The capital had grown restless.
Whispers spread faster than fire—rumors of a rift above the city, of void-born horrors and a pale figure fighting against his own shadow. Some said a god had descended. Others whispered of a curse that would end the age.
And then the sky split.
A single figure descended on wings of steel and storm, his armor blacker than midnight, his eyes glowing like molten gold. The Second Warlord of Avaron landed before the gates, his boots cracking the stone road beneath.
Gasps rippled through the gathered citizens. Some knelt instinctively, others fled. His presence alone was suffocating, a weight pressing into the soul, demanding reverence or surrender.
Second Warlord: "Open the gates. By decree of the Emperor, this city is under protection—and judgment."
The gates shuddered open without resistance. Even the city's guards bowed, though their hands shook on their spears.
He stepped into the capital, his aura alone snuffing out torches, his gaze lifted toward the writhing wound in the sky.
Inside the Rift
Lucien's blade of absence clashed against his reflection's mirror steel, their strikes detonating in silence that tore through the void. Yet beneath the chaos, Lucien felt it—the pull of an alien aura, vast and suffocating.
His eyes narrowed. Someone had entered the city. Someone powerful enough that even the Rift itself quivered at their presence.
The reflection grinned.
Reflection: "Do you feel it? The world sends its hounds. One by one they'll gather, like moths to a flame. Your flame, Lucien."
Lucien's jaw clenched, his breath steady but cold. He knew—whoever that presence belonged to, they weren't coming to save him.
Back in the Capital
The Second Warlord marched straight through the panicking streets, heading for the Citadel. Murmurs followed him.
"Is he here to slay the monster?"
"No, I heard he's here to kill the boy."
"A savior… or an executioner?"
The air turned colder. The Rune-Priests of the North had begun their march south, their runes glowing like frozen stars. In the east, shadows moved faster than eyes could follow—the assassins were already within the city walls. And from the desert, the ground trembled with the first steps of the Ash-Titans.
The city was becoming a crucible.
The Rift Quakes
Lucien staggered, his chest heaving, his aura storm bleeding into the void. For an instant, his reflection flickered—not mockery, but something else. Something closer to hunger.
Reflection: "So many powers converging. Do you understand, Lucien? This is the price of being the Sole Exception. You are the center. The storm. The reason the world moves again."
Lucien lifted the void-forged blade, its jagged edge humming with annihilation. His pale eyes blazed with fury and defiance.
Lucien: "Then let them come. I've fought worse in the White. I'll cut through them all."
The Rift roared, a scream that shook both worlds as another tear widened above the capital.
And the Second Warlord, staring into that abyss, allowed himself a smile.
Second Warlord: "So this is the bloom. Show me, Exception… show me if you are prey, or god."