The rift glowed faintly under the twilight sky, pulsing with a darkness that neither godkind nor demon could identify. Both forces—celestial and infernal—stood at a cautious distance, their attention riveted on the impossible anomaly yawning open between them. The land around it had grown brittle, like burnt paper, the air heavy with whispers that crawled beneath the skin.
Liang Yezhao stepped closer, the tip of Moonpiercer glowing with pale light as it extended forward. With each step, the glaive's divine edge flickered erratically, as if resisting the nearness of the abyss.
"It's not of this world," Yezhao murmured. His voice carried to his lieutenants, who flinched at the sheer certainty in his tone. "Nor of the Underrealm."
Xue Wuyao descended the ridge, walking toward the rift with a frown that marred his otherwise casual demeanor. Red Fang slithered back into its sheath like a snake curling to sleep. He crouched by the chasm, studying it with narrowed crimson eyes.
"This… is void magic," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Forbidden magic. Dead magic. Magic that even the oldest demons forgot how to use."
Yezhao looked at him sharply. "Void magic was sealed during the Shattering War. By the gods and the demon lords alike."
Wuyao rose, brushing ash from his knees. "Sealed doesn't mean destroyed. Something's opened it again."
They stood side by side, uncomfortably close, bound by necessity. For all their differences, both could sense the truth: this was only the beginning.
Lore Interlude: The Shattering War
Centuries ago, long before the first human kingdoms were born, the world of Lanqiao trembled under a war that nearly tore its fabric apart. The Shattering War began when a fragment of the Starveil—an ancient veil separating Lanqiao from the void between worlds—was torn by a rogue god.
What emerged from that breach were creatures of unbeing, entities that defied form and sanity. They were called the Hollowed, beings of hunger and despair that consumed magic, thought, even memory. The gods and demons—mortal enemies—formed the first Pact of Swords and sealed the void using their combined blood. The cost was apocalyptic: entire regions of the world became uninhabitable. The Fae Forests lost half their kin. The Skyborne Isles fell. The sea boiled for fifty years.
Void magic was outlawed by all great races. The remnants of the breach were sealed beneath celestial and infernal temples and placed under eternal guard. The last time such magic stirred, ten High Gods perished.
The air grew colder. Wuyao rubbed his arms as a creeping chill touched his skin. Even fire could not ward it off. He turned to Yezhao, who stood like a marble statue.
"We need a proper investigation," Wuyao said. "A combined force. Seers, spellcasters. The usual spymasters and assassins won't survive what's in there."
Yezhao didn't respond at first. His gaze was locked on the rift. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Wuyao had ever heard. "The last time void magic appeared, my ancestors lost half their line."
"And mine sealed a god inside the Abyss Mirror," Wuyao replied. "We're both inheritors of old mistakes."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Yezhao looked toward his captain. "Send word to the High Spire. Request the Grand Arcanist and the Order of Starbound Scribes. Use my name."
"And you?" the captain asked.
"I'm going into the rift."
Wuyao laughed darkly. "I didn't think gods were suicidal."
"You coming, or not?" Yezhao said.
The demon prince rolled his shoulders. "Someone has to pull your shining corpse out of there when you collapse from pride."
As they prepared to descend, Wuyao turned to one of his own—a slender fae-eyed girl with scales under her jaw. "Bring word to the Council of Embers. Tell them the old world is stirring again."
She bowed low, vanishing in a gust of fire.
Yezhao and Wuyao stepped to the edge of the rift. Darkness bled upward, not downward, as though the void did not fall, but rose. Yezhao summoned a sphere of starlight. Wuyao summoned a wreath of flame. Together, light and heat beat back the initial pressure—but only just.
And so, gods and demons walked together into what lay beyond. In defiance of their blood, of their laws, of the weight of history.
Beyond the rift, something waited. Something that remembered their names.