Elsewhere, far beyond the crowded market, the forest stood in unnatural silence.
A wooden wagon creaked slowly along a narrow dirt path, its wheels grinding against stone and root.
Two tired horses pulled it forward while a middle-aged driver guided the reins with anxious eyes.Inside the wooden wagon sat a young woman clutching a small satchel tightly against her chest.
She was small in stature, her feet barely touching the wagon floor as it rattled along the uneven path.
Long golden-blonde hair spilled down her back in soft waves, strands dancing in the breeze that slipped through the wagon’s worn curtains.
The sunlight caught in her hair, making it shimmer like threads of gold.
Her bright skin carried a natural warmth, untouched by hardship, and her light-brown eyes moved constantly — scanning the forest, watching the road, filled with restless worry.
Every creak of the wagon made her shoulders tense, her fingers tightening around the satchel as if it contained something precious beyond measure.
She wore a flowing red dress that swayed with the wagon’s movement, the fabric rippling like a quiet flame.
Though delicate in appearance, there was a quiet determination in the way she sat upright, forcing courage into her trembling hands.
She looked like someone who did not belong in danger — yet someone who had chosen to face it anyway.
She kept looking behind them.Something felt wrong.
Then—
An arrow whistled through the air.
THUNK.
The driver jerked violently as the arrow buried itself in his shoulder.
He screamed, losing control of the reins.
The horses panicked, rearing as figures burst from the trees.
Bandits.
Four of them.
Soul weapons shimmered into existence around their arms — crude spectral blades flickering like unstable flames.
“Stop the wagon!” one shouted.
Another bandit leapt forward and slashed at the horses’ harness.
The wagon lurched sideways, crashing into a tree.
The woman was thrown forward, hitting the wooden frame as the world spun.
The driver tried to crawl away but a sword pierced his back.
Silence followed.
The bandits approached the wagon, grinning.
“Well well… what do we have here?”
The woman scrambled backward, shaking.
“P-please… I don’t have anything valuable—”
One of them grabbed her arm and dragged her out violently.
She hit the ground hard, air leaving her lungs in a painful gasp.
Her fingers clawed at the dirt as she tried to crawl away.
A hand seized her hair.
She screamed.
Far away, Riven ran through the forest.
Vyr surged through his body, propelling him forward like a phantom wind.
His feet barely touched the ground.
Leaves scattered in his wake, branches bending as if avoiding him.
The cave appeared ahead.
He entered without slowing, grabbed the potatoes from his small farm, and placed them into a satchel.
As he turned to leave—
A scream echoed through the trees.
Not rage.
Not battle.
Fear.
Riven paused.
“What is that?” he murmured.
He moved silently toward the sound.
Through the trees he saw the scene — the destroyed wagon, the dead driver, the woman on the ground, bandits closing in.
He watched.
The bandits were weak.
Their soul weapons were unstable.
She could fight, he thought.
He turned to leave.
Then the woman screamed again as a bandit yanked her up by the hair and began dragging her into the forest.
Her hands clawed desperately at the earth.
Riven exhaled slowly.
A long, tired sigh.
“Go,” he told Raku.
A sphere of blue light burst from Riven’s chest and vanished into the trees.
Moments later—
A violent rush of wind tore through the forest.
The bandits froze.
A blue armored figure emerged from the shadows, blade gleaming like condensed moonlight.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then one bandit screamed.
“GHOST!”
They turned to run too late.
Raku moved like flowing water.
One swing — two flashes of light.
The bandits’ legs separated from their bodies before they even understood what happened.
They collapsed screaming, blood soaking into the soil.
Raku walked forward with a silent purpose.
Their cries ended abruptly.
The forest returned to stillness.
While the execution unfolded behind him, Riven approached the woman.
She trembled violently, unable to look away from the blue figure in the distance.
Riven crouched in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
His voice was calm.
Empty.
Almost detached.
The woman stared at him — at his scars, his cold eyes, the faint blue energy still drifting around him.
Riven stood before her, a towering figure at six foot three.
Long black hair, tightly braided, fell down his back and shifted with the wind.
His tan skin was marked by countless scars — thin lines and deep gashes scattered across his arms, chest, and shoulders like proof of a brutal life.
Among them, one stood above the rest: a jagged scar carved across his face, a permanent reminder of the bandit who had nearly taken his life.
His clothes were crudely hand-made, stitched together from worn fabric and animal hide.
