The days following the ritual were marked by a tense stillness. Arion spent hours honing his new bond with the Blade of Ra’zien, training in the chamber where the ritual had taken place. The power of the blade hummed constantly beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Yet, he knew the magic came with a heavy cost. Every time he drew on the blade’s energy, he felt the lurking presence of the Abyss, a dark temptation always just out of reach, whispering promises of greater power.

Lirael watched over him during his training, her expression unreadable. Occasionally, Thalric joined them, offering advice on how to better channel the blade’s magic. But the weight of what they were up against—the growing threat of the rifts and the Shadow King—cast a shadow over everything they did.

One evening, as the sun set over the distant horizon and cast long shadows across Lysander’s crumbling towers, Lirael approached Arion after another exhausting training session.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she said, her arms crossed as she leaned against a stone pillar. “You need to rest. The power inside you is not something you can master overnight.”

Arion wiped the sweat from his brow, the blade resting against his back. “I can’t rest. Every day the rifts grow wider. More creatures are slipping through, and we’re running out of time. I can feel it.”

Lirael’s gaze softened. She understood the urgency, but she also knew the danger of rushing into a battle ill-prepared. “If you burn yourself out now, you won’t be any use when the real fight comes. You need to pace yourself.”

Before Arion could respond, the door to the chamber creaked open, and Thalric entered, his face grim. He carried a scroll in one hand, its edges worn and tattered, and his eyes were clouded with concern.

“We have a problem,” Thalric said, his voice heavy. “A large rift has opened just outside the city of Darrow’s Reach. The creatures coming through… they’re not like the others. They’re organized. Intelligent.”

Arion’s heart skipped a beat. “The Shadow King?”

Thalric nodded. “I believe so. His influence is spreading faster than we anticipated. If we don’t close this rift soon, Darrow’s Reach will fall. And if that happens, the rest of the realm won’t be far behind.”

Lirael straightened, her usual calm replaced with a steely determination. “How far is Darrow’s Reach?”

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“Two days’ ride, if we leave immediately,” Thalric replied. “But we’ll need to be cautious. The Shadow King’s forces will be on the move, and they’ll be watching the rift.”

Arion felt a surge of adrenaline, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the Blade of Ra’zien. “Then we need to leave now.”

Thalric held up a hand, stopping him. “Before you rush off, there’s something you need to know. This rift is different from the others. I’ve studied the reports from the scouts, and it appears to be more stable, more… permanent. The creatures emerging from it are stronger, more organized, as I said. This isn’t just another tear in the fabric of our world. It’s a gateway.”

Arion’s blood ran cold. A gateway. That meant the rift wasn’t just a crack; it was a bridge, a deliberate connection between realms. And if the Shadow King had created it, that meant he had more control over the rifts than anyone had realized.

Lirael’s brow furrowed. “If it’s a gateway, then simply closing it won’t be enough. We need to destroy it, cut off whatever is feeding it.”

Thalric nodded gravely. “Exactly. But to do that, you’ll need to get close. Very close. The power feeding the rift will be concentrated at its center, and it’s there that you’ll find the anchor keeping it open. Destroy the anchor, and the gateway will collapse.”

Arion clenched his fists. “And what about the creatures? The ones protecting it?”

“They’ll fight to the death to defend the rift,” Thalric said. “You’ll be facing the Shadow King’s elite. This will not be an easy battle.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The task ahead seemed impossible, yet they had no choice. The longer they waited, the stronger the Shadow King’s hold on their world would become.

Lirael finally spoke, her voice firm. “We leave tonight. We’ll need to gather supplies and prepare for the worst. If this gateway is as powerful as Thalric says, we’ll be walking into a war zone.”

Arion nodded, determination settling in his chest. He had trained for this moment, and though the danger was greater than he had anticipated, he knew he couldn’t turn back now. The Blade of Ra’zien pulsed faintly at his side, as though sensing the battle ahead.

As they turned to leave the chamber, Thalric stopped them one last time. “There’s something else you should know. If you succeed in destroying the anchor, the collapse of the rift will create a surge of magical energy. The resulting shockwave will be… unpredictable. It could be harmless, or it could destroy everything around it.”

Arion met Thalric’s gaze, his voice steady. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re far enough away when it happens.”

Thalric didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Be careful, Arion. The Shadow King has waited centuries for this moment. He won’t let you take it from him easily.”

With that, the three of them left the chamber, their minds set on the mission ahead. The road to Darrow’s Reach would be long and dangerous, but they had no time to waste.

As they prepared to leave the underground sanctuary, Arion couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be the battle that decided everything. The rifts, the Shadow King, the magic of the Abyss—it was all coming to a head.

And Arion would be at the center of it.