Chapter 84 The Rift Within and the Secret Beneath
Falling into the Rift felt like being swallowed by a thought I didn’t want to finish.
There was no wind, no gravity, no sense of direction—just a slow, spiralling descent into a place that felt like memory and nightmare had decided to co-parent.
When I landed, it wasn’t with a thud. It was with a whisper.
The ground beneath me shimmered like glass, reflecting not just my face, but all three versions of it.
Mo-with-Milo stood to my left, arms crossed, eyes wary.
Mo-without-Milo stood to my right, hands on hips, gaze sharp.
Shadow-Mo stood directly in front of me, smiling like she’d just won a game I didn’t know I was playing.
And then Milo landed beside me.
Real Milo.
He groaned. “Okay, that was unpleasant. Like falling through someone’s diary.”
Shadow-Milo appeared behind him, silent and still.
“Welcome,” Shadow-Mo said, voice echoing in the air like a melody played backward. “To the Rift Within.”
“Is this where you monologue?” I asked. “Because I left my patience in the real world.”
Shadow-Mo ignored me. “This is where truth lives, where choices echo. Where secrets bleed.”
“Great,” Kael’s voice echoed faintly from somewhere above. “She’s gone full cryptic.”
Mo-with-Milo stepped forward. “We need to understand what this place is. Why we’re here.”
Mo-without-Milo added, “And how to get out before we become philosophical metaphors.”
I looked around. The Rift Within wasn’t a place—it was a feeling. The sky was a canvas of shifting memories. The ground reflected not just our faces, but our fears. And in the distance, a tower of black flame pulsed like a heartbeat.
Shadow-Milo finally spoke. “This is where you decide who you are. And who you aren’t.”
“Why do you care?” I asked.
“Because I am what you left behind,” he said. “The version of me you didn’t choose. The one who saw the truth.”
“What truth?”
He stepped closer. “That you’re hiding something.”
The other Mos turned to me.
I froze.
“What is he talking about?” Mo-with-Milo asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Shadow-Mo smiled. “You do.”
Mo-without-Milo narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I swear.”
Shadow-Milo raised a hand, and the ground beneath us shimmered. A memory appeared—floating in the air like a scene from a play.
It was me.
Younger. Alone. Standing before the Rift.
I was holding something.
A flame.
But not one of the three.
It was silver.
And I was hiding it.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not real.”
“It is,” Shadow-Milo said. “You found the fourth flame. And you buried it.”
The other Mos stared at me.
“You lied,” Mo-with-Milo said.
“You chose a path before any of us,” Mo-without-Milo added.
“I didn’t know what it was,” I said. “I was a child. My mother told me they were dreams.”
Shadow-Mo stepped forward. “You touched the fourth flame. The one that doesn’t choose—it consumes.”
Another scroll materialized midair.
Yes. Even here.
Thessa’s voice echoed faintly as it unfolded:
Dear Rift Residents,
We are aware that you have entered the Rift. We are not impressed.
Lord Varnish has begun his performance. The goats have fled.
We suggest you return immediately. Or don’t. However, if you don’t, we will send the Royal Historian to explain the consequences of tampering with flames. He speaks in riddles.
Sincerely (and with a migraine),
The Queen and King of Aeloria.
“I hate it here,” Milo muttered.
“I hate that scroll,” I said.
Mo-with-Milo stepped closer. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t remember,” I said. “Until now.”
Mo-without-Milo shook her head. “You buried it. Deep. Even from yourself.”
Shadow-Milo raised his hand again, and the silver flame appeared.
It hovered between us, pulsing softly.
“This is the flame of forgetting,” he said. “It doesn’t offer futures. It erases them.”
I stared at it. “I didn’t mean to touch it. I was just a kid.”
“But you did,” Shadow-Mo said. “And now, it’s waking.”
The Rift Within trembled.
The tower of black flame in the distance cracked.
A voice echoed through the air.
You cannot choose until you remember.
Mo-with-Milo turned to me. “You need to face it.”
Mo-without-Milo nodded. “Or we all fade.”
I stepped forward, reaching for the silver flame.
It pulsed once.
And then—
I remembered.
Everything.
The day I first found the Rift. The silver flame was hidden beneath the others. The fear. The temptation. The moment I touched it—and felt everything I was unravelling.
I had forgotten Milo.
I had forgotten myself.
And I had built a new version—one that didn’t remember the choice I’d already made.
“I chose,” I whispered. “I chose to forget. Mom begged me to.”
Shadow-Milo stepped beside me. “And now, you must choose to remember.”
The silver flame surged, and the Rift Within shattered.
We were falling again.
But this time, I wasn’t afraid.
We landed back in the real Rift.
The others were waiting.
Thessa ran to me. “You’re alive. Mostly.”
Kael looked at the sky. “The Rift is stabilizing. Somehow.”
Yuel nodded. “The third flame is fading.”
Ellira pointed. “But the silver one remains.”
The silver flame hovered above us, pulsing gently.
I turned to Milo. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For forgetting, for listening to mom.”
He smiled. “You remembered. That’s what matters.”
Another scroll appeared.
Kael groaned. “Of course.”
Thessa read it:
Dear Flame Survivors,
We are aware that you have returned. We are mildly relieved.
Lord Varnish has concluded his performance. The audience has not.
We suggest you rest. Or don’t. But if you don’t, we will send the Royal Dreamweaver to interpret your subconscious. He charges by the metaphor.
Sincerely (and with a hangover),
The Queen and King of Aeloria.
I looked at the silver flame.
It was mine.
My secret.
My choice.
And now, my burden.
Shadow-Mo and Shadow-Milo were gone.
But the Rift still pulsed.
And the silver flame whispered.
One more choice remains.