The year was 2025. The world had just begun to heal, emerging from the shadow of a pandemic that had tested humanity's endurance. Life was slowly returning to its familiar rhythm—cities bustling, markets alive, and streets once again filled with voices of hope.
And then the sky broke.
A darkness unlike anything ever witnessed crept across the heavens, black as molten onyx, spreading like a curtain pulled back to reveal an abyss that had no end. The stars vanished. Sunlight died before it touched the ground. In its place, an endless void shimmered with shapes that whispered dread and fear visions that clawed at the edges of sanity.
Cities crumbled under the weight of chaos. Millions perished in a single heartbeat, lost to panic, fires, and the unseen horrors descending from the void above. Those who survived bore witness to something far worse than mere apocalypse: the world itself had changed.
From the abyss emerged Arkael, a realm both magnificent and monstrous, where the impossible became real. Mountains floated in fractured skies, rivers of silver fire carved the land, and creatures born of nightmare prowled the edges of vision. Gods and goddesses, once the fantasies of myth, walked with terrifying authority but not as saviors. They were predators, arbiters of torment and survival.
The Black Mediterranean Veil had torn a rift between realities, merging the familiar modern world with this new, horrifying plane. Humanity was no longer the apex. Survival would demand more than courage; it would demand endurance, cunning, and the willingness to bear burdens no mortal had ever imagined.
The world did not end all at once. It fractured.
Survivors whispered of impossible storms that burned with pale fire, of winds that carried voices not their own. Entire coastlines were swallowed by tides that glimmered like molten silver, reflecting the abyss above. Cities once symbols of human achievement now stood as skeletal monuments, their streets littered with ash and the echoes of screams.
And then came the Riftborn.
Not all were born of tragedy, not all were gifted willingly. Some were dragged screaming into Arkael, pulled from the edge of death and returned with something no human had ever known. Others were the children of those who had touched the rift, their blood carrying embers that pulsed faintly beneath skin. Each bore a mark some subtle, some grotesque, a reminder that the world they had returned to was no longer their own.
The rift itself was alive. Shadows writhed across its surface, shifting like smoke, stretching long fingers into the streets below. Those who stared too long reported hearing whispers, voices promising power, warning of doom, and offering salvation in the same breath. Few could resist. Most were consumed, leaving only husks, or worse: twisted versions of themselves, known as the Wretched, cursed by corruption.
Embers colored, glowing sparks began appearing in those touched by the rift. Each color signifying potential, ability, and peril. Vitalis, Umbra, Voltis, Aetheris, Gravis, Ruin… names that would define the future of humanity, and the fate of those who dared survive.
No law of nature remained unbroken. Monsters stalked the boundaries of cities and rift scars, evolving with every encounter. Buildings warped as if alive, streets bent into labyrinths overnight, and even the skies seemed to pulse with a consciousness that hungered for the living.
Humanity learned quickly or they died trying.
Scholars documented the rift, governments militarized against it, and clandestine factions formed, hunting Riftborn for power, experimentation, or fear. The modern world became a precarious stage, balanced between survival and the encroaching horror of Arkael.
And somewhere, far below the awareness of the general populace, seeds of rebellion, resilience, and tragedy began to take root. Riftborn training, Ember awakenings, and the first whispers of heroes who might bear the weight of the world… or succumb to it entirely.
The world after the Black Mediterranean Veil was a fragile, uneasy place. Cities rose again, but the scars of the rift were everywhere. Cracked streets hummed with residual energy, and abandoned skyscrapers leaned at impossible angles, their shadows stretching like long fingers across the ground. The air carried a faint metallic tang, a reminder that the veil between the modern world and Arkael had never fully closed.
Riftborn were no longer anomalies. They walked among humans, some hailed as heroes, others feared as walking reminders of the disaster. Governments monitored them, researchers studied them, and ordinary people whispered rumors. Each Riftborn was a story of survival, a symbol of power, and a warning of what the rift could do.
Education adjusted to the new reality. Schools taught the history of the Veil, the rules of Arkael, and the dangers of corruption. Children learned the Ember system, the colored sparks within the Riftborn that defined their abilities. They learned to respect the weight of each Ember, the burden it carried, and the consequences if it ever faltered.
