Chapter 16 — Rift Reopen
The cold lingered, but Solace's wounds had begun to heal. In the sterile quiet of the military hospital, the door creaked open. Orion—short-haired with a cropped style that framed his intense green eyes—stepped in first, his expression a mix of exasperation and relief. Cass followed, her presence crackling with latent lightning energy that danced at her fingertips. They moved in without ceremony.
"You know you're insane, right?" Orion muttered as he settled into the chair beside Solace's bed. "A Rank 6 beast, Solace? And you're not even Rank 6 yourself."
Cass crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised. "Seriously. Were you trying to die?"
Solace managed a faint smile despite the remnants of pain etched on his pale face. "I just wanted to get stronger," he replied evenly.
Above him, Night shifted in his sleep. The once-small dragon now lay heavily atop Solace's chest, his wings twitching intermittently and his tail draped like a weighted chain along Solace's legs. Every labored breath sent subtle creaks through Solace's battered frame. Even in rest, Night's presence was a constant reminder of the cost—and the promise—of power.
In a quiet corner of the room, Lyra stood by the frost-kissed window. Her posture was unyielding and her eyes scanned the corridor with a cold efficiency. She never wasted words on sentimentality; her worry was shown only in the tightening of her jaw and the steady gaze that never left the door.
Days passed in a slow, measured rhythm. Solace began to walk the hospital halls again, each step deliberate and determined. Night padded silently by his side, wings occasionally unfurling as if stretching out the chill from his scales. Whispers spread among the soldiers and medics alike.
"That's him—the one who killed the Rank 6 beast alone."
"He's not even Rank 6 yet."
"A monster in human skin."
None of it reached Solace's ears. Today, of all days, was his birthday, a fact that slipped past the usual tension of survival and duty.
When he finally returned to his quarters later that afternoon, the lights were dimmed to a warm, welcoming glow. Lyra was waiting. Standing apart with arms folded and a guarded expression, she didn't offer extravagant greetings. Instead, she simply said, "Happy birthday."
Solace blinked, surprised. "You remembered."
She shrugged imperceptibly, her eyes briefly flickering with something he couldn't quite read before she turned her gaze away. "Someone had to."
They sat in a companionable silence for a while. No flowery conversation, no forced cheer—just the quiet company of two souls who had learned to communicate in glances and measured pauses. Night snored softly between them, his deep, rumbling breaths filling the quiet room with a steady cadence that was almost soothing.
Later that night, as the wind howled its mournful song outside and the corridors of the base creaked with the weight of winter, a sudden tremor shook the building. Solace's eyes snapped open. At first, it was a barely perceptible vibration beneath his feet. Then came the blare of horns and the shriek of sirens—an alarm that shattered the fragile peace of the night.
In one swift motion, Solace threw off his blankets and bolted upright. Without a word, he sprinted toward the wall, straining to see through frost-laced windows. Outside, beyond the frozen fields, a jagged tear split the sky—a raw, seething wound in reality itself. The Rift had reopened. The tear churned with swirling black mist and crackling arcs of energy, as though the very fabric of existence were being ripped apart.
From the gaping rift stepped something colossal—a creature whose presence seemed to suck the warmth from the night. Its scales were as dark as obsidian, its vast wings cast enormous, foreboding shadows over the snow. Spiraling horns rose like sinister crowns, and its eyes burned with an ancient, golden fury. A god-beast.
As if summoned by this single, terrible presence, a horde of lesser beasts emerged from the rift's edge—hounds with feral eyes, serpentine monsters that slithered across the ice, and winged terrors that sliced through the bitter air. The enemy was innumerable.
Solace's heart pounded as he stared at the creature. It looked like a dragon—a monstrous echo of the world from which he had once stolen Night's egg. The god-beast's golden gaze locked onto him, as if weighing his soul and daring him to defy it.
The invasion had begun.
In that charged moment, Solace's mind raced with memories of past battles and the relentless pursuit of strength. He recalled the solitary hunts in the Black Reaches, the countless nights he had returned bloodied yet resolute, and the quiet determination that had carried him through each trial. Now, the very air trembled with the promise of war.
Driven by instinct and resolve, he moved quickly from the hospital bed. His limbs, though still weak from his recent wounds, remembered the discipline of battle. He ran to the wall once more, desperate to see what was happening outside. There, through the frost-covered glass, he watched as the god-beast advanced, its massive form framed against the swirling chaos of the Rift.
Even as fear threatened to take hold, a small, defiant smile crept across Solace's face. He had faced death before; this was merely another test.
A clamor rose from the soldiers outside, and from his position near the wall, Solace could hear fragments of urgent commands. General Francis, who had witnessed his previous feats, now emerged on a balcony, his voice booming, tinged with disbelief.
"Stand your ground!" Francis commanded, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the invaders. "Protect the base at all costs!"
From the window, Orion's cropped hair and determined face appeared among the throng of medics and soldiers, while Cass's eyes sparked with restless energy as she readied herself for the coming storm.
But in that moment, Solace's thoughts were solely on the creature before him—the god-beast that commanded an entire horde. The crackling energy of the Rift pulsed ominously, and in the distance, a roar shook the frozen air. His mind recalled a question that had haunted him: Could it be from the same world he had once plundered for Night's egg? The similarity was unsettling, and yet it ignited in him a deeper hunger for strength.
The tension was palpable. The base, already hardened by weeks of relentless winter and continuous beast assaults, now braced itself for a new terror. And amid this maelstrom, Solace felt both dread and determination intertwine. He had become something different—a man forged in the crucible of violence and survival. Today, he would stand against this new threat, not as a desperate fighter clinging to borrowed power, but as a warrior honed by steel and resolve.
As the beast drew nearer, its golden eyes never leaving him, Solace felt his pulse quicken. The sounds of clashing metal and distant roars from the battlefield reached his ears. It was clear: the god-beast was not alone. Its arrival signaled the beginning of an invasion, a war that would test every soldier, every survivor, and every whisper of hope within the base.
In the moments that followed, the world outside became a frenzied blur of movement and violence. Solace could hear the clash of weapons, the screams of combatants, and the unearthly howls of beasts as they swarmed the outer walls. The god-beast moved with a deliberate, crushing power that made the ground quake with each step.
For a long, agonizing moment, time seemed to slow. Solace stared at the creature, his mind racing with both fear and a fervent desire to become stronger. Today, the past, present, and future converged in that single, monumental instant. His eyes, reflecting the raging chaos outside, burned with a quiet resolve.
Then, as if the world had suddenly ignited into a maelstrom, the sound of battle exploded around him. Soldiers surged toward the outer defenses, and General Francis's commands rang out, clear and unyielding. The Rift continued to pulse and writhe above, a constant reminder that nothing would ever be the same.
In that moment, with the god-beast at the center of a tidal wave of monstrous fury, Solace knew one undeniable truth: he would have to confront his destiny head-on. The threat was immense, the losses inevitable, but he had chosen this path—this struggle—to become stronger.
He took a steadying breath, his gaze never wavering from the creature. His heart pounded with the rhythm of war, his resolve tempered by every hardship he had endured. This was not merely survival; this was transformation.
Together, in silence and defiant unity, the base braced for the coming storm. And as the Rift roared its dark promise, the war between worlds began.