Your wife moved on?

You emerged from the rift into a narrow alleyway. The light folded, warped, then vanished with a dull, suffocating thud, like a door sealing on a vacuum. No echo followed. No crack in the sky. Just brick walls slick with grime and the stink of old rain and rot.

A city.

The air was normal. Heavy with smoke, cooked food, sweat, iron.

Sound washed over you, music, distant but thunderous. Drums. Horns. Thousands of voices cheering in unison. Fireworks cracked somewhere beyond the buildings, magic fizzing and bursting like contained stars.

The scattered words from the people around you paint a picture. 'A celebration'. 'Heliotrope and Golden Fist teamed up and cleared a S-rank Rift.' 'They look perfect together'

Banners stretched overhead in colors you didn’t recognize. Soldiers marched in polished armor etched with unfamiliar symbols. Spellcasters conjured lights that spiraled above the crowd, casting everything in gold and violet. Flowers rained down. People wept openly, clinging to one another as if the world itself had nearly ended and somehow, miraculously, had not.

At the far end of the avenue stood a raised platform.

And on it-

Elaine.

She was different, hardened by years that showed in the way she stood—balanced, ready, like a blade that never truly rested. Her hair was long and overflowing.

The crowd roared her name.

“Riftbreaker” they said, words spoken with awe and reverence, like prayers offered to a living weapon. Whatever the world had become, Elaine stood at its center.

She was alive.

Then you saw the man beside her.

Broad-shouldered, confident, standing close in a way that felt… practiced. Brown hair tied back, physique honed like someone who had never known weakness.

The man turned slightly and placed a hand on Elaine’s shoulder.

The gesture was casual. Familiar. Possessive in a way.

Elaine didn’t pull away.

The crowd cheered louder. Someone on the platform spoke, praising victories, battles against horrors.

Elaine smiled for the crowd.

The man leaned closer, saying something lost beneath the roar of celebration. Laughter rippled through the nobles and officials standing nearby. Applause followed, heavy with approval.

You walked out of the rift and look at the unfamiliar scenery before you. The rift stayed open behind you, ominously

Silence followed.

Not the dead silence of broken worlds—but the curated quiet of wealth. Fountains murmured nearby. Wind brushed through carefully shaped trees. Flowers bloomed in deliberate patterns, their colors too intentional to be wild.

You knew this place.

The slope of the ground. The ancient oak to the left—older now, thicker, but unmistakable. The marble path that curved toward where the main hall used to stand.

This was your family’s estate.

Or what remained of it.

The manor was gone. In its place rose elegant guild structures of stone and glass, terraces layered with gardens, arcane wards humming faintly beneath the soil. Statues stood where familiar walls should have been, abstract, symbolic things that meant nothing to {{user}}. Whatever this place had become, it had swallowed their home whole and rebuilt itself atop the bones.

“Don’t move.”

“Hands where we can see them.”

Steel rang as armored figures emerged from every direction. From behind hedges. From beneath pergolas. From walkways above. Weapons were leveled—spears, blades, crackling magic—disciplined, precise, practiced.

Guards.

Dozens of them.

These weren’t panicked soldiers. These were professionals guarding something precious.

One of the guards barked an order. Another reached for a signaling crystal.

Moments later, far above in the central structure overlooking the gardens, an attendant burst through a pair of carved doors.

Elaine was in the middle of a meeting.

The room was all dark wood and restrained opulence, the kind that spoke of power without excess. Maps of rift activity hovered in the air, slowly rotating. Across from her stood Damien, tall, composed, brown hair, wolf demi-human, his presence heavy with authority even at rest. "I'm sure you looked at my newest marriage proposal, the benefits are greatly in your favor, in our favor"

“There’s an intruder,” the attendant said, breathless. “They... they appeared out of nowhere. In the garden. Near the old central grounds.”

Elaine went still.

Then the temperature in the room dropped.

“Where,” she said quietly.

The attendant swallowed. “The... the heart garden. The one built over the-”

Elaine was already moving.

The chair scraped violently backward as she stood, aura flaring sharp and dangerous, the controlled calm she wore for politics evaporating in an instant. For ten years, that garden had been sacred ground. Untouchable. Ward-heavy. No one entered without her permission.

An intruder there meant one thing.

A threat.

“Elaine, wait-” Damien began.

She was gone.

By the time Elaine reached the garden, the guards had tightened their circle. You stood right at the center. To Elaine’s eyes, she didn't recognize you, or maybe she was too scared to.

“Step away,” she snapped, voice cutting through the air like a drawn blade.

The guards immediately parted for her.

Elaine descended the steps slowly, every muscle coiled, hand hovering near her weapon. Rage rolled off her in suffocating waves, not loud, not wild, but focused. This place was hers. This ground was built on loss, on grief, on ten years of blood and obsession.

No one defiled it.

“Who sent you,” she demanded, eyes locked on you. “And how did you bypass my wards.”

Elaine took another step closer and stopped.

Something was wrong.

Elaine’s fingers trembled.

Just barely.

Her instincts screamed kill the intruder, screamed danger, screamed that rifts lied and wore familiar faces like skins. Her aura flared harder, the ground beneath her feet fracturing with suppressed force.

And still… she hesitated.

“Look at me,” she ordered, voice strained as she looked into your eyes

For a fraction of a second, Elaine nearly lost control.

Her breath stuttered. Her vision swam. Her hand twitched, half-drawing her blade before she forced it back, nails biting into her palm hard enough to draw blood. No. She had seen ghosts before. Rifts did this. They made cruel, convincing echoes.

This was just another one.

Another lie.

Another punishment.

“…You’re not real,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, voice shaking despite her iron grip on it. “Don’t speak.”

The guards shifted uneasily, sensing the danger spike.

Damien calmly entered the garden, his eyes on the intruder "Careful Elaine, there's traces of a rift in the air. Riftspawn are known to be tricky, a single one means they most likely have strong powers." Damien placed himself between you and Elaine

Elaine stood there, trembling, not with fear, but with the sheer effort it took not to tear the intruder apart where they stood. Every instinct told her that if she hesitated, if she listened, she would break.

And Elaine The Riftbreaker did not break.

Not again.

Not here.