The morning after the fire, Dawnspire woke to the smell of rain. The Riftlight that shimmered faintly across the valley dimmed under the gray clouds, and the hum that had once felt warm now carried a quiet unease.
Kairo stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind tugged at his cloak, but his thoughts were elsewhere — in the past, in the ruins, in the faces of those he had failed.
Behind him, Noel trained with Renn and Mira, their movements sharp but clumsy. For all their energy, they were children standing on the edge of something they did not understand.
Reika approached, her boots sinking into the damp grass. "You didn't sleep," she said softly.
Kairo shook his head. "Could you? The Rift is stirring again."
"You think it's because of him?"
Kairo's eyes darkened. "No. It's because of me."
Later that day, Mira called a meeting inside the largest hut. A rough map was pinned to the table — drawn in charcoal, showing rivers, forests, and the jagged lines of Rift scars across the land.
"The Rift to the north has opened again," she said. "A pulse hit us last night — small but growing. If it spreads, it'll swallow the whole valley."
Taro leaned over the map. "And you're telling me you've handled this before?"
Mira nodded. "We've held back three breaches this year alone. We're used to it."
Reika frowned. "You're children. You shouldn't be fighting things like this."
Mira's calm didn't waver. "Who else will?"
The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.
Kairo studied the map, his jaw tightening. "The Rift's pattern looks… familiar."
Noel, standing beside him, spoke softly. "Like something waiting to be finished."
Their eyes met again. Kairo felt the faint hum — the resonance between two souls tied by fate.
"Get your people ready," Kairo said at last. "We'll face it together."
That night, the storm broke.
The Rift split the sky above the northern ridge — a wound of light tearing through the clouds. Thunder rolled, and the ground shuddered like a living thing.
Mira and the children of Dawnspire took up their weapons. Runes flared. Prayers were whispered.
Kairo stood at the front, flame kindling in his hands — pale, controlled, fragile.
Reika's voice cut through the roar. "You're not doing this alone, Ashborn!"
He turned to her, eyes burning gold. "I never was."
The Rift exploded.
Light and darkness collided in the valley, the air vibrating with power. The young defenders fought bravely, but the creatures spilling from the Rift were endless — half-formed shadows, crawling things made of light and hunger.
Noel stood beside Kairo, his own power flickering like a reflection. Every time he struck, the Rift seemed to respond — almost recognizing him.
"Stop!" Kairo shouted over the chaos. "It's feeding on you!"
Noel hesitated, panting. "I can't — it wants me—"
A wave of energy burst outward, knocking them both to the ground. The world went white.
When Kairo opened his eyes, he was lying on scorched earth. The Rift had sealed — silent and gone. The children were safe, though many lay unconscious.
Noel sat a few paces away, eyes glowing faintly gold, his breath unsteady.
Kairo crawled toward him, voice shaking. "What did you do?"
Noel smiled faintly — the same tired, ancient smile Kairo remembered from another life.
"I remembered," the boy whispered. "Everything."
The wind fell silent.
Reika's voice called distantly, but Kairo couldn't hear her anymore. The truth hung between them like a blade.
The Tyrant King's soul had awakened — and it had chosen its heir.