A Riftborn's Resolve
The battlefield lay cloaked in an eerie silence—not the calm of peace, but the taut stillness of a storm about to erupt. The air shimmered with the fading echoes of the Rift, its once-crushing presence retreating like a tide, leaving behind a scarred landscape.
Violet cracks bled across the sky, jagged scars of a reality torn apart and hastily mended. The ground beneath trembled faintly, littered with shattered ice and the remnants of a war that had nearly unmade the world.
Ethan stood at its center, his golden aura burning steadily around him, a radiant flame flickering on the edge of collapse yet refusing to gutter out. His longsword gleamed in his grip, its runes pulsing faintly, a testament to the power he'd reclaimed. His golden eyes were fixed ahead, unwavering, filled with a resolve that cut deeper than any blade.
And there, before him, stood Kael—or what remained of him.
