Order Before Chaos

Oriole knelt beside the fissure, the raw energy humming against his skin. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. This gateway was both his creation and his undoing – a desperate gamble born from necessity.

He reached into his coat, fingers brushing the smooth, egg-shaped artifact. It pulsed with a dim blue light, the coordinates of Alka encoded within, along with the instructions he dared not speak aloud.

With a final glance at the chaotic swirling depths of the fissure, Oriole tossed the artifact into its core. It disappeared with a shimmer, an offering to a world on the brink of war.

"The die is cast," he whispered, his voice barely registering over the constant drone of the fissure. He was a strategist, a healer, not a warrior. Yet, against time, against an omniscient king… this was his only weapon.