The Rift never sleeps.
The air shimmered, thick with the hum of forgotten memories and fractured time. Sam stood at the edge of the collapsed Rift, its jagged maw stretching deep into the earth like an open wound. His breath was shallow, the world spinning around him as his mind fought to grasp what had just happened. How long had he been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? It felt like days.
But he knew one thing—he was the only one who made it out alive.
The distant wail of Riftborn—shadowy creatures born from the very fabric of the Rift—echoed in the hollow spaces, a sound that scraped the soul. Sam shuddered, trying to steady himself as his eyes focused on the broken remnants of the Rift's boundary. His skin still tingled from the strange thread-like scars across his arms, marks that had appeared the moment he woke up here.
Something... had changed.
He was no longer just the boy with no name. He was something else—something he couldn't explain, but felt deep inside his veins. The pull of ancient blood coursed through him, vibrant and wild. Sam had never known his true name, never known who he was supposed to be. But now... now, the threads of his destiny were beginning to unravel.
With a grunt, Sam slowly rose to his feet. The world was still a blur of fire and ash in the distance, the last remnants of the Rift's violent eruption. But amidst the chaos, there was a thread—a single, glowing line that seemed to beckon him. It appeared out of nowhere, winding through the air, like a string pulled by unseen hands.
Sam followed the thread.
As he walked toward it, the ground beneath his feet trembled. A crackling sensation filled the air, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a figure—a shadow, standing just beyond the Rift's edge. It vanished before he could blink.
"Sam," a voice echoed in his mind. It was soft, yet commanding. The sound of an ancient whisper, faint but insistent.
He froze.
His hand instinctively went to the blade at his side, the itak he had inherited from his long-lost mentor, Lolo Yvan. The blade was a relic of the old world, a gift from a past Sam could barely remember, but it felt more real now than ever before. The threads of fate tangled around it, binding it to his soul.
The voice spoke again.
"You are the Vein Bladebearer. You must awaken."
Sam's heart raced. The words made no sense. Vein Bladebearer? What was that supposed to mean? He'd lived his life as a nobody, an orphan raised by the mysterious Lolo Yvan, a veincrafter who vanished without a trace. He'd never been special. Just a boy with an ordinary life in an ordinary world.
But this... this was no ordinary day.
The air shimmered again, and before Sam could react, the ground before him cracked open. Something immense stirred from within the Rift, a presence so old it made the air itself grow heavy with the weight of forgotten time.
"Walang Takot..." The words, like a battle cry, surged from his mouth before he could stop them.
In an instant, the Rift exploded outward, and a figure emerged. Fiery, unyielding, clad in flame—the spirit of Lapu-Lapu, the Flame of Mactan, stood before him.
The legendary warrior's eyes were like embers, burning with an intensity that matched the rage of the sea. His dual kampilan blazed in the air, trailing fire as it moved.
"Sam," Lapu-Lapu's voice was a thunderous roar, a warrior's challenge. "I am bound to you. In the face of death, we fight together."
Sam's knees buckled, his breath caught in his throat. His heart beat faster, faster, as the spirit's power surged through him. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the very earth seeming to crack open in response to the force of the summoned hero.
But the feeling was not overwhelming. It was... familiar. Natural. As if the very blood in Sam's veins had always known this moment would come.
"Your threads," Lapu-Lapu said, stepping forward. "They call for you to awaken. To stand with me, and the others who will come."
Sam's gaze drifted downward to the glowing threads that now wrapped around his arms like glowing veins of light. He felt the pull—an undeniable urge to connect, to rise above the boy he had been.
The warrior's fiery presence seared the air as he raised his blade.
"Walang Takot. Do you understand? You are not alone anymore."
In that instant, the final piece clicked into place. The truth that had always eluded him: Sam wasn't just a survivor. He was the key. The thread that would tie the world together—or tear it apart.
The Vein Wars were returning.
And he had no choice but to fight.