The teleporter on the Peak of the Lone Eagle wasn't the runic stone arch I expected. It was a circular platform of black obsidian, inlaid with metal patterns resembling circuits, glowing with a bluish, pulsating light. It looked more like technology than magic, a strange and anachronistic relic from the world of Azeron. The wind howled around us, and below, the clouds stretched out like an endless white sea.
"The mechanism seems... stable," Sylva said, kneeling to examine the glyphs. "But the energy matrix is fluctuating. The journey might be... turbulent."
"Turbulent is my middle name," Vespera joked, but her voice sounded hollow. We were all tense. The vision the fragments had shown me was still fresh in my mind — that throne of bones, the Eye of the Abyss hovering.
"How do we activate it?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the wind.
Gorr pointed to a recess in the center of the platform, the exact size of one of the fragments. "Legend says Azeron powered his device with sources of primordial energy. One of your 'fragments' should do."
The idea of feeding that machine with one of the fragments filled me with dread. It was exactly what the entity behind the Eye of the Abyss wanted — for us to willingly offer a piece of the power it so desired.
"It's a trap," Elara whispered, reading my thoughts. "He wants us to place a fragment there."
"Do we have a choice?" Liriel intervened, her tone strangely contemplative. She looked at the platform not with fear, but with a distant, almost nostalgic expression of recognition. "The fabric between this place and the fortress is already thin. Torn by Azeron's own experiments. The machine merely stitches the edges."
We all looked at her.
"How do you know that?" Sylva asked, suspicion evident in her voice.
Liriel ignored the question. She walked to the edge of the platform and looked into the void. "A long time ago, before I became the Guardian of the Radiant Void... I was one among many. A deity of an older pantheon — a pantheon of primordial concepts. Creation. Destruction. Order. Chaos."
She turned to us, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in her eyes. There was ancient pain.
"Azeron was not a mere mortal. He was a Forsaken One. A lesser god of knowledge who dared to challenge the cosmic laws. He believed that magic and technology, united, could elevate mortals to the level of gods. He built his fortress not as a refuge, but as a beacon. A challenge."
She paused, letting the words sink in. The wind seemed to fall silent around her.
"The pantheon could not tolerate such insolence. A war was waged across the ethereal realms. Azeron was defeated, his divine essence undone, but his fortress... his fortress endured. It was exiled to the edges of reality, a tumor in the fabric of the cosmos. And I... I was left with the task of watching over it. To ensure that his dangerous knowledge would never again fall into mortal hands."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even Vespera was speechless.
"You... you were his jailer?" I finally managed to speak.
Liriel nodded, her pride seeming like a heavy burden. "Yes. And I failed. Long ago, a flaw in my vigilance allowed a fragment of Azeron's consciousness — or perhaps just an echo of his ambition — to escape. I believe that this echo... is what now calls itself the 'Lord of the Rifts.' He's gathering the fragments not just for power, but to finish Azeron's work. To tear the veil between worlds once and for all, and to claim a throne that was never his."
The revelation hit like a blow to the gut. We weren't just dealing with a mad cult or an ambitious mage. We were facing the remnants of a fallen god — and the supposed goddess we had dragged into our world was his former warden.
"And you didn't think to tell us this before?!" Gorr roared, breaking the silence.
Liriel faced him, a flicker of her old fire returning to her eyes. "And say what? That the catastrophe you're facing is partly my fault? That I, a supreme goddess, was deceived by a ghost? My pride… my damn pride…" She looked down at her hands. "When Takumi chose me, when I was torn from my throne, it was the first time in millennia that I felt… useful. Free from that prison of eternal vigilance. I didn't want it to end."
She was ashamed. The powerful and talkative Liriel was, finally, ashamed.
"So… what happens when we activate the teleporter?" Elara asked, her voice trembling.
"The echo of Azeron will sense my signature," Liriel replied, her voice dark. "He'll know I'm coming. And he'll be furious. The fortress… it will remember me. All of its defenses, all its deadliest traps, will turn on us. But he'll also be distracted. His attention will be on me. It may be your only chance to reach him."
She looked at each of us, her gaze serious.
"This is no longer your fight. This is my redemption. You can stay. You can let me go alone."
For a moment, no one spoke. The option to give up, to let Liriel face alone the monster she had helped create, was tempting. It was the sensible choice.
