Chapter 95 The Rift, the Final Shard, and the Beginning of the Reckoning
The Rift was awake.
It pulsed beneath the earth like a heartbeat, ancient and angry. The sky above it shimmered with fractured light, as if reality itself was holding its breath.
We stood at its edge, the wind howling with voices that didn’t belong to the living.
“This is it,” Yuel said, his voice tight. “The place where magic was born. And where it might end.”
“The final shard is here. I can feel it. Which means that Virellina is here as well.”
Buried in the Rift’s heart.
Guarded by the flame that forgot its name.
“I hate it,” Thessa said. “It’s dramatic and ominous and probably cursed.”
“Like Kael,” Zeke muttered.
Kael grinned. “I’m charmingly cursed.”
Gerald the goat snorted and pawed at the ground, his horns glowing faintly.
Quacknor flew overhead, wearing the Queen’s crown and radiating duck vengeance.
Milo stood beside me, the black flame in his hand pulsing in rhythm with the Rift.
“You feel it?” I asked.
“I feel everything,” he said. “The Void is watching. The shadows are waiting for a mistake.”
“Let it watch, let the shadows wait,” I said. “We’re not backing down.”
We descended into the Rift.
The ground cracked beneath our feet, revealing a staircase of obsidian and ember. The air shimmered with flame threads—visible strands of magic that pulsed with memory.
“Does this remind anyone of the Queen’s vault?”
“Yes, I was worried I was having a trauma-based flashback when, in actual fact, they used the same builders.”
“This is the Leyroot’s origin,” Yuel whispered. “The first flame.”
The final shard hovered above another pedestal of broken stone, flickering with violet, green, silver, and black.
It pulsed once.
And then—
She arrived.
Lady Virellian.
Clad in armour forged from the Rift itself, her eyes burning with stolen power.
“You’ve come far,” she said. “Too far.”
“Another villain with poor lines,” Kael says laughingly.
Thessa drew her blade. “We’re taking the shard.”
Virellian smiled. “You’re taking nothing.”
She raised her hand.
And the Rift screamed.
The ground split.
Flame surged.
And the battle began.
Virellian summoned a storm of fire and frost, a contradiction of magic that tore through the air.
Vexa of the Ashborn blocked it with a shield of ash.
The Kindlers summoned healing flame.
The Embercallers whispered wind into the inferno.
Kael hurled glyphs.
Zeke fired bolts.
Ellira and Lira summoned barriers.
Yuel wove ley lines into traps.
Gerald headbutted a summoned beast.
Quacknor dive-bombed Virellian’s crown.
Milo released shadows that fought alongside him.
I ran towards the fight with my flame covering my body, as I would get close to an enemy, they would ignite.
Through my fire and the power of the shards within me.
I dodged left, then right, and ducked and weaved my way through the fight. Virellina and Milo were now battling as I reached the pedestal. I reached out and touched the shard.
I felt heat touch my hand before my whole body was engulfed. I screamed, and my body surged into the air, leaving everyone on the ground knocked over.
Looking down at Virellina’s people and my friends and allies, I watch as each look of shock and awe, as well as hate and anger stare back at me. My body pulsed with light again as the five shards were now one.
The Forgotten Flame surged.
I pulsed with untapped energy and rift scream.
Virellian screamed.
“You are not the Flamekeeper!”
“I am the forgotten flame,” I said.
The Rift trembled.
The walls cracked.
And the world blinked.
We were no longer in the Rift.
We were in memory.
A battlefield.
Flameborn against the Crown.
Virellian stood at the center.
She raised her hand.
And everything burned.
We fought.
Again.
But this time, it was different.
She was stronger.
Faster.
More dangerous.
She had bound herself to the Rift.
She was becoming it.
“I am the flame,” she said. “And you are the spark that dies.”
“No,” I said. “I am the fire that remembers.”
The battle spread across the Rift.
Flameborn clashed with Virellian’s summoned beasts.
Magic collided.
The shards pulsed.
And the Rift cracked.
Milo stepped forward.
The black flame in his hand surged.
He caught Virellian’s attack.
Held it.
And shattered it.
“You are the Void’s heir,” she said.
She launched another attack.
Milo blocked it again.
The shards in my chest pulsed.
And I burned brighter.
The battle raged.
But we were holding.
Barely.
Virellian was unraveling reality.
The Rift pulsed.
And the world trembled.
“This is only the beginning,” she said.
She vanished.
Leaving behind a whisper.
“This is not over.”
We stood in silence.
The Rift was still.
But not safe.
The final battle was coming.
And we were not ready.
Yet.
A scroll appeared.
Thessa read it:
From The King of Aeloria.
Dear Flamekeeper and Associates,
We are aware of your descent into the Rift. We are not amused.
We remind you that reality unravelling is a felony.
We suggest you surrender.
Sincerely (over your escapades),
King of Aeloria.
As we leave the Rift, the mood was a happy-sad; we were happy that we had managed to achieve and reunite the five shards, but we were sad that we hadn’t defeated Virellina. She was becoming a problem, well, a bigger problem than she already was. Just like the Queen knew that the battles hadn’t finished, but as we left the Rift, I couldn’t help but think about what was going to happen next.
We marched toward the Emberwild.
Toward the final battle.
Toward the end.