A week later, the Voidspire loomed—a twisted tower piercing a storm-wracked isle. Rifts pulsed around it, warping gravity so rocks floated like balloons. Sora’s gauntlet thrummed, greedy for the chaos, but he kept it in check, thanks to Toren’s potions. Kalia’s hope for her clan grew desperate, her storm-dances sharper each night. Toren brewed nonstop, his sarcasm hiding worry.

“Voidspire’s a deathtrap,” he warned, tossing Sora a fire-vial. “Voidsingers guard it. Maybe worse.”

“Then we’re careful,” Kalia said, checking her blades.

Sora nodded, but the gauntlet’s hum felt like a warning. “Let’s move.”

The isle’s edge was a maze of floating platforms. A shadow darted above—Vynne, a winged scout with hawk-like eyes and a bow. She landed, smirking. “Heard you’re stirring trouble, storm-dancer. Need a guide?”

Kalia frowned. “You’re a mercenary, Vynne. What’s your price?”

“Curiosity,” Vynne said, eyeing Sora’s gauntlet. “Riftbound are rare. I want in.”

Sora shrugged. “More the merrier.”

Vynne led them through the maze, her wings dodging rift-pulses. At the Voidspire’s base, Voidsingers patrolled, chanting to a rift that bled purple light. Sora’s gauntlet burned, pulling him toward it. “There’s something in there,” he whispered. “Like… my spawn point.”

Kalia’s eyes lit up. “My clan?”

“Maybe,” Vynne said. “But those singers won’t share.”

Toren grinned, tossing a vial. “Then we crash their party.”

The fight was brutal. Kalia’s storm-blades carved paths, Vynne’s arrows struck true, and Toren’s bombs lit the dark. Sora’s gauntlet devoured void-energy, reshaping it into barriers and blasts, but the rift’s pull grew stronger. A Voidsinger captain lunged, her spear grazing Sora. He glitched her weapon into sand, panting as she retreated.

The rift flared, spitting a vision: Kalia’s clan, trapped in a crystal cage, their Threads fading. Sora grabbed Kalia. “They’re alive—inside!”

She charged the rift, Sora and the others following. Reality twisted—colors bled, voices echoed. Sora’s gauntlet screamed, showing him Valthera’s core: a machine, half-broken, tied to his Relic. “I was summoned,” he gasped. “To fix this—or end it.”

Vynne yanked him forward. “Focus, gamer! Save them first!”

They breached the rift, finding the cage. Sora shattered it with a glitch, freeing the Zephyrs. Kalia embraced her kin, tears falling. But the rift pulsed, and a voice boomed: “Riftbound, you unmake us.”

Sora’s gauntlet cracked, leaking light. He met his crew’s eyes—Kalia’s fire, Toren’s smirk, Vynne’s nod. “We’re not done,” he said, raising it. “Let’s rewrite the rules.”

Chapter 3: Wings of the Rift

Join the Discussion