they're beacons." He looked toward her. "He's fast. Too fast."
Seren's eyes flicked to the descent. "And you led him here?"
"I bought us time. Not enough."
She hesitated only a second. "We go deeper."
Kaelien blinked. "Are you sure?"
"No," she admitted. "But I'd rather face what lives down there than him. You said it yourself—we survive together."
Without another word, they packed their things, what little there was. Seren moved with a silent determination Kaelien hadn't seen before—driven, but cautious. Whatever decision had kept her on the first layer for so long had now cracked under the weight of something worse.
The descent was rough. The path down twisted through narrow tunnels and jagged cliffs that cut like blades. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became—not just heavy with magic, but saturated with it. They both felt it crawling beneath their skin, like invisible threads brushing against their souls.
Hours later, the Scorching Gale stood at the edge of the camp Seren had abandoned.
His sharp teeth curled into a smile.
He knelt, placing his hand against the ground. Eyes shut, he reached out with his senses. The trail was faint, but the Rift whispered the truth to him.
"Down," he said, voice low and gleaming like a flame in darkness.
And down he went, after them.