Vespera was the first to move. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Liriel's shoulder. "You may be a useless, proud goddess," she said with a crooked smile. "But you're our useless, proud goddess. Nobody gets left behind."
Elara stepped forward beside Vespera, her face determined. "She's right. We've been through too much together."
Sylva and Gorr exchanged one of those looks heavy with meaning. "A fallen god is a trophy like no other," Gorr growled.
"And the danger's too great to ignore," Sylva added. "If that 'Lord' gets what he wants, there won't be a forest or mountain safe for any of us."
They all looked at me. The Stormbearer. The pawn on the board.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the fragments and of past decisions. Liriel had lied to us by omission. She had put us in danger. But she was also part of our dysfunctional group. And she was willing to face her past alone.
"We're going," I said, my voice firm. "Together."
I grabbed my backpack and, with trembling hands, took out one of the smaller fragments — the sphere we'd recovered from the labyrinth. It pulsed with a dark light, as if animated by anticipation.
I walked to the recess at the center of the platform. The obsidian seemed to absorb the light around it.
"Liriel," I said, looking at her. "When we get there… what's waiting for us?"
She gazed toward the horizon, toward the clouds where the fortress lay hidden.
"The laboratory of a mad god," she whispered. "Where the laws of reality are mere suggestions. Where time bends and matter is a dream. Where your worst memories and deepest fears can become as real as the stone beneath your feet." She looked me in the eyes. "Be prepared to face not only the horrors Azeron left behind… but the horrors within yourselves."
Without hesitation, I lowered the fragment and fit it into the recess.
The world exploded in light and sound.
The obsidian platform screamed like a lost soul. The metal patterns shone with the intensity of a sun, and the air grew thick and heavy. An irresistible force pulled us downward — or upward — it was impossible to tell. Colors inverted, sounds distorted. I felt my bones being pulled in a thousand different directions.
Through the whirlwind of pure energy, a single voice cut through the chaos. It wasn't a whisper. It was a roar of triumph and hatred from an impossible distance, echoing directly into my soul.
"YOU DARE RETURN?!"
And then, darkness.
The roar echoed in my mind, a mixture of triumph and ancient hatred that made my bones tremble. The absolute darkness of the teleport was replaced by a sickening vertigo of warped colors and reversed sounds. It was like being thrown into a whirlpool of liquid nightmares.
When the sensation of motion suddenly ceased, my feet found solid ground — though it pulsed faintly beneath me. I fell to my knees, fighting nausea. The others were scattered around, all in similar states of disorientation. Gorr was quietly vomiting behind a pile of rusted gears. Elara was trembling, her face pale. Vespera clung to the wall, breathing deeply.
We were in a circular chamber, but nothing in that place obeyed the laws of physics I knew. The walls were made of a metallic, organic substance that breathed slowly, contracting and expanding with a wet, low sound. At the center, a colossal mechanical tree — its branches made of copper wires and steel blades — grew toward a ceiling that didn't exist. Instead, a static storm of purple and green lights flashed in an artificial sky of darkness. The air smelled of ozone, hot oil, and something old and musty.
"The Central Hall," Liriel whispered, her voice heavy with a mix of fear and hatred. She stood tall, staring at the mechanical tree. "It's changed. It's… alive in a different way. More twisted."
"Where… where exactly are we?" Elara asked, her voice trembling.
"In the guts of Azeron's nightmare," Sylva replied, her dagger already drawn, her eyes scanning the moving shadows. "This isn't just a fortress. It's an extension of his warped will."
A sound of scraping metal came from one of the corridors leading out of the hall. Several figures dragged themselves into the light. They were humanoid, but their forms were a grotesque fusion of flesh and machine. One had an arm replaced by a spinning saw, another had mechanical spider legs, and their eyes glowed with an empty red light. Mechanical, distorted whispers came from their mouths — words in a language I didn't understand, but their murderous intent was unmistakable.
"The Rejected," Gorr growled, raising his axe. "The failures of Azeron's experiments. The flesh he couldn't perfect, the machine he couldn't bring fully to life."
The Rejected saw us and, with a chorus of electronic screams, charged.
The battle was chaotic. The room itself seemed against us. The floor tilted suddenly, trying to throw us into bottomless pits that opened between metal plates. Tendrils of wire shot from the walls, trying to grab our legs. Vespera fired arrows that bounced uselessly off the metallic plating of the Rejected. Elara tried a shock spell, but the spell was absorbed by the strange material of the room and redirected at us, nearly electrocuting Gorr.
