Back in his apartment, Elias paced, his thoughts a whirl of confusion and anger. That figure. That creature. It had known too much, had been too familiar. There was no question about it now. The rules of this world had been shattered, and Elias was at the center of it.
But what did that mean?
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his racing thoughts. Magic was leaking through, like cracks in a dam, and with it—danger. Forces from beyond this world had begun to stir. The gods. The dark forces that had manipulated him in Elyndros. All of it was connected, and the threads of fate that had once seemed so distant were now closing in on him.
But why was he here?
He had died. He had completed his quest. He had avenged the betrayal.
And yet, he was back. And the hero—Adrian—was here too, oblivious to everything he had done. To everything that had happened.
A part of him wanted to confront Adrian, to drag him into the chaos and make him remember. But he knew better than to act rashly. This world was different, and he needed to understand it first.
As he looked out of the window at the city below, the streetlights flickering like tiny, distant stars, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
The veil has torn.
Elias's eyes narrowed.
The storm was coming.
The rain started lightly that night, tapping against the windows like fingers from the other side.
Elias sat on the floor of his cramped apartment, the old blade from Elyndros resting on his lap. Even here, in this mundane space filled with flickering lights and distant traffic, the weapon hummed with latent magic. It shouldn't exist in this world. And yet—it did.
That alone told him the veil was thinner than anyone realized.
He stared at the weapon, his fingers trailing the etchings along its edge. They glowed faintly now, responding to something—something that had awakened when he crossed paths with the cloaked figure.
His phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
Elias hesitated, then picked it up.
> UNKNOWN:
"We know you're back. And we know what followed you."
He stared at the message, the words cutting deeper than they should. The phone buzzed again.
> "Do not trust the hero."
The screen went black.
He didn't respond. Didn't need to. The warning, cryptic as it was, confirmed one thing: someone else out there knew the truth. And someone was watching him.
Adrian had no memory—at least not yet. But maybe others did remember. Or maybe this wasn't just about memory. Maybe it was about something buried deeper: a curse, a tether between worlds that never truly broke.
Elias looked out the window again.
And that's when he saw it.
Across the skyline, something shimmered—a ripple in the air, like heat distortion. For a second, the city's lights flickered, and the clouds above pulsed in rhythm with the glow of magic. Most people wouldn't notice. But Elias did.
He could feel it in his bones.
Magic was breaking through.
---
Later that night, he walked to the location of the anomaly—an old train station long abandoned, its walls covered in graffiti and darkness. The moment he stepped inside, his blade began to sing. Not with sound, but sensation. Pulling him deeper.
Symbols were scrawled on the floor in chalk. Circles. Runes. A ritual, half-completed.
And then he heard the whisper.
Not a voice.
A thought.
> "He remembers you."
Elias froze.
His shadow stretched unnaturally across the wall. Something stood at the edge of the circle—barely visible. Watching. Waiting.
And in that moment, Elias understood something critical: the gods had not simply let him return.
They had sent him back.
Not as a reward.
But as a harbinger.
---