Light. Cold. Then nothing.
Arka's eyes snapped open to a horizon made of mirrors. Thousands of fractured skies floated above him — each reflecting a different version of reality. Some burned, others drowned, and a few shimmered with impossible peace.
He pushed himself up, his hands touching ground that wasn't quite solid. The surface rippled like water, yet felt heavy like stone.
"Kael!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the mirrored plains. No answer — only his own reflection staring back, warped and distant.
Then the reflections moved.
They didn't mimic him. They acted on their own.
One Arka stood taller, cloaked in black armor, eyes glowing crimson — the Beast Tyrant. Another wore priestly robes, haloed by light — the Starborn Saint. A third version, half-feral and scarred, crouched with a snarl.
Each reflection whispered a fragment of his own soul.
"You failed her."
"You defied the Balance."
"You became what you hated."
Arka clenched his fists. "None of you are real."
The Beast Tyrant smiled. "Neither are you."
Before he could react, the reflections shattered — and from their shards emerged phantoms of beasts he'd once slain: the Frost Wyvern, the Abyss Lion, the Moon Hydra. But these weren't echoes — they remembered him.
The air trembled as the beasts roared, merging into one colossal shape — a fusion of fangs, wings, and starlight.
Arka drew his blade. It pulsed weakly, struggling against the fractured realm's gravity. The Balance mark flickered on his palm, unstable.
"Then I'll fight every version of myself if I have to."
He lunged.
The hybrid beast met him head-on, claws slicing through the mirrored floor. Each strike shattered another world, scattering fragments of time. Arka ducked beneath a wing that could eclipse mountains, driving his blade into the creature's chest — but the wound healed instantly, reversing the moment before impact.
The realm itself was rewriting his actions.
Arka gritted his teeth. "So this is the Rift's curse."
The beast's many voices spoke as one.
The Rift is reflection. You cannot slay what is made from you.
He closed his eyes — and remembered Kael's voice before the light took her. "You're not alone in this, remember that."
A faint tremor spread through his hand — the Balance mark stabilizing. He inhaled, focusing not on the monster, but on the pulse of worlds around him.
If the Rift reflected all outcomes, then somewhere within it, Kael still fought.
He shifted his stance, letting go of the blade — and instead of attacking, he stepped into the creature's strike. The blow sent him flying backward — through the mirror-sky, through the surface of his own reflection — and he fell into another world.
Darkness.
Then — a voice.
"Arka?"
He opened his eyes. Kael knelt beside him, her armor cracked, her eyes glowing faint blue. Around them stretched a barren wasteland — a place between light and shadow.
She touched his face, trembling. "You're real."
He exhaled shakily. "You too."
Before they could speak further, the sky above split apart — a massive ring of golden fire descending. From it emerged a figure cloaked in chains of light, eyes like twin galaxies collapsing in on themselves.
Kael's hand went to her weapon. "That's not another echo."
Arka stood, his blade reforming from fragments of light.
"No," he said quietly. "That's the Warden of the Rift. The last gatekeeper."
The Warden's voice resonated with divine calm.
You have crossed reflections, shattered balance, and denied the order of fate.
To go further is to end the cycle. To end existence itself.
Arka raised his sword. "Then maybe it's time someone did."
Lightning tore through the sky as the Warden descended — and the Fractured Worlds began to collapse.