The camera whirred softly, its red light blinking in the dimly lit room. The reporter, a young woman with a practiced air of professionalism, glanced nervously at the figure seated across from her. Huebert leaned back in his chair, a lazy smirk on his face, his appearance that of a schoolgirl—an illusion that only deepened the uncanny aura surrounding him.

“So,” the reporter began, clearing her throat. “Mr. Huebert—”

“Miss,” he interrupted, his voice laced with mockery. “Let’s keep up appearances, shall we?”

The reporter hesitated, her pen hovering above the page. “Right. Miss Huebert. Thank you for agreeing to this interview. Not many would... well, given your history.”

Huebert chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Ah, history. Such a delicate term for what’s really just a catalog of sins, wouldn’t you agree?”

The reporter’s pen scratched against the notepad, her unease growing. “Let’s start with the Rift Wars. You were there, weren’t you? One of the few who survived.”

The smirk faded, replaced by a shadow of something darker. “I wasn’t just there,” he said, his tone low, almost contemplative. “I was made by it. Molded, broken, rebuilt—like so many others. But unlike them, I remember. Every. Single. Thing.”

He leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “Do you know what it’s like to watch your world burn, Ms. Reynolds? To see everything you’ve built, everything you’ve loved, turned to ash because someone decided it wasn’t convenient anymore?”

The reporter swallowed, her hand tightening on the pen. “You’re referring to the Rift Wars’ beginning. The hero, Don Yoto—”

Huebert’s laugh was sharp, cutting her off. “Don Yoto? Is that what they’re called her? A name plucked from history books, sanitized and gilded for the masses. I knew her before she was a hero. Elizabeth Yoto, a child barely thirteen, filled with dreams of returning to a world she never should have left.”

The camera whirred softly as he spoke, his voice dripping with bitterness. “She wasn’t a hero. She was a tool—a blade wielded by the God Emperor to carve through kingdoms, to break the unbreakable. And when the blade dulled, they sharpened her with lies and blood.”

The reporter’s pen raced across the page. “Are you saying the Rift Wars were... orchestrated?”

Huebert tilted his head, his smile returning, though it lacked warmth. “Oh, my dear, they were a masterpiece of manipulation. The God Emperor wanted power, absolute and unchallenged. The rift was their crowning achievement—a bridge between worlds, built on a foundation of sacrifice. One million souls, slaughtered”

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the camera. The reporter’s hands trembled slightly as she wrote. “you were part of this?”

He leaned back again, his gaze distant. “I was there, yes. Not willingly. The Demon Kingdom of Vysheris fell not to swords, but to betrayal. My queen, Mara Bansheet—kind, brilliant, naive—she believed in peace. She thought the Emperor wanted unity. She was wrong.”

His voice grew softer, laced with something resembling sorrow. “They destroyed her. Not with armies, but with love turned into a weapon. The Emperor made her trust him, and then... well, you’ve read the stories, haven’t you?”

The reporter hesitated, her voice faltering. “She... she was killed by the hero. By Yoto.”

Huebert’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “She was slaughtered, Ms. Reynolds. Let’s call it what it is. And I... I was left to rot, a trophy of their victory. They used me in their spell, bound me, stole what made me whole. And when they were done, they threw me away.”

The reporter shifted in her seat, the weight of his words pressing down on her. “Why tell me this now? Why speak out after all these years?”

He smiled again, though this time it carried a hint of something dangerous. “Because the game isn’t over. You think the Rift Wars are history? No, they’re a prologue. A prelude to what’s coming. Your precious Don Yoto, your God Emperor—they haven’t won”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that the camera just barely caught. “There’s a storm coming, Ms. Reynolds. You’ll see what monsters like her are really capable of.”

The reporter froze, her breath hitching. The red light of the camera blinked on, capturing every word, every flicker of malice in his eyes. Huebert leaned back, his smirk returning.

capturing every word, every flicker of Huebert’s expression. The room felt colder now, as if the weight of his story had sucked the air from the space. The reporter, Ms. Reynolds, adjusted her notepad with trembling hands, her pen pausing mid-sentence. She looked up at Huebert, who watched her with an unsettling calm, his sharp smile a stark contrast to the bitter truths he had just unveiled.

