What Northern decided to create was a cosmopolitan palace, a mansion adorned with luminously beautiful lights and golden designs, sitting atop a lush, verdant hill. Surrounding it were breathtaking flower gardens, their vibrant hues swaying under an endless blue sky—a sky that blanketed everything in its serene embrace.
It was a plane of never-ending day, where night never fell. A perfect illusion that stood in stark contrast to the foreboding and sinister existence of the Limitless Void.
Without a doubt, they were going to love it.
He stood on the soft green grass, gazing at the enormous yet strangely lonely mansion.
'Don't worry… very soon, you'll have thousands, if not millions, of company.'
Northern had already accounted for such numbers when designing the mansion. It was a vast structure, its expanse stretching endlessly across the distant green plains. And yet, even with its imposing size, it seemed almost swallowed by the sheer vastness of the land itself.
He exhaled, satisfied with what he had created. Then, with a mere thought, he exited the Illusionary Haven, his form dissolving like mist — only to reappear on the balcony.
Paragon Raizel stood there, leaning on the terrace railing, his gaze fixed upon the city below. A slightly sullen expression marred his otherwise regal features.
When Northern appeared, the Paragon spared him a sidelong glance but did not move, his eyes lingering on the streets below.
Northern frowned slightly as he approached the railing, mirroring Raizel's stance. He studied the older man for a moment before speaking.
"Are you okay?"
Paragon Raizel's response came with a handsome, almost exaggerated smile.
"Oh? Of course, yes! I am perfectly alright!"
He pushed off the railing, standing upright, stretching his back slightly before once again glancing down at the city—his ever-present little smile returning.
"So? You're ready?"
Northern met his gaze with an unimpressed look.
"I was born ready."
The Paragon chuckled, his jade-green eyes glinting with amusement.
"You most definitely are…"
Northern ignored the remark and shifted his attention to the center of the city.
He exhaled slowly. A steady breath.
The moment it left his lips, the temperature of the atmosphere fell.
The very air seemed to shudder, a deep chill sinking into the bones of those below. Even the Paragon who was rarely vulnerable to things like temperature felt it—a sharp contrast to the relatively mild weather just moments before.
Down in the city streets, people instinctively hugged themselves, rubbing their arms as an unnatural cold slithered through the air. It was as if winter had suddenly sharpened its fangs.
The cause?
Northern.
More specifically, the gateway he was about to create.
This was no mere rift in space—Void Force made such things trivial. No, what Northern intended to summon was a fixed gateway—a semi-permanent structure that would remain at the heart of the city, standing strong until the evacuation was complete.
It had to be precise. The entry point had to align perfectly with the Illusionary Haven.
There was no room for error.
But such precision came at a cost.
The meticulousness required to weave the fabric of reality itself meant that Northern had to channel a drastic amount of Void Essence. And such ruthless manipulation of space came with an unintended consequence—it was viciously devouring the city's atmospheric temperature.
A tear suddenly ripped through the sky, as if an interdimensional needle, colossal and unseen, was piercing through the fabric of reality.
The rift descended, stretching downward as a pale blue light — like shimmering lightning — extended toward the earth.
It touched the ground.
People froze in place. Their eyes locked onto the unnatural phenomenon, their bodies trembling with instinctive fear.
The first thought that surged through their minds — the dreadful realization — was that this looked exactly like a Rift Appearance.
And a rift appearing in this already devastated city could only mean one thing.
The date of their inevitable downfall had been shifted forward.
Faces drained of color. Even Drifters, those hardened by the horrors of the world, found their breaths shallow, their hands shaking.
Ascendant Zion was among the group of Drifters responsible for managing the evacuation to Verulania.
As the others recoiled, he simply observed the tear in the sky, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he shifted his gaze—his sharp eyes locking onto Paragon Raizel and Northern, who stood watching from one of the balconies of the city hall.
The panic among the Drifters erupted.
"Sir… a rift!"
"We have to do something!"
"How in the world?! Do the stars want us dead too?!"
They all reacted differently, their voices rising, their dread manifesting in varying degrees of hysteria.
Until Zion exhaled a long, steady breath.
And then he spoke.
"All of you, calm down. This is not a rift, as you all suppose."
His voice cut through the fear like a blade.
"It's the people's path to salvation."
The words hung in the air.
A stunned silence followed.
The people stared at him, expressions shifting from panic to something more volatile—disbelief, confusion, even hostility.
To them, Zion suddenly sounded like a demented heretic.
A rift was tearing open right in the heart of the city—and he dared to call it a path to salvation?
Zion frowned, his gaze flickering with mild irritation.
"Don't look at me like that."
His voice was firm.
"Look at the rift instead."
Their gazes turned to the center of the city, watching as the colossal rift slowly widened, its edges shimmering like a fractured mirror of reality.
And then—they saw something.
A glimpse beyond the tear.
A blurry reflection, shifting and unstable—yet undeniably vivid.
A clear blue sky.
Verdant green land.
Their eyes widened.
"Captain… what is that?"
"Am I seeing things, or does that look like… paradise?"
"Is the rift… a peaceful plane? Or are we about to get torn apart by celestial monstrosities?"
"No, we are not. Shut your mouths."
Ascendant Zion sighed, his patience wearing thin as he surveyed his subordinates—their expressions laced with utter confusion.
He couldn't blame them.
He felt it too.
Even he, an Ascendant, was just as bewildered as the rest of them.
Because this?
This shouldn't be possible.
How in the damned world could a Drifter, like any other, possess a realm — a plane of existence…
Zion had never heard of such a thing.
Not once.
Not ever.
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[A/N]
Oh, hey there, my dearest chaos-gremlins. It's me again—yes, yes, the ever-so-overbearing author. Forgive me, or don't, I'm still here.
So! Quick little announcement before I slink back into the writing void, I've birthed a new book. Fresh. Untamed. Possibly unhinged. And I think—no, I know—it's going to be an absolute banger. So, do me a solid. Read it. Devour it. Obsess over it like you do this one.
And while you're at it, vote! Vote like your very soul depends on it. And if you truly wish to honor my endless suffering, toss me some castles. Massive, glorious, wallet-crushing castles. Heheee.