As ryder watched the guard's swift exit, his stride reminiscent of a man outrunning a dragon's inferno, a shiver ran down his spine. Something was amiss, and it wasn't just the usual palace intrigue that often left a sour taste. Every soul he'd encountered since his return seemed on edge, as if awaiting the fall of the executioner's blade. Fear was spinning its own tale, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been ensnared in its web.

At first, he suspected another rift might have cracked open in the vicinity, unleashing a horde of monsters upon the land. But the presence of those lion guards, with their imposing stature and piercing gazes, suggested otherwise. They were the royal family's elite protectors, deployed only when the monarch's interests hung in the balance. His instincts, honed from years of hunting the very creatures that rifts spawned, warned him that something was off, something significant.

He pushed aside the growing sense of unease, focusing on the task at hand: delivering the orb to the mage's tower. Any news unrelated to those blasted rifts was a welcome respite from the endless battles. Weeks of fighting monsters without reprieve had taken their toll; dark circles under his eyes and the weight of his armor bore testament to his exhaustion. All he desired was a decent wine to dull the ache in his muscles and a warm bed to surrender to. But first, he had to fulfill his contract. Only then could he afford to let his guard down, if only for a moment

As he approached the tower, an unsettling silence enveloped him. His instincts screamed at him that something was amiss, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The magician's garden, normally a flurry of activity with eccentric, pointy-hatted scholars hurrying to and fro, lay deserted and still. The only sound was the soft creaking of the trees in the gentle breeze. He ascended the stairs, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The wooden steps groaned beneath his feet He reached the top and pushed the door open, his senses on high alert, ready for whatever lay within.

Ryder's gaze narrowed as he observed the tense scene before him. The magician sat rigidly in his chair, flanked by a mysterious woman in a mask, whose presence seemed to command the shadows. Beside them, the monarch slumped, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own defeat. The monarch's rare visit to the magician's lair was a telling sign that something was amiss.

Their hatred for each other was the stuff of kingdom legend, a deep-seated animosity that simmered just below the surface Yet, the monarch tolerated the magician, no doubt due to his formidable power—a power that could unleash destruction on a catastrophic scale, rivaling the fury of the wild dragons that roamed the land.

The monarch's relief was palpable, his eyes sunken with exhaustion, his voice tinged with the desperation of a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. "Thank the gods you're back, Ryder," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Take a seat." As Ryder sat, the creaking of the wooden chair seemed to echo through the tense silence.

His eyes locked onto the trio before him, his gaze lingering on the enigmatic woman with the mask. Her presence was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, a whisper of a memory that refused to surface.

With a tone as neutral as the winter's sky, Ryder asked, "What's the situation, Your Majesty?" The magician's eyes flashed with annoyance, but Ryder ignored him, focusing on the monarch's response.

The monarch's words cut through the air like a blade. "Ryder, I'll be blunt. Our situation is catastrophic. We're staring into the abyss of annihilation." Ryder's gaze remained steady, but his mind racing with the implications.

He dropped the orb onto the table with a soft clunk, the sound breaking the tense silence. Ryder's face twisted in confusion as he asked, "What do you mean?" His eyes sliced through the room, searching for answers,

The monarch's eyes clouded, his face a map of worry etched with the fine lines of a man who'd seen the depths of human suffering. "It all began fourteen days ago," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Calanthor, our closest ally, was attacked." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "The governor, a man I've known for years, sent a distress call. His words still haunt me: 'A rift has opened, unleashing a horde of fire demons upon our city. We need your help, or risk being consumed by the inferno.

Ryder's eyes narrowed, his mind reeling from the scale of the disaster. Demons were a plague, a scourge upon the land, but fire demons? They were the worst of the lot. Mindless, destructive, and driven solely by their insatiable hunger for chaos.

And thousands of them? The thought sent a shiver down Ryder's spine. This wasn't just a breakout – it was an unmitigated disaster, a catastrophe of epic proportions.

As the monarch's dire news hung in the air, Ryder's gaze drifted to the dwarven wine on the table, its crimson liquid glinting in the light. A sudden urge to savor the moment seized him. He'd always wanted to try the rare and expensive wine, but had never indulged. Now, with darkness gathering around them, he poured a glass and took a sip. The wine's rich flavor was a brief, welcome respite.

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The monarch's voice was heavy with regret as he continued. " initially i refused to believe it," he admitted. "Demons have never attacked together in such numbers But after convening an emergency meeting with my cabinet, i dispatched a scout to investigate the claims’’.

The monarch's eyes grew somber as he paused, collecting his thoughts. "What he found was a desolate landscape, a nightmare of smoldering ruins and charred remains. Calanthor... is gone, erased from the map as if it never existed."