Time and battle had left them tattered, sword cuts tearing through the material.
When the wind blew, the fabric shifted, briefly revealing the hardened muscle beneath — the defined form of a body forged through relentless training.
But what truly unsettled those who met him were his eyes.
They shone gold.
Not warm, nor kind — but distant, heavy, and cold, like something watching from far beyond the world of men.
She could not tell if she had been saved… or simply fallen into the hands of something worse.
Raku approached the two and positioned himself beside them before slowly turning his back.
His glowing form faced the forest, blade resting at his side, standing guard in absolute silence.
Even after the bandits were gone, he remained vigilant — a silent sentinel watching for any threat that might emerge from the trees.
Riven rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes.
“Follow me,” he said plainly.
He turned without waiting for a response.
“Raku. Come.”
He began walking toward the direction of Sabercrest as if nothing unusual had happened.
The woman blinked rapidly, still sitting on the ground.
Her mind struggled to catch up with everything — bandits, a glowing spirit, instant slaughter, and now… this quiet boy casually leaving.
“W-wait!” she scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over her own legs as she rushed after them.
“W-who are you?!”
Riven did not slow or look back.
“I am Riven,” he answered simply.
“He is Raku.”
The woman’s eyes drifted nervously to the towering blue figure walking beside him.
Raku’s shifting, radiant form made her shrink slightly every time his armor flickered.
“I-I am Vistara,” she said quickly, still keeping a cautious distance from the spirit.
“I was trying to reach Sabercrest. I carry an important message for them.”
Riven finally glanced down at her, his expression unreadable.
“We are going there.”
Relief washed over her face immediately.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she released a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Oh—thank goodness,” she said weakly.
Riven stopped walking.
“Can you run?” he asked.
Vistara nodded, confused but determined.
“Y-yes.”
“Good.”
Without another word, Riven bent his knees—
—and vanished.
The ground cracked beneath his step as he launched forward like a bolt of lightning, a violent gust of wind blasting outward from where he stood.
Leaves spiraled into the air.
Vistara’s hair and clothes whipped wildly as dust filled her vision.
Silence followed.
She stood frozen.
Her eyes were wide.
Her mouth hung slightly open.
One eye twitched.
A single leaf slowly slid down her face.
“…what?”
Raku calmly stepped beside her.
“Forgive my sire,” he said with formal politeness.
“He does not yet understand the limits of his own strength.” Before she could respond, the spirit gently lifted her under the arms as if she weighed nothing.
“W—wait—!”
“We shall follow him.”
Raku stepped forward.
The world blurred.
Trees became streaks of green as the forest rushed past in a violent wind.
Vistara’s face stretched in pure shock, her cheeks flapping slightly from the speed, eyes watering uncontrollably.
Her expression was a perfect mixture of terror, confusion, and deep regret for every life decision that had led her here.
Far ahead, Riven waited calmly at the forest’s edge, as if nothing unusual had happened.
The gates of Sabercrest came into view.
Riven slowed to a stop just outside the market square.
“We are here,” he said.
Then he immediately turned and began walking toward the vendor stall without further explanation.
Vistara blinked.
She looked at the town.
Then at Riven’s back.
Then at the town again.
“…Here?” she muttered, confused.
She hurried after him anyway, weaving through merchants and baskets of produce.
Riven stopped abruptly and turned around.
She nearly walked straight into him.
“Why are you following me?” he asked plainly.
“We are here.”
Vistara stared at him.
“Yes. I see that. But you said to follow you.”
A faint blue light drifted out from Riven’s chest and hovered beside him for a moment before dissolving back into his body.
Her eyes widened.
“W-what is that blue light?!”
Riven looked at her like she had asked what color the sky was.
“Raku.”
“…That explains nothing.”
Inside his mind, Raku cleared his throat.
“Perhaps you should elaborate, Sire.”
“He is my soul summon,” Riven added flatly.
Vistara stared at him for three full seconds.
“You say that like everyone has one.”
“Do you not?” Riven looks at her confused.
“No I do not.”
Riven had no response to that.
He turned and resumed walking.
Vistara stood there a moment longer, then sighed and followed again.
They stopped at the vegetable vendor’s stall.
The old man looked up and smiled.
“Well I’ll be — you actually came back.”
Riven silently pulled the potatoes from his satchel and placed them on the table.
The vendor inspected them carefully.
