Opening: The Mission
The Red Radiant sailed through a dying sector —
headed for the Rift-broken world of Veyrith's Hollow.
What once had been a living, breathing planet
was now a grave:
The sky fractured into endless twilight storms.
Oceans evaporated into boiling clouds of Rift mist.
The land split into vast gaping craters known only as the Sorrow Wells —
each a wound leaking ancient pain into the void.
At the center of it all:
A faint, broken distress beacon, barely reaching through the storm.
A single pulse of life.
And the Dawnbreakers never abandoned the lost.
Not even at the gates of hell.
Atmosphere Setting: Landing on the Hollow
As the Radiant descended, the atmosphere fought them:
Plasma lightning lashed at the shields.
Winds howled with whispers not made by nature.
Gravity fluctuated erratically — broken by Rift fractures long ago.
On the bridge:
Zaraya leaned over the console, cosmic eyes burning determined.
Kaelen monitored shadow fluctuations, grim-faced.
Plo muttered calculations aloud — probability of survival shifting with every second.
Jaxen tightened his harness, casually trying not to look worried.
Aerin sang quiet stabilizing chants, hands glowing faint green.
Lyren, staff ready, summoned protective wards to cloak their descent.
The Radiant pierced through the storms
and landed on the cracked, bleeding soil.
The Sorrow Wells
Before them loomed the nearest Well:
A colossal pit, miles wide and seemingly bottomless.
Twisted, dead forests clung to its edges like blackened scars.
Strange crystalline growths jutted from the earth, pulsing with Rift sickness.
And from deep within:
Faint life signs.
A heartbeat.
A presence.
Plo's scanner confirmed it — barely.
"There's someone down there… but the Rift energy is mutating the signals. He's… heavy."
Zaraya smiled grimly.
"Then let's go find him."
The Descent into Darkness
The Dawnbreakers rappelled down,
weaving between jagged rocks and floating Rift shards.
Kaelen's shadows scouted ahead, rippling through broken crevices.
Lyren's wards deflected minor spatial distortions.
Aerin's nature magic struggled to find any living roots still clinging to life — but even here, in death, something answered.
Jaxen set laser markers to guide a fast extraction if needed.
And Zaraya led the way — her cosmic aura burning defiantly against the Rift's poison.
Deeper they plunged —
until they reached a battered shelf of blackened stone.
And there…
they found him.
First Sight of Auren
Collapsed against a crumbling pillar,
covered in scars and dust,
chained by fate and hatred,
stood a lone warrior.
Massive in build, even slumped.
Ancient runes scorched across his arms and chest — long faded but still whispering old powers.
Vivid green eyes cracked with faint Rift light — neither fully human nor monster.
Dual Riftbound swords lay at his sides — heavy, jagged, chained to his forearms.
When the Dawnbreakers stepped closer,
he stirred —
slowly, painfully —
and rose.
He towered over them,
a mountain of broken might.
The chains on his arms clinked with unnatural weight.
The swords hummed — hungering faintly.
And though his body was battered,
his stance was firm — ready to fight, ready to kill, ready to die.
Zaraya raised a hand — open, peaceful.
"We're not your enemies."
"We're here because we heard your call."
"We're here to help."
Auren's vivid eyes narrowed —
silent fury, pain, and exhaustion warring within him.
For a long heartbeat, he said nothing.
Then he spoke —
voice like shattered stone dragged across old battlefields:
"If you truly mean to save me…"
"Then be ready to fight hell itself."
Behind him, the shadows of the Well began to move.
The Rift corruption stirred.
The horrors of his past were not done with him —
and they would not let him go quietly.
Neither would Auren.
And neither would the Dawnbreakers