“This... this isn’t what the world knows,” she said, her voice trembling. “The Rift Wars are seen as a triumph—a necessary sacrifice for progress. If what you’re saying is true, this could—”

“Change everything?” Huebert finished, his tone mocking. “Oh, it certainly could. But tell me, Ms. Reynolds, do you think they’ll let you tell it?”

Her heart skipped a beat, the unspoken threat hanging in the air between them. “The people deserve to know,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “If the God Emperor manipulated everything—if Don Yoto wasn’t the hero we’ve been told—then the world needs to hear it.”

Huebert leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Do they? Or do they need their comforting lies? Their shining heroes and their glorious victories? People don’t want the truth, Ms. Reynolds. They want stories. Stories that make them feel safe.”

“But it’s not safe,” she snapped, her fear momentarily giving way to anger. “You’re saying this entire country was built on a foundation of lies and murder! How can anyone feel safe knowing that?”

Huebert’s smirk widened, though his gaze softened slightly. “This isn’t about safety. It never was. Gemstralis was born from blood and betrayal, and its foundations are cracking. The world you know is an illusion, Ms. Reynolds. And illusions have a way of shattering.”

The reporter’s pen scratched furiously across her notepad, though her thoughts raced faster than her words could keep up. Each revelation added another layer of weight to the story she was unraveling, a weight that threatened to crush her under its enormity. She glanced at the camera, its blinking red light a silent witness to the moment.

“What about you?” she asked suddenly, her voice softer now. “Why are you telling me all this? Why now?”

For a moment, something flickered in Huebert’s expression—something almost human. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “Because I’m tired,” he said finally, his voice low. “Tired of watching this world eat itself alive. Tired of pretending that any of this matters.”

He looked back at her, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sorrow and anger. “And because I want you to know the truth before it’s too late. Before you find yourself on the wrong side of a war you don’t even realize you’re part of.”

Ms. Reynolds froze, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. “What war?”

Huebert’s smile returned, sharp and bitter. “The one that’s been brewing since the day the rift opened. The one between those who crave power and those who will do anything to take it away.”

The pen slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, her hands trembling as she processed the enormity of what he was saying. “If I publish this—if I even breathe a word of this—”

“You’ll be hunted,” Huebert finished for her, his tone matter-of-fact. “Silenced, if they think you’re a threat. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Why me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why tell me, of all people?”

Huebert tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “Because you’re not like the others,” he said simply. “You’re curious. You’re bold. And you’re just naive enough to think you can change something.”

Her chest tightened, the mix of fear and determination warring within her. “And you?” she pressed. “What do you want out of this?”

His smirk softened, though the bitterness in his eyes remained. “Revenge,” he said without hesitation. “And maybe… maybe something more. Maybe I just want someone to finally understand.”

The camera’s light flickered, casting faint shadows on the walls. Ms. Reynolds looked down at her notepad, the words she had scrawled across its pages blurring together. This was more than a story. It was a reckoning.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Huebert stood, the camera capturing the full intensity of his presence. His eyes gleamed, not with sorrow, but with a searing, dangerous resolve. He straightened his posture, shedding the guise of a mischievous schoolgirl for the bearing of a king addressing his subjects. The dim light cast jagged shadows on the walls, framing him like a figure from myth.

“You think this is just a story,” Huebert began, his voice low and resonant. “A collection of words scribbled in a notebook, a tale to thrill or horrify the masses. it’s not. This is a reckoning. A culmination of centuries of lies, of bloodshed, of sacrifices made in the name of power.”

He began to pace, his words gaining momentum, each one cutting through the air like a blade. “Salvation. The Rift Wars, a triumph of humanity’s will, a gift from the gods. But what they don’t tell you is the truth. That it wasn’t gods who opened the rift—it was monsters. Monsters masquerading as heroes. Monsters who slaughtered a million souls and called it progress.”

His voice grew louder, echoing with a fervor that seemed to reverberate through the room. “But this story isn’t about them. A war unlike anything this world has ever seen. A clash of metal and magic, of bullets and spells, of modern machines and ancient power. A war that will not end until the skies are blackened with ash and the rivers run red with blood.”