“Fresh too. My wife will be pleased.”
He reached beneath the stall and pulled out the thin, worn book.
“Here you go. One basic cultivation method. Couldn’t sell it to save my life.”
Vistara leaned forward curiously.
“You’re buying a cultivation manual?”
Riven took the book.
“Mm.”
He glanced at the faded lettering on the cover.
“Spirit Fracturing Technique.”
Vistara’s brows furrowed.
“That sounds… violent.”
Riven opened it and skimmed the first page without reacting.
Inside his mind, Raku went quiet.
Riven paused.
“I cannot remember my past… but I believe I have heard of it before.”
Vistara watched Riven stand completely still while staring at a book, saying nothing.
“…Are you reading it right now?” she asked slowly.
“Yes.”
“…In the middle of the market?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the vendor.
The vendor looked at her.
Both shrugged.
Vistara folded her arms.
“You’re very strange, you know that?”
Riven turned a page calmly.
“Mm.”
She stared at him for a moment longer before muttering under her breath:
“I can’t believe you saved me.”
The vendor chuckled.
Riven did not react.
But inside his mind, Raku spoke softly:
“Sire… she is what people call… expressive.”
“I noticed,” Riven replied.
Vistara squinted at him.
“…Did you just respond to something I didn’t say?”
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“…I regret following you.”
Riven closed the cultivation manual and slid it into his satchel.
He exhaled quietly and looked at the vendor.
“Where is the mayor?”
The vendor blinked at the sudden shift in topic.
“The mayor?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm… should be at the town hall right now. Just around that corner — the stone building with the clock tower.”
Riven gave a short nod.
He turned toward Vistara and lifted his hand, pointing down the street.
“There.”
She stared at his finger.
Then at him.
Then back at the direction he pointed.
Silence.
“…Are you not going to take me?” she asked slowly.
Riven lowered his hand.
“You know the direction now.”
Another pause.
She blinked twice.
“…Yes. I do.”
He began walking away.
“I’m busy.”
Vistara stood frozen for half a second, watching him leave.
Then she ran after him and grabbed the edge of his sleeve.
“Wait!”
Riven stopped but did not turn around.
“Can you please just take me there?” she said quickly.
“I don’t know this town, and I just got attacked in the forest, and—”
She took a breath.
“I will buy you lunch.”
Riven turned slightly.
“…Lunch?”
Inside his mind, Raku spoke calmly.
“She is a talkative one, is she not, Sire?”
“Yes,” Riven answered internally.
Vistara blinked.
“Why do you keep answering questions I didn’t ask?”
Riven ignored that.
“What is lunch?”
Vistara stared at him.
“You… don’t know what lunch is?”
“No.”
She studied his face carefully, searching for sarcasm.
There was none.
“…It’s food. Cooked food. That you don’t grow yourself.”
A small pause.
“…With flavor.”
Riven considered this information seriously.
Behind him, the vendor covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
Vistara leaned forward slightly.
“So? Will you take me?”
Riven looked at her with the same unreadable expression.
“…Yes.”
Her eyes widened.
She gasped dramatically.
“Yes! Let’s go see the mayor!”
Before he could reconsider, she grabbed his hand.
Riven stiffened.
He looked down at their hands.
Then at her.
Then at their hands again.
He did not pull away.
She began dragging him down the street with surprising enthusiasm.
“Come on! You walk like you’re guarding a funeral procession!”
Raku materialized faintly beside them, walking calmly.
“Sire… I believe you have been captured.”
“Yes,” Riven replied flatly.
Vistara glanced back at him, smiling brightly.
“You’re not as scary as you look.” Riven did not respond.
But he did not let go of her hand either.
As they were running, Riven suddenly slowed.
At first it was nothing — a faint whisper brushing against the edge of his thoughts like wind slipping through cracks in a wall.
“..if I combine my inner soul which is made of..”
Riven looked curiously down an extension of the alley where the subtle voice was coming from.
“Sire be careful you never know who you will run into.”
Riven nods and walks down the new alley.
Vistara standing behind him confused as to why he is walking in a new direction.
She follows behind him slowly, “Do you always just leave without saying a word?”
Riven does not answer and continues down the alley.
“No. No, the inner soul contains a new element; it would be impossible. Hmm but what if..” the voice gets louder as Riven gets closer.
“The vessel can change their element if they are compatible. Yes! That’s it! I change my element!.”
