Far beyond the realms of Amaranth and Earth, within a shadowed dimension known only as the Riftplane, the ancient Council of Custodians convened in a chamber suspended between light and darkness. Cloaked in robes woven from crimson and shifting shadows, these enigmatic beings bore the heavy mantle of guardianship—keepers of the fragile balance between worlds. Their faces, if they had any, were obscured beneath hoods that seemed to swallow even the faintest glow. Around them floated arcane holographic projections—fragmented images of Kai Orin flickering like ghosts across a thousand shattered screens.
The Council's voices were low, layered with centuries of disdain and urgency. They spoke not as saviors, but as cold arbiters, aware of the catastrophic consequences that the boy's awakening would unleash. The Ashborn—the Tyrant King of legend—had once been sealed away by their combined will, torn from the fabric of Amaranth and scattered across dimensions in an effort to contain his destructive power. And now, that containment was unraveling. Again.
The Custodians knew the cost. The balance they guarded was delicate, maintained through endless vigilance and harsh sacrifice. If Kai's power grew unchecked, if his soul fully reassembled, the Rift—the unstable seam between worlds—would tear open wide enough to swallow both Earth and Amaranth whole. The cosmic order would fracture, plunging all into chaos. Yet, despite the gravity of the threat, there was no consensus on what should be done next. Some whispered of termination, others of capture. But the lines between mercy and necessity had long blurred.
Meanwhile, on Earth, an uneasy tension rippled beneath the surface. St. Kareth's Academy, the clandestine institution responsible for monitoring and containing Rift energy, was thrown into a state of emergency. Its towering spires, usually serene and ordered, now thrummed with alarms and whispered warnings. The staff—scientists, mages, and operatives alike—moved swiftly to initiate lockdown protocols. They concealed sensitive files, altered records, and hushed uneasy students, all while the Rift's influence pulsed stronger, seeping through cracks in reality with increasing intensity.
The world outside remained oblivious, but those within the Academy knew the truth: the boundary between dimensions was weakening. Something ancient and dangerous had begun to bleed through, and it was drawn to the boy.
Back in the shattered outskirts of a ruined city on Amaranth, Kai wandered amidst crumbling stone and twisted metal. The ruins whispered to him, echoing memories he could not yet claim as his own. Among the rubble, his fingers traced faded inscriptions scorched into fractured walls—an emblem of a flaming crown, unmistakably the same symbol that had haunted his dreams. The weight of recognition settled heavy on his chest. These marks were not mere decoration but a signpost to a forgotten legacy.
Deeper within the ruins, Kai stumbled upon a burned and tattered tapestry. Its threads were singed and fragile, yet the image remained clear—a dark king seated upon a throne carved from obsidian and bone, a crown of fire resting heavily on his brow. The king's face was a mirror of Kai's own, twisted by flame and shadow, eyes burning with both sorrow and terrible authority.
The realization crashed over him like a wave breaking on jagged shores: he was not merely a visitor to this world. He was the one who had ruled it. The one who had torn it apart.
The king had destroyed the very land he once vowed to protect.
Kai fell to his knees amidst the ashes, the weight of his past—his true self—pressing down with suffocating force. The Rift was not just a portal. It was a wound, and he was its source.
And the wound was beginning to bleed again.