"The world doesn't break when it's wounded—it remembers where it bled." — Old Tilbaran Saying, Origin Unknown
The First Tremor
The tremor began as a whisper—just a single vibration that passed through the stone underfoot, so subtle it could've been mistaken for breath. But when Ken looked up, he saw the light on the chamber walls bending, like glass melting in silence.
Reka moved fast. "Everyone back—now!"
Esya flicked open her parasol, its seals blooming into protective rings of crimson. "It's not collapsing," she said sharply. "It's breathing."
Ken's pulse synced with the rhythm beneath the floor. He could feel it—the pulse of the island itself, deep and wounded, like a heart too long suppressed.
"Rudhana," he whispered under his breath, "what is this?"
The spirit's growl echoed faintly:
"A wound pretending to be a seal. The Rift was never healed, only buried."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Echoes of the Past
The stairway behind them warped, the walls shifting into mirrors. Through the distorted reflection, they saw glimpses of another Harama—one burning under a crimson sky, its academy torn in half, its rivers running upward into the clouds.
Hanazel reached toward the image, her eyes widening. "This isn't illusion. It's overlap."
Reka clenched his jaw. "Temporal bleed. The Rift's echo is crossing into our time."
A voice rolled through the chamber—low, genderless, ancient.
"Fifth of Balance. Sixth of Truth. Seventh of Betrayal.
Shall I turn your rails to dust again?"
Ken froze. He recognized the tone. It wasn't the Rift—it was something within it.
Esya's parasol snapped shut. Her gaze hardened. "We're not the same fools you erased before."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Rift Opens
The pedestal split down the center, releasing a sphere of pale blue light. It hovered, spinning faster, growing cracks that spilled liquid light across the chamber. The hum deepened into a scream—not of pain, but recognition.
Rudhana surged through Ken, his veins glowing with faint gold. "Get back!" he shouted, but the energy burst outward, catching them all in its radius.
For an instant, everything inverted—sound became color, light became touch. When vision returned, they were no longer in the vault.
They stood in the Rift.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inside the Rift
Harama was gone. In its place stretched an endless corridor of suspended rails—floating in air that wasn't air, stretching into a storm of ink and starlight. Fragments of the stations drifted like islands. Durama's wall. Amakatsu's gate. The Evalian sigil. All broken, all circling the same center point: a glowing scar that pulsed like an eye.
Hanazel whispered, "Is this the birthplace of myths?"
"No," Esya said quietly. "It's their grave."
Ken tried to step forward but felt the resistance of invisible threads tugging against his limbs. "We shouldn't be here…"
Rudhana's voice reverberated through the void.
"And yet you are. The Rift doesn't open for those it hates. Only for those it remembers."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Truth Shattered
A figure materialized at the center of the Rift—faceless, cloaked in pale fire, standing atop a piece of broken track. Its voice was calm, curious.
"Descendants of the Fifth. You carry her sin."
Kabe stepped forward, his blade ready. "Whose sin?"
"Lady Orynne's," the figure replied. "The Queen who sealed the truth and named it peace. You were never meant to rebuild what she buried."
Ken clenched his fists. "Then why show us this?"
"Because her seal fades. The island remembers too much."
The figure raised its hand, and the rails around them began to twist, reforming into a massive, spiraling construct that resembled a train—but one made of memory and myth.
The Rift shook violently. Reka gritted his teeth. "We need to get out—now!"
Esya's seals expanded, forming a ring around the group. "Hold on to me!"
Light swallowed everything.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Return
When the world steadied again, they were back in Harama's underground vault—but the walls were no longer stone. They were ink, moving like liquid, bleeding faint reflections of the Rift's corridor. The Fifth Rail had changed shape, its symbols now glowing in new color—silver, not gold.
Kabe exhaled shakily. "We didn't close it… we just moved it higher."
Reka pressed his hand to the wall, feeling its pulse. "No. It followed us. The Rift's inside Tilbara now."
Ken turned to the group, voice low. "Then this island isn't just remembering… it's rewriting."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last Scene
Later that night, as rain fell over Harama, Ken stood by the academy's outer wall, staring toward the north. He could see faint blue flickers beneath the clouds—the same hue as the Rift's light.
Esya joined him silently. "You saw it too, didn't you?"
Ken nodded. "The figure in the Rift. It knew my name."
She looked at him. "Then it's begun again."
Ken frowned. "What has?"
Her parasol opened, glowing faintly under the rain.
"The Second Scarring."
The wind howled through Harama's gates. Somewhere far away, the sound of shifting rails echoed—a reminder that the world itself had just taken its next breath.