Her mind begins to quiet and calm down.
But the ache in her heart remains.
After finishing her meal, Vistara wipes her hands and rises.
“I should rest,” she says.
“Today was… a lot.”
Syanna nods warmly.
“Sleep well.”
Javon gives a lazy wave.
“Try not to dream about mysterious swordsmen too much.”
Vistara throws a napkin at his face before turning away.
Upstairs, the hallway is dim and silent.
Lanterns flicker against the wooden walls, their soft light casting long shadows that sway like ghosts.
She enters her room and closes the door behind her.
The silence presses in.
Prepared bathwater waits in a wooden tub, steam drifting upward in gentle waves.
The scent of herbs fills the room.
She slowly removes her dirt-stained clothes.
The fabric falls heavily to the floor, carrying the dust and sweat of the forest with it.
Stepping into the bath, she exhales a long, trembling breath as warmth embraces her aching body.
The heat seeps into her muscles, easing every bruise and tension she had ignored.
For a long time, she simply sits there.
Still.
Listening to the soft ripple of water.
But her thoughts inevitably return to him.
Riven’s quiet eyes.
The effortless precision of his movements.
The unbearable sadness hidden beneath his calm.
Her fingers drift across the water’s surface, creating small ripples.
A strange ache settles deep in her chest.
After bathing, Vistara dresses in clean clothes and dries her hair.
She stands before the mirror, studying her reflection.
The dirt is gone.
The exhaustion remains.
She exhales slowly.
“Enough,” she whispers to herself.
“I just met him.”
Yet the image of him standing alone in the forest refuses to leave her mind.
She lays down and closes her eyes.
Hoping for an easier tomorrow.
Riven sat cross-legged within the darkness of the cave, his back straight, his hands resting upon his knees.
The air was cold and still, broken only by the faint dripping of water echoing through the stone chamber.
The world outside seemed distant — irrelevant.
Before him, a small ember of light flickered where his Vyr gathered, trembling like a fragile flame.
Beside him stood Aelwyn, her ethereal form glowing faintly in the shadows, watching with unwavering focus.
“You must center yourself,” she instructed calmly.
“Do not chase the power — guide it. Feel your soul. Direct your Vyr around your heart.”
Riven closed his eyes.
He released every thought.
Every memory.Every emotion.
The forest… the cave… the world… all faded into silence.
Darkness.
Then — a faint sensation.
A thread.
Thin as a strand of silk, a current of warmth pulsed within his chest.
His Vyr.
It moved erratically at first, like a wild creature resisting restraint.
Riven reached for it with his awareness.
The moment he touched it, the energy lashed violently, sending waves of pressure through his body.
His muscles tensed.
His breathing faltered.
A cold sweat formed across his skin.
It resisted him.
It fought him.
Still, he did not withdraw.
Slowly, with relentless patience, he guided the thread forward.
Inch by inch, he drew the energy through the pathways of his body, forcing it to circle his heart.
The pressure grew unbearable.
His veins burned.
His heartbeat thundered.
The cave itself seemed to tremble with the strain.
Aelwyn’s expression tightened.
“Careful… too much force and your soul could fracture.”
But Riven pressed on.
The thread of energy moved — wavering, unstable — until at last it neared its origin point.
One final step.
One final push.
With a sudden surge of will, Riven forced the energy to complete its path.
The moment the circuit closed—
A violent burst of light erupted from his body.
Brilliant golden radiance exploded outward like a rising sun, flooding the cave with blinding brilliance.
The ground shook beneath him.
Loose stones cracked and fell from the ceiling.
A powerful wave of pressure surged through the chamber, pushing outward in all directions.
“My Goddess…!” Aelwyn gasped, shielding his eyes.
“He did it!”
Within Riven’s chest, the circulating energy formed a perfect ring around his heart — steady, radiant, alive.
The chaotic thread had become a flowing current, pulsing with immense vitality.
At the cave’s entrance, Raku stood guard, his translucent blue form unmoving as the shockwave rushed past him.
His spectral cloak rippled violently, yet he did not step back.
His sharp gaze remained fixed on his sire.
He said nothing.
But within his silent stare lay a quiet recognition.
Riven was changing.
The light gradually faded, revealing Riven’s figure bathed in a faint golden glow.
Steam rose from his skin.
His breathing was steady, deeper than before.
The scars across his body seemed almost to pulse with renewed life.
He opened his eyes.
They burned brighter than ever.
Strength coursed through his limbs — not wild or chaotic, but controlled.
Focused.
His senses sharpened.
Every movement of air, every shift of stone, every beat of his heart felt clear and precise.
He rose slowly to his feet.
The ground beneath him cracked slightly under the weight of his presence.
Riven looked toward Raku.
A faint smile touched his lips — not one of joy, but of determination.
“Now,” he said quietly, his voice steady and resolute,
“We train.”
Raku inclined his head in silent acceptance.
The true path had only just begun.
A week from now a town needed to be saved.
The forest rang with the violent crack of wood striking wood, the sound echoing through the towering trees like distant thunder.
Riven surged forward, his blade slicing through the air in a precise arc aimed at Raku’s throat.
The spirit moved with effortless grace, turning his weapon just enough for the flat of the blade to catch Riven’s strike.