Riven walks closer to the voice to see a faint blue figure dressed in a long flowy robe with stars on it and a long beard.
“What do you mean change your element?” says Riven.
A second voice.
A second will.
A second power.
Riven opened his eyes slowly, breathing heavier than before.
Another soul had chosen him.
And without fully realizing it, Riven had taken another step toward becoming something far beyond human.
A new voice suddenly echoed within Riven’s mind.
Deeper than Raku’s.
Older.
Heavy with age and knowledge.
“Hmm… I have not seen someone wield your power in many years.”
Riven froze.
The voice carried a calm authority that sent a chill down his spine.
It felt ancient — like something that had watched the world long before he was born.
“But it seems,” the voice continued slowly, “that you still do not understand how to wield it.”
Riven’s eyes widened.
“You… know what my power is?”
A pulse of energy erupted from his chest.
Blue light spilled outward, gathering in the air before him.
The glow condensed, shaping itself piece by piece until the form of an elderly man emerged.
He stood tall despite his age, draped in flowing robes made of shifting soul-light.
A long staff rested in his hand, crowned with a softly glowing orb that radiated quiet wisdom.
The old spirit took a slow step forward, studying Riven with sharp, knowing eyes.
He circled him deliberately, stroking his long silver beard as though inspecting a rare artifact.
“Yes,” the spirit said thoughtfully.
“I know your power.”
He stopped before Riven, tapping the base of his staff lightly against the ground.
“Your gift is so rare that even the scholars of Velora speak of it only in whispers. Its true limits… remain unknown.”
Riven’s heart pounded.
The spirit’s gaze sharpened.
“In all of history, only one individual has ever possessed this ability before you.”
A heavy silence followed.
“You possess dominion over wandering souls — those bound to this world by regret, hatred, or unfinished purpose. You can hear their cries, summon them, bind them, and grant them form.”
The orb atop his staff flared brighter.
“You are a summoner of the departed… a sovereign of lingering wills. Through you, lost souls may find purpose — and through them, you may build an army beyond death itself.”
Riven stood speechless.
An army.
The words carried terrifying weight.
The spirit gave a small, knowing smile.
Raku stood protectively beside Vistara, his presence calm but vigilant.
His sharp gaze moved between the old spirit and Riven, clearly assessing the situation.
He stepped forward with composed confidence.
“I sense no hostility,” Raku said, then placed a hand over his chest in respectful greeting.
“I am Raku — servant and guardian of my sire.”
The old spirit turned toward him, eyes gleaming with recognition.
“Ah… a warrior’s soul. Loyal even beyond death. How admirable.”
Vistara suddenly raised her hand, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.
“Uh… excuse me — I hate to interrupt but I–I still need to see the mayor.”
She glanced between Riven and the empty air where the spiritual energy had just lingered.
Standing several steps away during the entire exchange, she had heard nothing — seen only strange lights and Riven speaking to what appeared to be nothing.
Confusion clouded her face.
Riven turned back toward the elderly spirit.
“Your name?”
The old man straightened, placing one hand over the glowing orb atop his staff.
His presence carried a quiet dignity — ancient and composed.
“My name is Aelwyn,” he said calmly.
“A Arcanist of a bygone era… and now, it seems, one bound to yours.”
“An Arcanist?” Riven tilted his head confused he had not learned that from his mother.
“I am not surprised you haven’t heard of it..I was the last one in the world.”
“I am able to turn my Vyr into elements of the world and cast them at enemies.”
Riven studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“Let’s go.”
Aelwyn’s body dissolved into particles of blue light, flowing back into Riven’s chest like mist drawn into a vessel.
At the same time, Raku returned to him as well, his form fading after giving one last watchful glance at Vistara.
The air returned to normal.
The spiritual pressure vanished.
Only silence remained.
Riven stepped forward and began following Vistara toward the town hall.
She walked beside him but kept stealing uneasy glances.
After a moment she spoke.
“W–what was that?”
Her voice carried equal parts curiosity and fear.
Riven opened his mouth to answer—
—but Aelwyn’s voice echoed sharply inside his mind.
“Do not tell her. Your power must remain hidden. Those who learn of it will not see you as human… only as a weapon.”
Riven’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He acknowledged the warning with a faint mental response.
Instead of speaking, he simply continued walking in silence.
The quiet stretched between them.
Vistara frowned.
“That’s not suspicious at all,” she muttered under her breath.
