Riftborn: The Fall of Light

The air grew colder as Valen ventured deeper into the desolate lands. The horizon stretched endlessly, painted in muted shades of grey and brown, broken only by the occasional jagged peak. His cloak billowed softly in the biting wind, carrying a faint scent of ash and decay. This was no ordinary wasteland—there was something alive in the silence, something sinister that seemed to watch him from the corners of his vision.

He adjusted the grip on his blade, its weight a constant reminder of the battles behind him and the unknown dangers ahead. He was heading toward what the villagers had called "The Whispering Vale," a stretch of land few dared to tread. Legends spoke of shadows that moved like smoke, voices that beckoned travellers into oblivion. But Valen wasn't one to shy away from darkness—it was all he had ever known.

By dusk, he reached the threshold of the Whispering Vale. The terrain changed abruptly—what had been barren, cracked earth was now overgrown with twisted vines and gnarled trees, their branches stretching skyward like skeletal hands. A low, eerie hum filled the air, barely perceptible yet impossible to ignore.

Valen paused, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape. The hum wasn't natural. It wasn't the sound of the wind through the trees or the rustle of leaves—it was something else, something alive.

He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dead leaves that blanketed the ground. The hum grew louder, resolving into faint whispers. They were incoherent at first, mere fragments of sound, but as he moved deeper into the vale, the whispers became clearer.

"Turn back…"

"Not for you…"

"Leave…"

Valen's jaw tightened. He wasn't one to be swayed by disembodied voices.

As he pressed on, the trees grew denser, their twisted forms casting long, jagged shadows across the ground. The whispers surrounded him now, a cacophony of voices overlapping and echoing in his mind. He couldn't tell if they were real or if they were crawling out of the darker corners of his own thoughts.

Then he saw them—shadows that moved against the trees, their shapes shifting and writhing as though alive. They darted between the trunks, quick and fluid, never fully taking form. Valen stopped his hand instinctively moving to his sword.

One of the shadows broke away from the others, gliding toward him. It was larger than the rest, its edges flickering like a dying flame. It stopped a few feet away, hovering just above the ground.

"You should not be here," it hissed, its voice a low, guttural rasp that seemed to reverberate inside his skull.

"I go where I must," Valen replied, his voice steady.

The shadow's form shifted, stretching upward until it loomed over him. "This path leads to ruin. Turn back, or be consumed."

Valen didn't flinch. "If I'm to be consumed, then so be it."

The shadow let out a sound that could have been laughter or a snarl. "So be it, then."

The shadow lunged, forming into a cloud of black smoke that swirled around Valen. He drew his sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. The other shadows joined the fray, circling him like predators stalking their prey.

Valen moved with precision, his blade slicing through the air. The shadows were fast, their forms shifting and darting, but he was more rapid. His strikes cut through the darkness, each swing of his sword dispersing the shadows into wisps of smoke.

But for every shadow he struck down, two more took its place. They were relentless, their whispers growing louder, more insistent.

"Why do you fight?"

"You cannot win."

"You are nothing."

Valen gritted his teeth, his movements becoming more ferocious. The shadows clawed at him, their touch cold and searing, but he didn't falter. He had faced worse than this.

Then, through the chaos, he heard a different voice—one that was clear and calm, cutting through the whispers like a blade.

"Remember why you fight."

The words resonated within him, stirring something deep and buried. He didn't know whose voice it was, but it filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.

With a roar, he swung his sword in a wide arc, its blade glowing faintly as it cut through the shadows. The remaining figures recoiled, their forms flickering and unstable.

"Enough," the larger shadow hissed, retreating to the edge of the clearing. "You are… stronger than most."

Valen lowered his sword, his chest heaving. "You're not the first to underestimate me."

The shadow let out a low growl. "You seek the heart of the vale. But know this—what lies ahead will test more than your strength."

And with that, the shadows dissolved, leaving Valen alone in the clearing. The whispers faded, replaced by an oppressive silence.

The path ahead was clearer now, the dense trees giving way to an open expanse. At its centre stood a massive stone monolith, its surface covered in intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and shift when looked at directly. The air around it was heavy, charged with an energy that made Valen's skin prickle.

He approached cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. The monolith pulsed faintly, a rhythmic thrum that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

As he reached out to touch its surface, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent than before.

"Do you seek power?"

"Do you seek redemption?"

"Do you seek to end your pain?"

Valen's hand hovered over the monolith. The questions didn't sway him—his path was his own, and his purpose was clear. Without hesitation, he pressed his palm against the cold stone.

The world around him dissolved into darkness, and a voice echoed in the void.

"Then prove yourself worthy."