Huebert’s gaze turned directly to the camera, his eyes piercing, his smile sharp as a blade. “And the key to this war? The one who will ignite the flames? Her name is Valmet. A girl forged in pain, and reborn as something the world cannot comprehend. She is my creation, my harbinger of a new age.”

He extended his hand, as if gesturing to an invisible audience, his tone shifting from anger to something almost reverent. “You see, war is not just destruction. It is transformation. It is the crucible in which the weak are burned away and the strong are forged anew. It is a symphony, a dance, a relentless storm that sweeps across the land, leaving nothing untouched. And this war—World War Rift—will be the ultimate transformation.”

Huebert’s voice rose, filled with a manic energy that sent chills down the reporter’s spine. “I can see it now. On the plains, in the streets, in the trenches, on the tundra, in the deserts, in the skies! Spells colliding with missiles, steel clashing against enchanted blades! The roar of artillery blended with the crackle of magic, the screams of the fallen cursing the world. It will be beautiful.”

He paused, his smile fading, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “But don’t mistake this for chaos. this war is not without purpose. A firestorm to burn away the lies of the past and reveal the truth hidden beneath the ashes. The truth of what Gemstralis is, what it was, and what it will become.”

Huebert stepped closer to the camera, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And when the flames die down, when the smoke clears, there will be nothing left of the God Emperor’s kingdom but rubble. the world will burn.”

He turned back to the reporter, his smile returning, though now it carried a cruel, mocking edge. “You wanted a story, Ms. Reynolds? Here it is. Twenty years in the making. A story that will burn this world to the ground. You’ll get to see it all unfold—if you survive.”

Huebert laughed, a low, chilling sound that echoed long after his voice had faded. 

Huebert exhaled slowly, his breath almost trembling as he sank back into the chair. The energy that had radiated from him moments ago seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a figure that looked far smaller, He reached for the porcelain teapot on the table, his hands steady.

The tea poured in a gentle stream, the sound delicate against the eerie silence that had filled the room. Huebert raised the cup to his lips and sipped, his eyes unfocused.  capturing every second of his quiet retreat into himself. The reporter, too stunned to speak, simply watched, her pen hovering over her notepad as if afraid to disturb him.

Huebert’s lips moved, a faint mumble escaping as he repeated fragments of his earlier speech.  “A war to burn it all…”

He set the cup down with a soft clink, his hands remaining on the table, fingers splayed as though seeking something solid to hold onto. His gaze turned downward, staring into the rippling tea as if it held answers to questions he could no longer bear to ask.

The moments stretched, the silence heavy and oppressive. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and weary. “Do you know what it’s like to build a kingdom of ashes, Ms. Reynolds?” His eyes rose to meet hers, and for the first time, there was no mockery, no fire—only exhaustion. “To dream of vengeance so long, you forget what it is you were avenging?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came.  “of course you don’t. that’s why you’re here. To witness.”

He picked up the cup again, holding it as if the warmth might seep into him, might fill the hollow spaces left behind by centuries of hatred and pain. He sipped slowly, the bitterness of the tea matching the bitterness that lined every crevice of his being. His eyes drifted once more, to the artifacts scattered around the room, to the books and weapons and shards of history that had shaped him.

“And Valmet,” he murmured, almost to himself. “ the spark. The one who will set it all alight.”

The cup trembled slightly in his hand as he set it back on the saucer. His gaze turned back to the camera, his expression unreadable. Folding his hands under his chin, and exhaled deeply.

“Let’s start at the beginning of this tale,” he said, his voice steady, his tone carrying the weight of centuries. “Not the beginning they taught you in your history books. Not the sanitized lies of heroes and gods. The true beginning. The one they buried beneath the ashes of the Rift.”

 a shadow of his smirk returning. “Because you see, Ms. Reynolds, the story of Gemstralis isn’t about heroes or salvation. It’s about monsters. Monsters like me, like her, like the ones who made this kingdom and the ones who will tear it down.”

The camera’s light blinked steadily, capturing every word. Huebert leaned back, the faintest glow of his magic sparking at the edges of his form. “So sit tight, take your notes, pay close attention. this tale won’t just change the way you see this world. It’ll change the way the world sees itself.”

He raised the teacup one last time, “Let us begin.”