Chapter 29 — What the Rift Refused to Return
The White Rift collapsed three hours after Alex Rim disappeared.
Not with a final explosion, not with mercy—but with a slow, grinding scream, as though reality itself were choking. The distorted sky folded inward, floating platforms shattered into nothing, and the last surviving cadets were violently expelled back into the valley like debris spat from a wound.
When it ended, silence followed.
And then the screams began.
Bodies lay scattered across the Rift entry zone—some unconscious, some broken, some very, very still. Blood soaked into fractured stone. Weapons lay abandoned. Blessing residue clung to the air like burnt ozone. Medics rushed in, shouting orders, dragging survivors away from the still-flickering Rift scar before it sealed completely.
Names were called.
Some answered.
Some didn't.
The casualty list grew by the minute.
By nightfall, the academy confirmed it.
Seventeen dead.
Twenty-three critically injured.
Nine missing.
And one impossible anomaly.
Galen Mor had survived.
Barely.
They found him at dawn, unconscious and convulsing, his body drenched in sweat, his uniform torn, his leg splinted crudely by another cadet before they were separated. His breathing was ragged. His pulse erratic. But it wasn't his injuries that sent the healers into immediate panic.
It was the emptiness.
They felt it the moment they touched him.
No resonance.
No elemental response.
No blessing.
Galen Mor—the Mid-Tier C-ranked cadet whose wind blessing had dominated the battlefield—was hollow.
When he woke, the academy changed forever.
The infirmary ceiling blurred into focus slowly, white stone veined with faint runic patterns meant to soothe the mind. Galen's throat burned. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. He tried to sit up and failed, a sharp pain exploding through his skull.
He gasped.
Wind should have answered.
It didn't.
The realization hit him harder than the pain.
"No…" His voice came out hoarse. He clenched his fist instinctively, calling for the familiar surge of pressure, the invisible currents that had always obeyed him.
Nothing happened.
Panic surged.
He tried again.
Nothing.
His breathing grew frantic. His heart slammed violently against his ribs. He could feel it—an empty ache in his chest, a missing presence that had been part of him for years.
His blessing was gone.
Not sealed.
Not suppressed.
Gone.
"No—NO!" Galen screamed, thrashing violently. "Bring it back! BRING IT BACK!"
Healers rushed to restrain him as the room filled with pressure—not from wind, but from raw emotional collapse. Galen's eyes were wild, bloodshot, unfocused.
"I can feel it," he gasped. "Something took it. Something—"
His voice faltered.
Images flashed behind his eyes.
The Rift.
The collapse.
The fall.
A pair of trembling hands pressed against his chest.
Black.
Wrong.
Hunger.
His vision swam violently.
"It was—" Galen choked. "Alex—"
Pain exploded through his skull.
He screamed, clutching his head as if something had driven nails into his mind. His memories twisted, fragmented, slipping away like sand through broken fingers. He knew the truth. He felt it.
But something stopped him.
Every time he tried to speak Alex's name, agony crushed his thoughts.
Every attempt to describe what happened ended in static.
Like a wall had been built inside his mind.
Not natural.
Not human.
He collapsed back onto the bed, gasping, eyes unfocused, consciousness slipping.
Doctors exchanged looks.
This wasn't trauma.
This was interference.
By noon, the military had taken control of the academy.
Steel banners bearing the sigil of the High Command replaced the academy standards. Armed officers patrolled the corridors. Interrogation rooms were prepared. Rift logs were confiscated. Survivor testimonies were recorded under oath.
This wasn't a school incident anymore.
It was a military failure.
And the first question echoed through every chamber:
How does a blessed cadet lose their blessing?
The second was worse.
Who took it?
Leon stood outside the infirmary, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. He had been questioned twice already—once about the Rift engagement, once about Galen.
Both times, he gave the same answers.
No, he hadn't seen Galen fall.
No, he didn't know how the blessing was lost.
No, Alex Rim was not accounted for.
That last answer burned.
Alex was missing.
Not dead. Not confirmed alive.
Missing.
Leon replayed the moment over and over in his mind.
Alex crawling forward.
Black tendrils.
A siphoning that should not exist.
And then chaos.
Now Galen was empty.
And Alex was gone.
Leon's fingers dug into his palms.
Where are you?
The military didn't ask that question out loud.
But they were thinking it.
So was the Church.
They arrived that evening.
White-robed figures entered the academy under armed escort, their presence silencing entire corridors. At their center walked a familiar figure—calm, composed, eyes like still water.
The same man.
The one who had questioned Alex at the Adventurer Guild.
The Soul Examiner.
He stood beside Galen's bed, hands clasped behind his back, eyes glowing faintly as he looked down at the unconscious cadet.
"A blessing was not destroyed," he said quietly.
The room stilled.
"A blessing was taken."
Murmurs spread.
"How is that possible?" a military officer demanded.
The examiner smiled faintly. "That," he said, "is precisely the problem."
He placed a hand over Galen's chest.
Nothing answered.
No echo.
No residue.
Only absence.
"And the memories?" another officer asked.
The examiner's eyes darkened. "Severed. Not erased. Blocked."
"By what?"
The man straightened.
"By something ancient," he said. "And forbidden."
Leon felt his blood run cold.
That same night, a notice was issued.
A Search and Retrieval Operation would begin at first light.
All missing cadets were to be presumed alive unless confirmed otherwise.
Search parties would enter secondary Rift zones.
Recovery squads would comb the surrounding ruins.
The academy would not sleep.
And yet—
Deep within the sealed remains of the White Rift, something still breathed.
Alex Rim woke to darkness.
Not the absence of light—but a thick, suffocating black that pressed against his skin like damp cloth. His body screamed in pain. Every muscle felt torn. His chest burned. His head throbbed violently.
He coughed.
Blood hit the ground.
The Rift around him was wrong.
This wasn't the battlefield anymore.
The space was narrow, jagged, filled with broken stone and twisted reality. Gravity pulled unevenly. Sounds echoed where they shouldn't. The air tasted metallic, bitter.
He was alone.
[Warning: Unknown Sub-Zone Detected]
[Status: Isolated]
[Threat Level: Extreme]
Alex dragged himself upright, teeth clenched against the pain. The Abyssal Wind stirred faintly inside him, unstable, dangerous. He forced it down, breathing hard.
Survive first.
Grow later.
Something moved in the dark.
Not fast.
Not loud.
Watching.
Alex's heart pounded as he reached for a broken shard of stone, gripping it like a weapon. His system flickered.
[New Quest Generated]
[Survive the Rift Alone]
[Progress: 0%]
No time limit.
No instructions.
Just survival.
A low sound echoed.
Wet.
Dragging.
Alex swallowed and stepped forward into the dark, unaware that while the academy searched for him, while Galen screamed silently into his pillow, while Leon watched the corridors with growing suspicion—
The Rift had chosen him.
And it was not done feeding him yet.