Yet, no amount of training could fully prepare humanity for the monsters that slipped through the cracks. Shadows emerged where light should be. Buildings warped inexplicably. Creatures evolved with cunning intelligence, stalking survivors in ways that defied logic. Entire districts became off-limits, cordoned by governments, patrolled by armed squads. Rumors spread of places where the rift's corruption lingered, where even the bravest Riftborn did not dare tread.
Corruption became the silent enemy. It crept through minds and bodies, turning those who seemed strong into shadows of themselves. To combat it, new tools were invented. Purge needles, vials, and monitoring bracelets became standard for those who trained with the Riftborn, a way to measure and suppress the creeping darkness. Survival was no longer about strength alone; it required vigilance, intelligence, and timing.
The modern world adapted, but the rift waited patiently. It was always there, a looming threat behind every skyline and in every whisper of shadow. Humanity had gained knowledge, but it was a fragile shield against a force older, stronger, and infinitely crueler.
And somewhere within this new, fractured reality, stories of heroism, tragedy, and unimaginable horror were beginning to unfold.
[News Broadcast – Global Network Feed, 2136]
"Good evening. We interrupt regular programming to bring you a special report from the Ashen Ward Sector. Authorities confirmed that a Riftborn task force has successfully neutralized one of the rift-born abominations that had been terrorizing the downtown districts for the past 48 hours.
Eyewitnesses describe the creature as towering over ten meters, its body twisted and covered in blackened, vein-like growths. Its eyes glowed with a deep crimson hue, and it emitted a low, resonating wail that reportedly caused structural damage to nearby buildings. The exact origin of the creature remains under investigation, though experts confirm it emerged from a lingering rift scar in the area.
Riftborn operatives reportedly engaged the abomination in direct combat, employing a combination of Ember abilities and containment protocols. Officials state that the use of Purge Needles and anti-corruption vials was essential to ensure the operatives remained stable during the encounter. Surveillance footage shows a spectacular battle: bursts of colored Ember flaring against the darkness, shadows moving unnaturally as the creature lashed out, and the city skyline illuminated by the explosive energy of the confrontation.
Authorities emphasize that while the abomination has been neutralized, other rift-born threats may remain. Citizens are urged to remain vigilant and to report any unusual activity to local authorities. For those living near rift scars, precautionary measures, including emergency Ember monitoring bracelets and immediate evacuation protocols, remain in effect.
This incident serves as a reminder that the rift is never dormant, and the balance between modern civilization and Arkael's horrors is fragile at best. We will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available."
The broadcast ended, but the echoes of the Ashen Ward incident lingered in every corner of the city. Screens flickered in homes, cafés, and transport hubs, replaying footage of the battle on a loop. Citizens stared in awe and fear, some whispering prayers, others shaking their heads in disbelief.
Near the cordoned sectors, life continued in uneasy rhythm. Children played cautiously behind reinforced barriers, their laughter faint against the low hum of government drones patrolling the skies. Market vendors displayed their goods with extra vigilance, eyes darting to every shadow, every alley, knowing that the abominations of Arkael could appear anywhere.
Riftborn moved through the streets with quiet authority, their Ember faintly glowing beneath clothing or hidden in bracelets. Some carried themselves with calm confidence, veterans of countless skirmishes. Others were newer, tentative, aware that one misstep could turn them into the next casualty. Passersby gave them a wide berth, a mix of awe and apprehension in their expressions.
Schools incorporated the Veil's lessons into daily routines. Children were taught not only mathematics and literature but the mechanics of corruption, the importance of monitoring Ember, and the function of Purge Needles. Even in casual conversation, parents reminded their children of the weight carried by those touched by Arkael: power came with danger, and danger came with consequences.
Yet, amidst the structured vigilance, rumors persisted. Whispers of new rift scars opening in remote towns, of creatures adapting faster than containment squads could respond, of corruption creeping silently into the minds of humans and Riftborn alike. Fear was not just of monsters—it was of the unknown, the unpredictable, the very real possibility that the world as they knew it could vanish again.
In quiet corners of the city, hidden from cameras and authority, some Riftborn trained in secret. Ember flared against walls, metal clashed against metal, and the air shimmered with energy. The modern world had its safety measures, but beyond them, Arkael's influence was always present, a constant, hungry shadow waiting for the unprepared.
The city moved on, but every citizen carried a fragment of dread. They had survived the Veil, but survival was fragile, temporary. And somewhere, beyond the eyes of the public, the true nature of Arkael's threat waited, patient and relentless.