Soon the stone structure of the town hall came into view — a large building of white stone and carved pillars standing proudly at the heart of Sabercrest.
Citizens gathered outside, speaking in worried tones.
Guards stood near the entrance, their hands resting on their weapons as tension hung in the air.
“We are here,” Vistara said.
She turned toward Riven.
“I should go.”
Riven gave a short nod.
Before she could say anything further, his body shifted.
In a single instant— he vanished.
A burst of dust scattered where he once stood, the air rippling from the force of his movement technique.
His figure shot across the distant rooftops and disappeared toward the mountains beyond the city.
Vistara stared, eyes wide.
“…Unbelievable.”
A mixture of awe and irritation filled her expression.
“Who even does that in the middle of a conversation?”
She crossed her arms, watching the dust settle before turning back toward the town hall.
At that moment, the large doors opened.
The Mayor of Sabercrest stepped outside, accompanied by several city officials.
He spoke with nearby citizens, his expression grave as he listened to their concerns.
He was an older man with streaks of silver in his hair, dressed in deep blue robes embroidered with the city’s crest — a symbol of a rising blade encircled by flame.
Seeing her opportunity, Vistara rushed forward.
“Excuse me!” she called, slightly out of breath.
“I have a message from Thunderwood! It’s urgent!”
The mayor turned to her, his sharp eyes studying her travel-worn appearance — dust on her cloak, fatigue in her posture, and urgency in her voice.
“A message from Thunderwood?” he asked.
His tone grew serious.
“Let me see it.”
Vistara handed him the folded note with trembling hands.
The mayor broke the seal and read silently.
His expression darkened.
The officials beside him leaned closer, sensing the shift in his demeanor.
A murmur spread among the gathered townsfolk.
He read the message again, slower this time.
The bandits have started to move and are now heading our way.
We ask the city of Sabercrest for assistance in defeating the bandits.
A heavy silence followed.
The mayor lowered the note, his brows furrowed deeply in thought.
He looked toward the city gates in the distance, then toward the worried faces of his people.
One of the officials spoke quietly beside him.
“If Thunderwood falls, Sabercrest may be next.”
Another added, “Mobilizing troops will leave our defenses weakened.”
The mayor closed his eyes briefly, weighing the consequences.
Vistara stepped forward anxiously.
“Please,” she said.
“Thunderwood cannot withstand them alone. Families are already preparing to flee. If help does not come soon—”
Her voice faltered.
The mayor opened his eyes and looked directly at her.
“How many bandits?”
“Hundreds,” she answered quietly.
“Led by someone… different. Stronger than the others.” The crowd around them grew restless.
Fear began spreading through the gathering citizens.
The mayor straightened his posture, his decision forming.
He raised his voice so all could hear.
“Return to Thunderwood and tell them this—”
He paused.
The entire square fell silent.
Sabercrest held its breath as he prepared his answer.
“Sabercrest shall send one hundred and fifty soldiers,” the mayor declared firmly, his voice carrying across the square.
“But no more than that. We cannot afford to leave our own city unprotected.”
A murmur spread through the gathered crowd — some relieved, others uneasy.
Vistara stood frozen.
One hundred and fifty…
Her fingers tightened at her sides.
Images of Thunderwood flashed through her mind — burning homes, frightened villagers, the endless swarm of bandits she had witnessed before fleeing.
It would not be enough.
Not even close.
Her heart sank… until another thought surfaced.
Riven.
The strange, silent warrior who moved like lightning.
The man who spoke to invisible voices and wielded power beyond anything she had ever seen.
If anyone could turn the tide—
It was him.
Her expression quickly shifted from doubt to forced gratitude.
“T–that will be more than enough,” she said, bowing deeply.
“Thank you, Mayor. Thunderwood will remember Sabercrest’s aid.”
The mayor nodded, already turning to discuss preparations with his officials.
Vistara straightened and hesitated.
“Excuse me… I have someone I must find.”
Without waiting for permission, she hurried away through the crowd.
She ran through the streets of Sabercrest, scanning rooftops, alleyways, and passing travelers.
Every gust of wind made her turn, hoping to see a blur of movement or a figure standing silently nearby.
Nothing.
Only strangers.
Her breathing grew heavier.
Panic began to creep into her thoughts.
Where would someone like him go?
Then she remembered the vendor — the one Riven had traded with.
She rushed toward the marketplace, weaving between stalls until she spotted the man arranging his goods.