"Stop using magic!" Sylva shouted, dodging a saw strike. "This place feeds on it! It twists it!"
Liriel, however, seemed immune. She didn't use her divine magic, but her presence alone seemed to disturb the Rejected. She moved with supernatural grace, dodging attacks and, with a touch of her fingers to one creature's forehead, caused it to convulse and collapse, its parts falling into an inert heap.
"She's right!" Liriel shouted over the noise. "The Fortress is a parasite of magical energy! Use only brute force! Trust your most primal instincts!"
That's when I noticed — the fragments in my backpack were strangely silent. It was as if this place, this twisted energy, had suppressed or… intimidated them. For the first time, I didn't hear their tempting whispers. A sick relief washed over me.
I fought with my sword, my strikes clumsy but effective against the weak flesh of the Rejected. Gorr and Sylva were machines of deadly efficiency, working in perfect harmony. Vespera, deprived of her charm and useless arrows, proved to be a surprisingly capable hand-to-hand fighter, using her succubus claws and agility to disarm and tear apart enemies.
We regrouped, forming a defensive circle.
"We need to get out of this hall!" I shouted. "Where to?"
Liriel pointed toward an archway leading to a narrower, darker corridor. "Azeron's private quarters! There, his defenses may be less… conscious. He'll focus his hatred here, on me."
She was right. The Rejected and the traps in the room seemed to target her, partially ignoring the rest of us.
"We go together," I said firmly.
We ran toward the corridor, fighting for every step. The arched doorway was actually an organic membrane that contracted to let us pass, sealing quickly behind us and cutting off the Rejected's screams.
The corridor was silent and oppressive. The light came from bioluminescent fungi growing in the seams of the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. The air was cold and still.
That's when Elara stopped, panting, leaning against the wall. "I… I feel something. A different kind of magic. It's not twisted like the rest. It's… sad."
She pointed to a side door, almost hidden by a curtain of metallic moss. The door was old wood, a strangely ordinary item, out of place in this world of metal and flesh.
Liriel stepped forward and touched the doorknob. She frowned. "This… this wasn't his. This is… mine."
She pushed the door open.
Inside, it was a small, spartan room. There was no technology or grotesque flesh-and-metal fusions. Just a simple bed, a desk, and a chair. On the desk lay a worn leather journal. On the walls were drawings. Drawings of a starry sky, a shining throne, and a solitary figure staring into an infinite void.
It was Liriel's room. Her cell. Her prison of vigilance.
"I spent centuries here," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Watching. Waiting. Wondering if he would ever return." She picked up the journal. "I wrote… I drew… to avoid going mad."
She opened the journal to a random page. Her handwriting was elegant, but the ink on some pages was smudged, as if by tears.
"The echo whispers today. It speaks of a plan. Of using fragments of a power older than ours to tear apart the prison I built for him. I must remain vigilant. But, oh, the loneliness is a weight heavier than any mountain."
She turned another page. A drawing of a man—or what seemed to be a man—with glowing eyes and a smile full of sharp teeth. Below, it read: "Azeron, as he was. Before ambition. Before madness. Before I had to… stop him."
Liriel closed the journal, her shoulders hunched under the weight of memories she had buried for so long.
"He wasn't always a monster," she said, without looking at us. "He was brilliant. Curious. And I… I loved him. Before he challenged the gods. Before I was forced to imprison him here."
The revelation fell over us like a leaden cloak. The jailer and the prisoner. A story of love and betrayal on a cosmic scale. The rage of the Lord of the Fissures, the echo of Azeron, was not just about power. It was personal.
A loud, metallic sound echoed down the corridor, coming from the direction of the Central Hall. A roar of pure fury that made the walls of the small room shake.
"LIRIEL! YOUR PATHETIC SENTIMENTALITY WILL NOT SAVE YOU! YOU CAME TO ME, AND NOW YOU AND YOUR NEW MORTAL TOYS WILL BECOME PART OF MY MASTERPIECE!"
Liriel lifted her head, her dried tears now replaced by steel-like determination. She looked at us, her gaze carrying a silent apology and a final resolve.
"The game is over," she said. "He knows where we are. And he will no longer play."
She left the room, and we followed, leaving behind the last trace of her humanity in a sea of madness. The Cloud Fortress was now fully awake, and its master was coming for us.