Kieran learned the first rule of Eidolon Rift an hour after surviving his rebirth.
The dead didn't stay dead.
The platform beneath his feet shuddered, runes along its edge flaring as a massive gate of fractured light descended from the sky. Chains of glowing script snapped taut, anchoring it in place. The Voidblade at his side hummed softly, reacting to the sudden pressure in the air.
[TRANSPORTATION NODE ACTIVATED]
DESTINATION: CROSSREACH BASTION]
Kieran hesitated.
Every instinct screamed that stepping through that gate meant giving up the last scraps of control he had. But staying here—alone, injured, and already marked by the System—wasn't survival. It was delay.
He tightened his grip on Nihra.
"Guess I don't have a choice," he muttered.
The gate swallowed him.
Crossreach Bastion did not welcome newcomers.
The first thing Kieran noticed was the smell—iron, ash, and something sweeter beneath it, like burned incense mixed with rot. The second was the noise: steel on stone, distant screams, shouted orders, and the low, ever-present murmur of thousands of voices layered on top of one another.
The city was built vertically, rising in jagged tiers carved from black crystal and bone. Massive chains stretched between towers, each etched with glowing laws that pulsed rhythmically, as if the city itself had a heartbeat.
Kieran stumbled forward as the gate sealed behind him.
[LOCATION DISCOVERED]
CROSSREACH BASTION – NEUTRAL FACTION ZONE
Neutral, his instincts scoffed.
He barely had time to take two steps before a presence slammed into him like a physical weight.
[WARNING]
HIGH-RANK ENTITY IN PROXIMITY]
"Easy," a woman's voice said, calm but edged with steel. "If he collapses here, it'll be paperwork."
Kieran looked up.
She stood a few paces away, one boot resting casually on a cracked stone ledge. Her armor was dark blue and silver, scarred and worn but meticulously maintained. A massive greatsword rested against her shoulder, its surface alive with faint sigils that shifted when she breathed.
Her silver hair was tied back tightly, exposing a face marked by small scars and sharp, assessing eyes.
Those eyes pinned him in place.
[ENTITY IDENTIFIED]
LYRA ASHENFELL]
RANK: A]
FACTION: VANGUARD ACCORD]
Kieran swallowed.
"So," he said hoarsely, "this is what passes for a welcome?"
Her gaze flicked briefly to the Voidblade at his side. Something cold and unreadable passed through her expression.
"You survived manifestation," she said. "Barely. That makes you either lucky… or dangerous."
She stepped closer.
Up close, the pressure of her presence was suffocating. Not magical exactly—trained. Like standing too close to a drawn blade.
"Name," she demanded.
"Kieran Vale."
The System chimed softly.
[NAME REGISTERED]
Lyra frowned.
"New soul. No escort. No insignia." Her eyes narrowed. "And an unregistered soulbound weapon."
That got attention.
Around them, people slowed. Some pretended not to stare. Others didn't bother. Kieran felt their gazes crawling over him, weighing, measuring.
Predatory.
"What happens now?" he asked.
Lyra turned and started walking. "If you want to live? You keep up."
He followed.
They moved through the lower tiers of Crossreach Bastion, past training yards slick with blood and rune-lit infirmaries where screams were cut short by clinical efficiency. Kieran watched a man beg as a healer severed his arm without anesthesia—infected by soul rot, apparently. Another body was dragged away, eyes glassy, chest hollow.
"Doesn't anyone help them?" Kieran asked quietly.
Lyra didn't slow. "They are being helped."
"That's not help."
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned to face him.
"This city processes thousands of souls every cycle," she said. "We don't save people. We manage losses."
Her words landed heavier than any blow.
They reached a wide plaza dominated by an obsidian obelisk etched with countless names—many crossed out, others glowing faintly before fading entirely.
Kieran felt the Voidblade pulse.
"What's that?" he asked.
Lyra's jaw tightened. "The Ledger."
"Ledger of what?"
"Those who mattered," she said flatly. "Until they didn't."
Before Kieran could respond, the air split.
A man dropped from above, crashing into the plaza hard enough to crack stone. His body convulsed once, twice—then stilled. A faint glow leaked from his chest.
No one rushed to help.
A robed figure approached instead, face hidden behind a white mask shaped like a halo. The figure raised a blade of pure light and plunged it downward.
The glow vanished.
[SOUL RECYCLED]
Kieran stared.
"That man was alive," he said.
Lyra didn't deny it. "Not enough."
Something twisted in Kieran's chest. The whispers stirred.
[SOUL RESIDUE RESPONSE: AGITATION]
"Why bring me here?" Kieran asked, voice tight. "If this city kills people for convenience."
"Because outside these walls," Lyra replied, "the System kills you for efficiency."
Before he could argue, the ground trembled violently.
Chains erupted from the plaza floor, wrapping around Kieran's limbs and yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, breath exploding from his lungs as glowing restraints pinned him in place.
[FORCED EVENT INITIATED]
TRIAL OF ALLEGIANCE]
Lyra swore under her breath.
"System's fast," she muttered.
Spectral figures materialized above the plaza—thrones of data and bone forming beneath them. Their faces were obscured, voices layered and inhuman.
[ANOMALY CONFIRMED]
SOULBOUND WEAPON: UNAUTHORIZED]
"Lyra Ashenfell," one voice intoned. "Why have you brought this variable into Crossreach?"
"Because leaving him outside would've created a worse problem," she shot back.
Another voice turned its attention to Kieran.
[QUERY]
Why do you resist classification?
Kieran strained against the chains, pain flaring as they tightened.
"I didn't choose this," he growled. "You dragged me here."
[RESPONSE]
Incorrect.
You survived.
The plaza floor split open beneath him.
Kieran fell.
The arena was carved from screaming souls.
They formed the walls, the floor, the ceiling—faces stretched in eternal agony, mouths open in silent pleas. Kieran landed hard, chains dissolving as he rolled to his feet.
[TRIAL OBJECTIVE]
SURVIVE]
Figures rose from the soul-mass.
Humanoid. Broken. Familiar.
[ENTITY TYPE]
FAILED PLAYERS]
Kieran's stomach turned.
They charged.
This fight was nothing like before.
These enemies remembered pain. They fought dirty, desperate, clawing and biting with a madness born from knowing what awaited them if they failed again.
Kieran was stabbed. Burned. Dragged to the ground and nearly torn apart.
Each kill fed the Voidblade.
Each soul added weight.
The whispers grew louder.
By the time the last enemy fell, Kieran was kneeling, shaking violently, blood dripping from his fingers.
[TRIAL RESULT: INCONCLUSIVE]
STATUS: MONITORED ANOMALY]
The arena dissolved.
Kieran was thrown back onto the plaza floor, gasping.
Lyra stood nearby.
She didn't help him up.
She studied him.
"You could've broken," she said. "Most do."
Kieran wiped blood from his mouth. "I didn't."
"No," she agreed. "You adapted."
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them—not trust. Not affection.
Recognition.
"Get stronger," Lyra said quietly. "Strong enough that when the System comes for you again… it hesitates."
Then she turned away.
This time, Kieran didn't call after her.
He looked down at the Voidblade, at the faint shadows writhing along its edge.
The city roared around him.
Crossreach Bastion had accepted him.
And someday—
It would try to eat him too.