She slammed her hands on his counter.
“The man I was with earlier — do you know where he lives?”
The vendor blinked in surprise at her urgency.
He scratched his cheek thoughtfully.
“That quiet fellow? Hm… I’ve only ever seen him head into the forest once he’s done trading.”
He pointed toward the towering tree line beyond the city walls.
“Never seen him return from any other direction.”
That was all she needed.
Without another word, Vistara turned and sprinted toward the gates.
The guards shouted after her as she rushed past, but she did not stop.
The forest swallowed her quickly.
Towering trees blocked the sunlight, their thick branches casting shifting shadows across the ground.
The air grew cooler, heavier, filled with the scent of damp earth and moss.
Strange cries echoed in the distance, and the deeper she went, the more oppressive the silence became.
Only then did hesitation strike her.
What am I doing?
Running into a forest alone… chasing a man I barely know…
She swallowed her fear and pressed forward.
Thunderwood needs him.
Branches clawed at her clothes as she pushed deeper, her steps slower now but driven by desperate determination.
Deep within the forest, hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines and jagged stone, Riven sat cross-legged inside a dimly lit cave.
A faint blue glow pulsed around him.
In his hands rested the cultivation manual.
“The Spirit Fracturing Technique…”
His voice echoed softly against the cave walls.
Ancient symbols filled the pages — diagrams of energy flow, instructions written in dense script, and illustrations of the human soul split into branching currents of power.
Aelwyn manifested beside him in a haze of blue light, his spectral form walking slowly around Riven with hands folded behind his back.
“You are reading it incorrectly,” the old wizard said calmly.
Riven glanced at him.
Aelwyn pointed his staff toward Riven’s chest.
“Do not think of power as something external. Your soul is not a weapon to wield — it is a current to guide.”
He tapped the glowing orb on his staff.
“Close your eyes.”
Riven obeyed.
“Now,” Aelwyn continued, “imagine your soul as a stream of light surrounding your heart. Guide it… slowly… in a circle.”
Riven focused.
Inside his body, he felt the faint presence of something warm — a fragile current of energy flickering like a small flame.
It resisted his control.
It scattered whenever he tried to grasp it.
Aelwyn watched patiently.
“Do not force it,” he instructed.
“Commanding the soul with will alone causes rupture. Instead… persuade it. Let it flow naturally, and gently guide its path.”
Riven steadied his breathing.
The energy responded.
The faint stream of blue light began circling his heart — once… twice… each rotation faster than the last.
A soft glow spread through his body, strengthening his pulse and sharpening his senses.
A thin aura leaked from his skin.
The air inside the cave trembled.
Aelwyn smiled faintly.
“Yes… just so. By circulating the soul, you accelerate its growth. The faster and steadier the cycle, the greater your power becomes.”
Riven’s brow tightened.
The energy suddenly surged wildly, the rotation breaking apart.
A sharp pulse shot through his chest.
He gasped, opening his eyes.
The glow vanished.
Aelwyn chuckled.
“You see? Power without control invites collapse. Your foundation is unstable.”
Riven looked down at his hands.
“…I will master it.”
Before Aelwyn could reply—
Raku’s voice echoed from deeper within the cave.
“Sire.”
His tone carried alertness.
Raku emerged from the shadows, his eyes glowing faintly.
“Someone approaches.”
Riven stood immediately.
Outside, faint sounds of branches snapping and hurried footsteps echoed through the forest.
A familiar voice called out breathlessly—
“Riven!”
Vistara stumbled through the trees, exhausted but determined, unaware that unseen eyes were already watching her approach.
Raku glanced toward the entrance.
Aelwyn stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“It seems your path grows complicated, my host.”
Riven stepped toward the cave’s entrance, expression unreadable.
Vistara burst through the trees and collapsed to her knees at the mouth of the cave.
Her lungs burned.
Her legs trembled violently beneath her.
Dirt clung to her clothes, and thin scratches covered her arms where branches had torn at her during the run.
“Riven…!”
Her voice cracked.
From the darkness of the cave, Riven stepped forward slowly.
His expression was calm, distant — unreadable.
Behind him, Raku stood silently, blue armor glowing faintly in the shadows.
Riven looked down at her.
“You followed me.”
It was not a question.
Vistara tried to stand but failed, catching herself against the stone floor.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Please…” she whispered.
Riven waited.
