[POV Liselotte]

The air of the Whirikal mountains had always been pure, a crystalline current that cleansed the lungs and cleared the mind. However, as we ventured into the ravines leading to the ancient basalt quarry, the atmosphere began to take on a metallic, static quality—almost electric. It was as if the oxygen itself were becoming dense, charged with an invisible energy that made the hair on my arms stand on end. My ice magic, always dormant beneath my skin, began to stir with unusual restlessness, like a wild animal sensing the approach of a predator long before it can be seen.

Three days had passed since the banquet. Three days during which I had to dodge perfumed notes from persistent heirs, decline ballroom dance invitations, and grow accustomed to the weight of my new Supreme Guardian insignia. Leah walked beside me, dressed in travel attire far more practical than the silks of the other night: reinforced leather trousers, tall boots, and a dark blue wool cloak fluttering in the wind. Even so, she retained that innate elegance that made her stand out, even among gray rocks and dry shrubs lining the path.

“You’re very quiet, Lotte,” Leah remarked, adjusting the hilt of her sword. “Are you still thinking about what we heard at the banquet?”

“I’m thinking that the mages of the Royal Tower have a suicidal curiosity,” I replied, lifting my gaze toward the top of the quarry, where the silhouettes of purple robes were already visible. “Playing with a dimensional breach is not like enchanting a vase or conjuring a flame. We’re talking about a tear in reality that already tried to swallow us once. I don’t understand why they’re in such a hurry to touch it again.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Chloé intervened, walking one step behind us in her semi-human form. Her white ears moved rhythmically, picking up sounds that didn’t exist for me. “I can smell the fear on those robed men. They know what they’re doing is dangerous, but their pride is greater than their survival instinct. They smell of ink, old dust, and restrained terror.”

We finally reached the meeting point, a natural clearing overlooking the mouth of the quarry—a massive crater carved by human hands centuries ago. There, a group of high-ranking mages argued heatedly over scrolls spread across stone tables. Among them, a familiar figure stood out due to his robust build and seasoned gaze: Ronan, the guildmaster. His presence brought me some relief; if Ronan was here, at least there would be someone with common sense nearby.

“You arrived just in time,” Ronan said as he approached us. His face looked more deeply lined than usual. “The Tower mages are anxious. They claim the energy alignments are right today. The rift is more stable than ever—or so they say.”

“And what do you think, Ronan?” I asked, studying his reaction.

Ronan sighed and crossed his arms, watching the scholars’ preparations. “I think humanity has always had the bad habit of opening doors without first asking who lives on the other side. But the King has given his approval after the reports of the latest sightings. They want answers, and they believe the only way to get them is by staring straight into the abyss.”

We waited several minutes as the final preparations were completed. Ronan explained that the group of mages was led by Archmage Malakor, an elderly man with a severe face and a feverish gaze that seemed to perceive the world through layers of magical currents rather than light and shadow. At last, the entire group—the assisting mages, Ronan, Leah, Chloé, and myself—began moving toward the heart of the quarry.

As we descended into the bottom of the crater, the sight became disturbing. At the exact center of the basalt clearing floated the rift. It was not a physical opening in the rock, but a wound in the air itself—a distortion of shadows and violet lights twisting as if something invisible were trying to tear the fabric of the world apart. It emitted a low hum, a frequency that vibrated through my teeth.

Around the rift, the ground had been carved with surgical precision, sending chills down my spine. Multiple concentric magic circles were etched into the stone, drawn with a mixture of silver dust, consecrated chalk, and what I suspected was the blood of a magical creature. The glyphs glowed with an intermittent bluish light, flickering in rhythm with the breach itself.

“Don’t lower your guard,” I whispered to Leah and Chloé, feeling a sharp cold prickle at my fingertips. “My magic is reacting. This thing isn’t simply there. It’s hungry.”

Chloé nodded, her claws subtly emerging from her fingers. Leah partially unsheathed her sword, just enough for the steel to be ready for any contingency. The mages, oblivious to our instinctive tension, took their strategic positions around the circles.

Archmage Malakor turned toward us, wearing a tense smile that did nothing to soften the harshness of his features.

“Welcome, Guardian Liselotte, Princess Leah,” he said in a voice that rasped like old parchment rubbed against stone. “You are about to witness a milestone that will change the history of Whirikal forever. Until now, we have only theorized about what exists beyond our veil, based on remnants and echoes. Today, we stop guessing.”

“What exactly do you intend to do here, Archmage?” Leah asked, keeping a prudent distance from the magic circles. “It looks like you’re forcing the opening.”

“What we seek is simple in concept, but complex in execution,” Malakor explained, gesturing toward the rift with his ebony staff. “We want to see what lies on the other side. Not through magical mirrors or astral projections, which are always distorted by the interference of our own reality. Today, we will send a person there. A manned incursion into the heart of the dimension of pure energy.”