The monarch's voice trembled, his words echoing through the silence. "And it's not just Calanthor. Five of our cities have fallen in the past fortnight, each one succumbing to the demon hordes like a fragile keep in an earthquake. They leave nothing but ash and bone in their wake.".

Ryder swirled the wine in his cup, the flickering torches casting a mesmerizing glow on the liquid. His voice was devoid of emotion as he asked, "How did this happen?"

The king's expression was one of utter defeat. "I don't know," he admitted, his words laced with desperation. "Rifts are tearing open everywhere, unleashing hellish infernos upon our lands., some claim it's a sign of the end times." He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to scrub away the weight of the world. "I've reached out to the neighboring kingdoms, but they're fighting the same battles we are

The king's eyes flicked towards Ryder, and he seemed to sense his apathy. He decided to cut to the chase. "To put it bluntly, Eroil's found a way out," he said, his voice low and urgent. "A way to pull our kingdom back from the brink and maybe, just maybe, save the world."

Ryder's gaze snapped back to the king, his interest piqued. He set the glass down, his eyes narrowing. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low and even.

The king's tone turned deadly serious, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ryder, we've been searching for a solution, a way to stop the rifts and restore balance to the world. And Eroil thinks he's found it." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "It involves living mana. What do you know about it?"

yder's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to recall the whispers he'd heard about living mana. "Living mana?" he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "I've heard the tales, the myths. A magical crystal, capable of transforming some ordinary man into a legendary mage." He paused, studying the king's expression.

The king's face remained resolute, "It's no myth, Ryder. Eroil's found a way to track down the living mana. This is our only hope for saving this kingdom from descending into chaos."

Ryder wondered if the weight of the kingdom's fate had clouded the king's judgment, leading him to grasp at such an improbable solution. He cast a skeptical glance at the magician, who seemed impervious to his doubts.

The magician nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with intensity as he leaned forward. "With the living mana, I can create a magical barrier that will prevent the rifts from opening forever," he explained.

Ryder gulped down the remaining wine, poured himself another glass, and asked, "Where do I fit into this?"

The king's expression turned grave. "The living mana resides in a Realm beyond our own, where the laws of nature are twisted and distorted. Eroil's research warns that it's a death trap, fraught with unimaginable dangers." The king's eyes burned with an intense determination as he locked gazes with Ryder. "I'm dispatching Eroil and the Kmol to retrieve it, but they'll need a skilled warrior to watch their backs on this perilous mission."

As the king spoke, Ryder's gaze drifted to the masked figure, and a spark of recognition ignited within him. His eyes narrowed, memories flooding back. The familiarity he'd sensed earlier now made sense – he'd encountered her kind before. The Kmol were infamous for their duplicity, their identical faces, and their treacherous reputation.

The Krnol were poison, liable to stab you in the back the moment you turned around. Ryder's voice dripped with venom. "What is she doing here?" His gaze locked onto the Krnol, disgust etched on his face. "I won't work with one of them.

Eriol's serene expression belied the danger lurking beneath. His voice was as smooth as polished silver. "I trust her with my life. We don't have time for idle chatter. Every second counts."

The king's expression remained impassive, unfazed by Ryder's hostility. "Two hundred thousand kito," he stated, naming his price. Ryder's instincts screamed warning – this job reeked of peril. But the promise of such a substantial sum was tantalizing. With that amount, he could finally acquire the ingredient needed to complete his evolution.

Ryder's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with calculations. He could use the money, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that the king was hiding something. "I'll do it," he said finally, "but I need more incentive. Five hundred thousand kito."

The king's response was immediate, his voice firm. "Deal." Ryder's eyes widened in surprise, regret washing over him. He had underestimated the king's desperation. Maybe he should have asked for more.

"so when do we depart?"he asked

Eriol stood up, his movements swift and deliberate. With a sudden yank, he pulled down a skull mounted on the wall, triggering a hidden mechanism. The sound of grinding stone filled the air, accompanied by the faint scent of dust and age, as a concealed door creaked open, revealing a staircase that plunged into darkness.

Ryder rose from his chair, his expression skeptical. "That's it?" he asked, his voice tinged with incredulity. "Don't I need to prepare or gather my gear?"

With a confident stride, Eriol crossed the room, his purposeful gait eating up the distance. "Just follow me, kid. I've got everything we need," he called out, his voice echoing off the walls as he descended into the darkness. The blackness seemed to swallow him whole.

Ryder trailed behind him, descending into the unknown. The king and the Krnol woman followed, their presence marked by the soft rustle of their attire. This was it, Ryder thought to himself, He was in this now, bound to see it through to its bitter end.