Eternity of the Shattered Crown

The night air was heavy with tension.

The village of Eldermere had transformed. What was once a simple settlement of hunters and farmers was now a makeshift war camp. The wooden barricades had been reinforced with sharpened stakes. Trenches lined the eastern road. Smoke rose from the forge as Corvin and his apprentices worked tirelessly, crafting weapons that could stand against steel.

But Aric knew it wasn't enough.

Because Lord Vallis's army was coming.

And so was something worse.

----

Aric stood at the edge of the barricade, watching as dozens of villagers worked beneath the torchlight. Some were dragging logs, reinforcing weak points in the wall. Others were fletching arrows, sharpening spears.

It wasn't the army he had once commanded in his past life. But it was a start.

Lira approached, tossing a dagger between her fingers. "Not bad," she mused, glancing at the defenses. "Still won't hold if they bring siege weapons, though."

Aric exhaled. "They won't have siege weapons."

"You sure?"

"No," Aric admitted. "But they don't need them. Not if we break before they even arrive."

Because that was the real problem.

Not the walls. Not the weapons.

The people.

Some were loyal to him, willing to fight. Others—like Garrick and the older villagers—still wanted to surrender.

And the moment the first sword was drawn, that divide could get them all killed.

----

As if summoned by his thoughts, a horn blew in the distance.

A rider approached from the north. A single man, clad in Vallis's colors—deep crimson and silver. He carried a black banner, a sign of parley.

The villagers stopped their work, eyes turning toward the rider as he entered the village square.

The man dismounted, removing his helmet. He was older, scarred, but carried himself with the weight of command. His gaze locked onto Aric immediately.

"You are the one they call Aric." It wasn't a question.

Aric met his gaze. "Depends. Are you here to fight or talk?"

The soldier smirked. "Both. But my lord prefers we talk first."

He pulled a sealed parchment from his belt, unrolling it.

"By decree of Lord Vallis, rightful ruler of this land—Eldermere is to surrender its arms and submit to noble rule. Any who resist will be considered traitors. Any who take up arms against the lord shall be executed."

A pause.

"Failure to comply will be met with force."

Silence stretched over the village. Some villagers looked hopeful. Others are afraid.

Then, slowly, Aric stepped forward.

He took the parchment from the soldier's hands. Read it. Let the words settle.

Then, without hesitation, he tore it in half.

Gasps rang through the crowd.

The soldier's expression darkened. "You would condemn them all?"

"No," Aric said evenly. "I would free them."

A long pause. Then the soldier mounted his horse.

"Then you have chosen death," he said. "Lord Vallis will be here within three days. And when he arrives—there will be no mercy."

He turned and rode away.

Aric watched him disappear into the night.

Then he turned to face his people.

"You heard him," Aric said. "We have three days."

Some nodded, determined. Others—like Garrick—looked pale, hesitant.

Lira let out a slow whistle. "Well, that settles that."

Kael, standing nearby, chuckled. "You do realize you just declared war, right?"

Aric clenched his jaw.

"I know."

----

The next night, as the village worked tirelessly, another visitor arrived.

This time, it wasn't a noble.

It was a group of warriors.

They came from the south, dressed in leather and chainmail, their cloaks tattered but their weapons well-kept. They were mercenaries, veterans of old wars.

At their head was a woman.

She was tall, dark-skinned, with a scar running down her left cheek. Her black and silver armor bore no insignia—only the marks of countless battles.

She stopped at the barricade, her piercing gaze locking onto Aric.

"You're the one they call the Rift's Chosen."

Aric's fingers tightened around his sword. "And you are?"

"A warrior," she said simply. "And one who knows the price of standing alone."

She stepped forward, ignoring the wary stares of the villagers.

"We've been watching from the hills. You're not ready for what's coming. Vallis will crush you in days."

Aric studied her. "And what do you propose?"

Her lips curled into a smirk. "An alliance."

The villagers murmured in confusion.

Garrick scowled. "Mercenaries don't fight for free."

The woman shrugged. "True. But we don't fight for fools, either."

Aric exhaled. "And what do you want in return?"

She stepped closer.

"The Rift is changing. The things inside it… they're getting stronger." Her voice lowered. "And you're the key to it."

Aric stiffened.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

----

Before Aric could respond, a scream rang out.

Then another.

Then the bell tower sounded.

Something was inside the village.

Aric rushed toward the commotion, his heart pounding. The villagers were scattered, panicked, weapons drawn.

And standing in the middle of the square—

Was a Rift spawn.

But this time, it wasn't a mindless beast.

It was humanoid.

Its skin was blackened, cracked, pulsing with veins of blue light. It had two arms, two legs—but it moved unnaturally, its joints twisting at odd angles.

And its eyes—

Its eyes locked onto Aric.

Then, it spoke.

"You do not belong here, Emperor."

A wave of cold shot through Aric's body.

Lira paled. "Did it—did it just—"

The creature took a slow step forward, its gaze unblinking.

"Your time has not yet come. But it will be soon."

Aric gritted his teeth, raising his sword. "What are you?"

The creature tilted its head.

"You already know."

Then, without warning—it vanished.

Not ran. Not attacked.

Just… disappeared.

The silence left behind was suffocating.

The villagers were no longer just afraid.

They were terrified.

Because now, there was no denying it.

Aric was connected to the Rift.

And whatever was waiting inside it—knew his name.