Minwoo's breath caught as the Riftblade pulsed fiercely in his hand—its veins glowing with a feral red light that spilled into the swirling portal before him.
The Riftgate wasn't just a doorway.
It was a rupture between worlds.
A passage to a realm where time folded, where stars whispered secrets in forgotten tongues, and where the cosmic war waited to claim its first champion.
He stepped forward.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the air snapped like a whip.
Colors bled into shapes impossible to name. Gravity twisted and pulled in unpredictable directions. Sound fractured into harmonics that echoed across dimensions.
Minwoo stumbled—and then found his balance.
He was in the Veil of Aeons—a shifting plane caught between life and entropy, creation and oblivion.
Stars drifted past like fireflies caught in a thick mist, and colossal, drifting ruins loomed on the horizon, structures built of light and shadow intertwined.
A voice whispered in his mind—soft, ancient.
"Welcome, Riftborn. You walk the path of the Ascended."
Minwoo's eyes narrowed.
Ahead, a figure emerged from the swirling mists—a being of shimmering light and dark, face obscured beneath a helmet carved from cosmic crystal.
They carried a spear that gleamed with starlight, but their presence was neither warm nor cold—it was inevitable.
"I am Varya, Sentinel of the Veil," the figure said, voice ringing like chimes forged in supernovae. "The Riftblade calls you here, and so do I."
Minwoo tightened his grip on the Crownblade.
"What is this place?"
"A crucible for the worthy," Varya replied. "Here, the Riftborn prove their command over the cosmic forces—or become lost to the void."
The ground beneath them shifted.
Reality fractured into dozens of mirrored shards, each reflecting twisted versions of Minwoo himself.
"Your true trial begins," Varya said, gesturing.
From the shards, shadows stirred—fractured echoes of ancient Riftborn who had failed the Ascendance.
They moved like liquid night, their voices a chorus of regret and rage.
Minwoo raised the Crownblade.
His shadows multiplied—clones merging from the Rift's edge.
He whispered the command:"Shadow Rift."
The clones charged forward, their blades striking with cosmic precision.
As the battle raged, the Veil itself seemed to pulse—responding to Minwoo's will, testing his limits.
Varya watched silently.
When the echoes finally dissolved into stardust, she stepped forward.
"You have power," she said. "But power alone will not win the war."
Minwoo sheathed the Riftblade, eyes burning with determination.
"Then teach me."
Far away, in the collapsing realm of forgotten stars, the Eternal Sovereigns watched.
One leaned forward, voice cold as frozen light.
"He's crossed the Riftgate."
The war was no longer waiting.
It had begun.