Riyan stood at the crossroads, his heart hammering against his chest. The battlefield around him had become a blur—crimson-tinted chaos unfolding as the war between the Shadowmarked and the vampires reached its peak.
Amara was yelling, her voice barely cutting through the roar of combat. "We need to leave! Riyan, now!"
Kael stood firm, eyes locked on Riyan. "Stay, and I'll show you the truth about the Nexus."
And then there was the warlord, his crimson eyes glowing with malicious intent as he approached with his weapon drawn. "There is nowhere to run."
Riyan could feel the artifact pulsing in his grip, its energy responding to his hesitation. It wanted him to choose.
---
The warlord lunged, his halberd striking with supernatural precision. Amara moved instantly, blocking the strike with her blade, her muscles straining against the force of the blow. Sparks flew between them, and the ground beneath their feet cracked from the impact.
Riyan stumbled backward, his breath ragged. He had no choice—no time to think. He raised the artifact instinctively, feeling the pulse of raw energy coiling within it.
The warlord's eyes flickered with recognition. "Ah. Now you understand."
Riyan didn't understand. Not fully. But something inside him **did**.
The artifact's glow intensified, and suddenly the battlefield **shifted**—the very air twisted unnaturally as if the Nexus itself was responding to its activation.
The vampires faltered, sensing the shift. Even the Shadowmarked stiffened, eyes widening as they felt the sudden pull of power radiating from Riyan's hands.
Kael stepped forward. "This is it. The gateway is opening."
Riyan couldn't process what that meant. He barely had time to react as the space around him seemed to **split**—fractures appearing in the air itself, like cracks in a glass window.
Behind the fractures, something **else** waited.
---
Amara's grip tightened around her blade. "We **don't** have time for this!"
Kael ignored her. "It's calling him. The Nexus is choosing."
A deep voice rumbled through the fractures—**not spoken words, but something ancient, something woven into existence itself**.
**Riyan.**
His name echoed through his mind, shaking the very core of his being.
The artifact pulsed, responding to the unseen force beyond the cracks in reality.
Riyan gasped, stumbling forward as his vision blurred. The fractures expanded, warping around him until he could see **beyond**—to a place that did not belong to this world.
A city.
Or at least, the ruins of one.
Endless towers stretched across an abyss, their structures shifting as though time itself had forgotten them. Mist curled around the remnants of colossal buildings, their foundations crumbling beneath an unseen force.
And in the center—**a throne**, abandoned and cracked, bathed in golden light.
Kael exhaled slowly. "The lost city."
Amara was less impressed. "Riyan, step back. **Now.**"
The fractures pulsed again.
Riyan felt himself being **pulled**—not physically, but mentally. The artifact wanted to take him there.
He wasn't sure he could resist.
---
The warlord sensed the danger first. With a growl, he surged forward, aiming for Riyan's heart with his blade.
Amara reacted instantly, intercepting the attack once again—but the warlord **wasn't alone**.
The vampires moved as one, a synchronized wave of destruction.
Kael shouted a command, and the Shadowmarked charged forward, clashing against the overwhelming enemy forces.
And then—**chaos**.
The fractures in reality **expanded violently**, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Riyan felt the pressure against his body, the overwhelming force of something greater than himself demanding his attention.
He couldn't hold on.
The artifact pulled him forward.
And suddenly—
**He fell.**
Through the fractures.
Into the unknown.
---
Everything blurred, twisting in impossible ways as Riyan tumbled through the broken Nexus.
The world—**his world**—vanished behind him, replaced by an **endless void of shifting colors and collapsing stars**.
Time had no meaning here.
The artifact pulsed, guiding him deeper, until at last—
He landed.
Hard.
The air was cold.
The ground beneath him was smooth, unnaturally so.
Riyan groaned, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He blinked through the haze, vision adjusting to the **golden glow surrounding him**.
He was no longer in the Crimson Spire.
He had **crossed into the lost city**.
And he was **not alone**.
---
The voice returned.
**You have arrived.**
Riyan's breath hitched. He rose slowly, turning toward the sound, but there was nothing—only the ruins surrounding him, stretching endlessly in every direction.
The throne stood at the center.
It pulsed faintly with golden energy, similar to the artifact he held in his hands.
Riyan took hesitant steps forward, his pulse matching the rhythm of the glowing throne.
This place—this **city**—felt familiar.
Not because he had been here before.
But because **it had been waiting for him**.
---
Back in the Crimson Spire, Amara cursed as she fought against the vampires. The battlefield had collapsed into pure chaos, and the fractures had sealed behind Riyan as soon as he vanished.
Kael withdrew, his expression unreadable.
"He made his choice," he murmured.
Amara growled. "You think this was a **choice**? He was dragged into whatever abyss you people created!"
Kael didn't argue. Instead, he simply glanced toward the broken sky.
"It begins now."