The Riftborn Hunter

Aiden stepped through the unseen doorway—and the world unraveled around him.

The temple dissolved in a heartbeat—stone walls melting into shadow, gravity twisting like a snapped thread. Air stripped away, leaving his lungs grasping at nothing. For a fleeting moment, he hung weightless, suspended in a void that clawed at his senses. Then—an unseen force seized him, yanking him forward with brutal urgency, hurling him into a space no one was meant to breach.

He landed hard—breath punched out, body jolting. But the ground wasn't stone—not solid, not anything he could name. His boots pressed into a shifting surface—neither firm nor fluid, a paradox pulsing beneath him. Alive. It rippled with every step, distorting the space around him like water struck by a stone, only to snap back into eerie stillness.

Aiden's pulse raced, hammering in his chest. "This isn't a Rift," he muttered, voice low, steadying himself. "This isn't even a place."

His vision fractured—sudden, sharp—not the golden foresight he knew, but something deeper, wilder.

Images flooded in—unbidden, overwhelming.

A tower spiraled into a darkened sky—its structure impossible, angles bending and shifting when he tried to focus, defying reason.

A colossal chain stretched into eternity—metal links vibrating with a force barely contained, humming a song he couldn't hear but felt in his bones.

A figure stood—its face shrouded, featureless, yet eyes burned where none should be—piercing, alive, watching him.

Aiden staggered, boots slipping on the pulsing floor. These weren't warnings—not glimpses of what was coming. They were memories—fractured, alien, pressing into his skull.

But they weren't his.

A heavy pulse reverberated through the void—syncing with the steady thrum in his chest, a rhythm older than him, older than this ruined city. A presence—or a force—etched into this place long before he'd stumbled in.

And it watched him.

The Source.

He turned—slow, deliberate—knife still gripped tight from the warlord's bloodbath.

There it was.

Suspended in the nothingness—a shape that refused to settle. Not light, not matter, not energy—just a flicker, dancing between infinity and oblivion, existence and absence. A rupture in reality itself—raw, untamed, pulling at him like a tide.

And yet—he knew it.

Not from sight—not from memory—but from some buried shard inside him that stirred, recognizing this chaos. The pull that had guided him through the temple surged now—vibrating in his veins, thrumming in his bones. This wasn't just power—it was something more, something vast.

Aiden took a step closer—boots sinking slightly into the shifting floor.

The world answered.

Symbols ignited beneath his feet—blazing trails of light unfurling like ink spilled across the void. They weren't carved, weren't etched—they manifested, blooming from nothing, alive with intent.

His breath hitched—sharp, ragged.

He didn't know the language—couldn't read the twisting glyphs—but he understood them. They whispered into his mind—secrets ancient and incomprehensible, brushing against his thoughts like a voice from beyond time.

Then—they shifted.

Reforming, rewriting before he could pin them down. The harder he focused, the faster they slipped—sand through clenched fists, taunting him with half-glimpsed truths.

Frustration flared—hot, tight in his chest. "Why show me this?" he growled, voice echoing in the void. "Why make me feel it if I can't know?"

Everything lurched—not just the symbols, but the space itself.

A presence moved—slow, deliberate.

And it pushed back.

A weight crashed into him—unseen, relentless. His body seized—lungs locked, a gasp trapped in his throat. It wasn't crushing him—it was expelling him, rejecting his presence.

The void fractured—cracks spiderwebbing through the air like a mirror under strain, holding but trembling.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Not yet.

The force swelled—he dug his heels in, boots grinding against the pulsing floor, reaching for the symbols—desperate for one word, one answer, one shard of clarity.

They faded—slipping beyond his grasp.

The pressure won—he fell.

He slammed into stone—cold, real, unforgiving. Air rushed back—lungs burned as he sucked it in, sprawled on the temple floor. For a moment, he lay there—body trembling, not from the fall but from the weight of what he'd brushed against.

The ruins surrounded him again—scarred, silent—but everything had changed.

His vision flickered—gold threading through his veins, not just foresight now, but something new weaving into him.

Then—

[SOURCE RECOGNITION IN PROGRESS…]

[CALIBRATION INCOMPLETE: PARTIAL ACCESS GRANTED.]

[NEW ABILITY AWAKENED: SURGE SIGHT]

Aiden sucked in a breath—shaky, raw.

The words weren't just System text—he felt them, resonating in his core.

Surge Sight.

For one heartbeat—his body would move as if it already knew the outcome. No hesitation. No lag. Instinct sharpened to a blade's edge.

He clenched his fist—the shift settled into his muscles, a hum of potential he could taste.

It wasn't just seeing the future.

It was stepping into it.

Another ping—

[VISIONARY CODE: 5% ACTIVATION]

[SEEK THE SOURCE]

Even after shoving him out—it had given him this.

It wasn't done with him.

Not by a long shot.

Aiden pushed upright—rolling his shoulders, wincing as his battered side protested. Blood crusted his jacket, ribs ached, but his body felt… lighter. Stronger—despite the bruises still blooming from the warlord's claws.

His mind raced—those symbols, that presence, the language that spoke and vanished. Answers dangled just out of reach, and he needed them—needed to understand what was waking inside him.

He stepped toward the Rift's exit—stone crunching underfoot, the temple's silence pressing in.

Then—a presence.

Not a beast—not an anomaly.

Someone.

His breath slowed—steady, controlled. They weren't here by chance.

Aiden steeled himself—knife still in hand, blood-slicked but ready.

He stepped forward—into the unknown.