The silence pressed down like weight.
“My town… Thunderwood…” Her voice shook.
“Bandits are coming. Not like the ones you saw — hundreds of them. They burn everything… they kill anyone who resists…”
Her hands clenched.
“I went to Sabercrest for help. The mayor will only send one hundred and fifty soldiers.”
Her head lowered.
“That won’t be enough.”
Riven’s face remained still.
“I saw what you can do,” she continued.
“You defeated those men without effort… you command spirits… you’re strong enough to help us.”
She crawled forward slightly.
“Please help us.”
Riven’s eyes hardened.
“This is not my concern.”
The words fell cold and heavy.
Vistara froze.
“…Not your concern?”
Her voice trembled.
“People will die,” she said.
“Children. Families. Everything they have will be destroyed.”
Riven’s gaze suddenly sharpened.
Something inside him shifted.
A flicker of heat passed through his eyes.
“And where were they,” he said quietly, “when I needed help?”
The air grew heavy.
Vistara blinked in confusion.
Riven’s hands slowly clenched at his sides.
Images surged through his mind—
A small boy running through the streets.
Voices screaming.
A door slammed shut in his face.
Cold eyes turning away.
A child crying alone in the dark.
His breathing grew heavier.
“The world,” he continued, voice tightening, “does not save the weak.”
His Vyr leaked faintly from his body, blue light trembling around him like unstable flames.
“No one saved me.”
The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly.
Raku watched silently.
Vistara stared, startled by the sudden fury behind his calm exterior.
Riven stepped toward her.
“Why should I care,” he demanded quietly, “about people who would abandon you the moment it becomes inconvenient?”
His voice was not loud — but it carried deep, buried rage.
Vistara flinched.
But she did not retreat.
Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head.
“You’re wrong.”
Her voice trembled but did not break.
“People can be cruel… yes. But they can also be kind.”
She pressed her hands to the ground.
“My people raised me. Fed me. Protected me. They are not perfect… but they are my home.”
Her voice cracked.
“If I abandon them because I am afraid… then I am no different than the people who hurt you.”
Riven froze.
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Vistara lowered herself fully, bowing her head to the ground.
“I am begging you…”
Her shoulders shook.
“Please save my home.”
Silence swallowed the forest.
Inside Riven’s mind, Aelwyn spoke softly:
Attachment breeds weakness.
Raku’s voice followed:
Yet strength exists to protect, does it not, Sire?
Riven stared at the trembling girl.
The image of his younger self — alone, crying in the cave — surfaced again.
His jaw tightened.
“…Why,” he asked quietly, “risk your life for them?”
Vistara raised her head slowly.
Her eyes were red, but her answer came without hesitation.
“Because they are my people.”
Her voice was weak but unwavering.
“They gave me a place to belong.”
A long silence followed.
Riven turned away.
Vistara’s heart sank.
Then he spoke.
“…Tell me about these bandits.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’ll help?”
“I did not say that,” he replied.
A pause.
“I will listen.”
Relief flooded her face.
“Yes— yes! They are led by a man named Varnis—”
A sudden surge of violent emotion erupted inside Riven’s mind.
Aelwyn’s presence flared like a raging storm.
The calm, measured aura the old wizard usually carried shattered instantly, replaced by something sharp and furious.
A crushing pressure spread through Riven’s chest.
Blue Vyr flickered wildly around him.
Inside his mind, Aelwyn’s voice trembled with restrained fury.
“That name…”
The air around Riven grew heavy.
The temperature seemed to drop.
Even Raku turned his head slightly, sensing the shift.
Riven’s brows furrowed.
He could feel it — Aelwyn’s anger was not simple irritation.
It was hatred.
Old.
Deep.
Personal.
Riven steadied his breathing.
“…Tell me more,” he said quietly.
Vistara hesitated, startled by the sudden change in atmosphere, but continued.
“They say he commands the bandits like an army. Villages that resist are wiped out completely. No survivors… no mercy.”
Aelwyn’s rage pulsed again, sharper this time.
Images flickered at the edge of Riven’s consciousness — fire, destruction, screams swallowed by smoke — fragments of memories that were not his own.
Riven’s hands slowly clenched.
Inside, Aelwyn spoke again, his voice low and cold.
“If it is the Varnis I believe it to be… then this is no ordinary threat.”
Riven’s eyes hardened.
The forest fell silent around them.
“Continue,” Riven said.