My blood ran cold—and not because of my magic. “That’s absolute madness. Ronan explained that the pressure of that energy would disintegrate anyone. Their bodies aren’t built to withstand such a density of power.”

“Not if the subject is protected by the pinnacle of our engineering,” Malakor replied proudly. “The magic circles you see here serve a dual purpose. First, they will act like bellows. Once activated, they will temporarily open the rift, expanding it enough for a person to pass through without being shredded by spatial edges. We calculate that we can keep it open for about ten minutes before the instability becomes critical. Ten minutes to enter, record the environment with a memory crystal, and return.”

As he spoke, the assisting mages began chanting a low, rhythmic incantation—a mantra that made the ground beneath my boots vibrate. The air around the rift began to warp so intensely that my ears started to ring painfully. The magic circles flared with blinding light, and the rift, once merely a scar in the air, began to widen violently, revealing an interior of shifting shadows that seemed to devour sunlight itself.

From the shadows of a nearby tent emerged a figure that left us all breathless.

It was a person, but beneath the artifact they wore, they barely retained a human silhouette. The metal of the armor was a dull gray, similar to volcanic ash, and every inch of its surface was covered in meticulous carvings, runic inscriptions, and protective glyphs glowing with a pale golden hue. The armor was disproportionately massive, with enormous overlapping plates arranged in a strange fashion, turning the subject into a kind of walking fortress.

“Ronan… what is that thing?” Leah asked softly, eyes wide with shock.

Ronan observed the armor with a mix of respect and deep pity. “That is the Aether Armor, Leah. Only three such pieces exist in the entire known continent—relics from the era of the High Mages. The carvings are not decorative; they are magical condensers designed to absorb, filter, and redirect any form of pure energy pressure. That armor alone is probably worth more than the entire royal treasury of Whirikal combined with the southern lands. It’s an object of incalculable value.”

“It looks incredibly heavy,” I noted, watching as the subject moved with slow, ponderous steps that made the quarry stone tremble. “He can barely move.”

“It is,” Ronan confirmed grimly. “The weight of the dense metal and the load of the active runes make agile movement impossible. It’s a useless piece in real combat—a goblin with a rock could outrun whoever wears it because it doesn’t allow for quick reactions. But for what he’s about to do now… to withstand the crushing pressure of another dimension… it’s the only thing in our world capable of keeping a human being alive.”

The armored explorer, his identity hidden behind a helmet without visible slits, stopped right at the edge of the innermost circle. The rift before him now measured nearly two meters high and one meter wide. It emitted a sound like a swarm of furious wasps mixed with the dull roar of a distant gale.

“The time starts now!” Archmage Malakor shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaotic roar of the breach. “Open the threshold completely!”

The mages raised their hands in unison, their robes whipping violently as air was sucked toward the rift. The light of the magic circles turned pure white, almost unbearable to look at, and the rift expanded in a final surge of violet energy, revealing a tunnel of shifting shadows where the laws of physics seemed to hold no meaning.

The armored man stepped forward. The metal of his boots struck the basalt of the quarry with a dry, decisive sound. I could feel the man’s fear seeping from the joints of the armor, even through all that runic steel—a heavy presence, a will forcing itself toward the unknown out of duty or a promise of glory I could only imagine.

Leah squeezed my hand unconsciously. Chloé crouched low, her golden eyes locked on the breach, muscles coiled like springs, waiting for the moment something emerged—or for the man to be consumed by the void.

“If something goes wrong…” Leah began, but didn’t finish.

“If something goes wrong, I’ll seal this place with all the ice in my soul,” I replied, my magic flowing into my palms, ready to be unleashed in a containing blizzard if necessary.

The explorer raised a gauntleted hand and brushed the edge of the rift. For an instant, the fluctuating energy seemed eager to absorb and disintegrate him, but the runes of the Aether Armor flared with golden fury, repelling the distortion and creating a small field of stability around him. The man took the final step, crossing the threshold between worlds.

His figure began to distort before our eyes, becoming blurred and elongated, like an image reflected in violently rippling water, as the rift claimed him. Half of his body had already vanished into the pulsing darkness, and the air in the quarry suddenly turned so cold that my own breath became a thick cloud of frost.

Archmage Malakor watched the scene with an expression of near-mad triumph, his hands gripping his staff as the last trace of the explorer in golden armor was about to fully submerge into the other side of the universe.

“May the gods protect us from our own curiosity,” Ronan whispered, as the rift emitted one final burst of black light and the man vanished completely into the abyss.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than the noise before it.

The longest ten minutes of our lives had just begun.

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