Hey y'all back again after attempting to create a story like a year and a half ago...
I'm hoping that this story goes over better, and I got inspiration to write this story after the release of Rival Of Aether 2 (which is a riot to play since I've just been grinding Space Marine 2).
Now that I have some motivation to try creating stories to fill up my free time again, feel free to DM if you think you have a cool premise.
With that said, the IP of RoA belongs to Aether Studios.
Enjoy!


Chapter 1: Ashes of Hope

The world shuddered as the fabric of time tore open, a searing crack in reality as flames licked at the edges of the portal. Clairen stumbled out, breathless and disoriented, the weight of a thousand battles pulling her down. She barely managed to land on her feet as the portal sealed shut behind her, the familiar warmth of the Fire Capital's air pressing down like an oppressive hand.

It wasn't her first time here—not by a long shot. The cobblestone streets and flickering ember-lamps that lined the alleys hadn't changed in the slightest. She felt like a ghost walking through the same recurring nightmare, cursed to relive the same horrors over and over. This was the fourth time she had traversed the rift between timelines, and with each failure, the flames of her hope dimmed a little more.

Emperor Loxodont's tyranny loomed over her mind like a dark storm cloud, suffocating and relentless. Three attempts had brought her nothing but defeat. She had seen friends die, civilians slaughtered, and resistance movements crushed beneath the Empire's iron heel. Every time she was too late, too weak, too unprepared. Each failure chipped away at her resolve, and now, standing on the threshold of yet another futile effort, her doubts clawed at her from the inside.

As she staggered into a shadowy alley to catch her breath, Clairen's hand instinctively gripped the hilt of her plasma blade—a familiar comfort. She activated it for a moment, letting the blade hum to life, its azure light casting eerie shadows on the brick walls. The weapon felt heavier than before, as though it, too, was weighed down by the burdens of her repeated failures.

"This time has to be different," she whispered to herself, though the words felt hollow. There was a time when she had spoken with confidence and unwavering conviction, but now her voice trembled like a flame about to be snuffed out. Desperation gnawed at her, and the doubt that came with it was all-consuming.

The streets of the Fire Capital were unusually quiet, a thick tension hanging in the air. The grand spires of the Flame Palace loomed in the distance, glowing ominously under the fading light of dusk. Clairen knew she had little time to waste; with every second that passed, the future she dreaded drew closer. If she was going to have any chance at stopping Loxodont, she needed to start with information—a target, a weak link, anything she hadn't tried in her previous attempts.

She moved quickly, keeping to the shadows as she navigated the back alleys. Clairen had mapped out this city's layout countless times in her mind; she knew the secret meeting spots of the resistance, the hidden supply caches, and the guarded patrol routes like the back of her hand. She had fought here before, bled for this city, watched it burn in each iteration of her failures. The memories of each timeline blended together, creating a tangled mess of grief and anger that she carried like a curse.

Turning a corner, she saw a figure standing at the mouth of the alley—a young soldier in the Empire's crimson armor. Clairen froze, her heart lurching in her chest. The young man couldn't have been more than eighteen, his expression one of hardened duty despite the boyishness still etched on his face. He wasn't even holding his weapon correctly; his stance left him wide open. Easy to take down.

But as Clairen's hand tightened around her plasma blade, readying to silence him before he could raise an alarm, something inside her hesitated. She'd killed before—too many times to count—but there was a look in his eyes that reminded her of something…or someone. A flicker of innocence. It felt wrong, striking down a boy who likely hadn't chosen this life, who might not even know what he was truly fighting for.

Her hesitation proved costly.

The soldier's eyes widened as he noticed her, and in that brief second of recognition, he reached for the alarm bell attached to his belt. Without thinking, Clairen lunged forward and struck with the flat of her blade, knocking the soldier to the ground. The young man hit the stone with a gasp, clutching his chest where the energy had jolted through him. His eyes darted back to Clairen, wide with fear and confusion.

"Please…don't," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm… I'm just following orders."

The words tore at her. Following orders—how many times had she heard those very words from soldiers, from people who had turned their backs on the world in exchange for the false security offered by the Empire? She wanted to scream at him, to make him understand the horror his obedience perpetuated. But as she stared down at him, something in her began to unravel.

"Get up," she said, her voice harsh. "If you want to live, forget you saw me."

The soldier scrambled to his feet and bolted without a second thought, disappearing into the maze of streets. Clairen let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, cursing herself for the mercy she had shown. In another life, in another attempt, she would have cut him down without hesitation. But the lines between right and wrong had blurred long ago, and now every choice seemed to carry the weight of its own tragedy.

As night fell over the city, Clairen found herself in a dimly lit tavern nestled within the lower quarters of the Fire Capital. It was a known haunt for those sympathetic to the resistance—rebels, informants, and anyone else willing to risk their lives defying Loxodont's rule. The air inside was thick with smoke and murmured conversations, and the stench of desperation lingered as heavily as the scent of burning wood.

She sat at a secluded table, her hood pulled low over her face. Her eyes scanned the room for a familiar contact—someone she had met in previous attempts and who still retained their trust in her, assuming the timeline had not shifted too much. As she sipped a bitter drink from a chipped glass, a figure approached her table: a cloaked man with a grizzled beard and a cautious gait.

"You look like a ghost," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "Or perhaps I've just seen you in my nightmares one too many times."

Clairen's grip tightened around the glass. She remembered him—Valen, a former officer, turned informant after the Empire betrayed him. In one timeline, he had helped her escape the city; in another, he had died because she wasn't fast enough to save him. In this timeline, she needed him again.

"Maybe it's both," Clairen replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside. "I need information, Valen. This time, it's different."

The man scoffed, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes. "Isn't it always?" He took a seat across from her, leaning in. "What are you looking for this time, then? Another plan to get yourself killed?"

"Not if I can help it," she said, the desperation leaking into her tone despite her efforts to mask it. "I need a way into the Flame Palace, somewhere Loxodont doesn't expect. The old routes are too well-guarded."

Valen's eyes narrowed. "And why would I help you now, after all the failed attempts? What makes you think it'll be any different?"

Clairen didn't have an answer. The truth was, she didn't know if it would be different—she just knew that she had to try, because giving up meant letting Loxodont win, and she refused to accept that outcome. Not after everything she had sacrificed. Not after the countless deaths she had witnessed.

"Because," she said, voice trembling, "I have nothing left to lose."

For a moment, there was silence between them, and then, ever so slowly, Valen nodded. "Very well," he whispered. "One last time. We will never exchange services again."

And with that, Clairen felt a faint spark ignite in the ashes of her hope—fragile, flickering, but not yet extinguished.

To be continued...