Steel met steel with a sharp clang.
In the same motion, Raku pivoted and swept Riven’s legs from beneath him.
Riven crashed into the dirt, the breath driven from his lungs.
He pushed himself up.
Again Riven attacked—faster, harder.
Again Raku deflected him, striking his shoulder and sending him sprawling across the forest floor.
And again.
And again.
Dust clung to Riven’s skin.
His muscles trembled from strain, his grip weakening, yet he continued to rise each time he fell.
Raku regarded him calmly, his expression unchanged.
“Who are you going to protect with those skills?” he asked, his voice steady and cold.
“Do you truly want to train?”
Riven wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
He said nothing.
He simply lifted his blade and stepped forward once more.
They fought until the sun bled red across the horizon.
The forest darkened around them as the day surrendered to night, yet the clash of weapons did not cease.
Only when Riven’s muscles refused to obey—when his legs collapsed beneath him and his body could no longer rise—did the training finally end.
Far from the forest, within the grand hall of Sabercrest, Vistara stood before the mayor’s towering desk.
The chamber was vast and polished, its marble floors reflecting the dim light of hanging chandeliers, yet the air felt heavy with tension.
“The soldiers you promised,” she said, gripping the edge of the desk as if anchoring herself.
“When will they march?”
The mayor exhaled slowly, adjusting the folds of his embroidered robes with deliberate care.
“Mobilizing troops requires time. Logistics, supply lines, coordination. We will have them deployed by the end of the week.”
“I hope we have that long,” Vistara replied.
Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with desperate urgency.
Lives were at stake, and each passing day tightened the knot in her chest.
The mayor avoided her gaze, his silence offering no comfort.
Before dawn the next morning, Riven ran through the forest with massive stones chained across his back.
The weight dragged at his shoulders, biting into his flesh with every step.
His feet bled against the jagged terrain, leaving faint crimson marks along the earth.
His breath came in ragged, broken bursts, yet he did not slow.
Raku followed behind him like a silent shadow.
“You must surpass your own limits,” the spirit said.
Riven stumbled as his legs faltered beneath the crushing burden.
He fell hard against the ground, stones slamming against his back.
For a moment he remained there, trembling.
Then he rose.
By nightfall his body was barely holding together.
His vision blurred, his limbs numb with exhaustion.
Still, he trained.
Within the cave, Riven sat motionless upon the cold stone floor.
Sweat dripped from his chin, striking the ground in a steady rhythm as he forced his Vyr to circulate faster around his heart.
The luminous energy resisted violently, surging through his veins like molten fire.
Pain tore through his chest, threatening to shatter his focus.
Aelwyn stood nearby, watching with unwavering attention.
“Control the flow,” he warned quietly.
“If you fail, you will die.”
The energy spiraled wildly within him, slipping beyond his control.
Blood trickled from Riven’s nose, staining his lips, but he refused to release the flow.
His breathing steadied.
His mind sharpened.
Slowly, he forced the chaotic current back into its path.
Outside the cave, Raku stood guard, his gaze fixed on the entrance as he sensed the boy’s spirit hardening with each passing hour.
Without warning, he attacked.
A spear of condensed spiritual energy shot toward Riven’s chest.
Riven reacted on instinct, raising his blade just in time to deflect the strike.
The force drove him backward across the dirt, boots carving deep trenches into the ground.
Before he could recover, a second attack descended—faster, heavier, merciless.
“Battle grants no mercy,” Raku declared.
Riven’s body moved before his mind could doubt.
He adjusted his stance, reading the rhythm of each assault.
His movements grew sharper.
His reactions quickened.
The hesitation that once slowed him began to fade, replaced by instinct and precision.
By sunset, after countless exchanges, Riven slipped past Raku’s guard and delivered his first clean strike.
The forest fell silent.
Raku lowered his weapon and regarded him for a long moment.
He said nothing—only gave a small, approving nod.
Days passed in relentless repetition until, at last, the cave stood in perfect stillness once more.
Riven finished his meditation as the first light of dawn crept across the stone walls.
His Vyr now flowed smoothly through his body, steady and controlled, circulating around his heart like a second pulse.
His presence carried a quiet weight, his movements precise and deliberate.
Aelwyn observed him with open amazement.
“In one week… such growth should be impossible.”
Raku approached, his steps measured.
“The time has come, sire.”
Riven slowly opened his golden eyes.
Thunderwood.
Bandits.
Varnis.
The memories of his past surfaced within him—not as wounds, but as fuel feeding the fire of his resolve.
He rose to his feet.
“I am ready.”
At the entrance to Sabercrest, a carriage waited beneath the morning sun.
Vistara stood beside it with Syanna and Javon, her eyes fixed on the dark edge of the forest.
She had not moved for what felt like hours, watching, hoping for a figure to emerge.
Javon crossed his arms and sighed.
“Come on, Vistara. He isn’t coming. I know you wanted him to, but it looks like he’s not interested. Let’s get on.”
Vistara hesitated, her gaze lingering on the silent trees.
At last she exhaled and climbed into the carriage.
Just as she settled inside, a lone figure stepped from the forest’s shadow.
Riven walked past the waiting carriages without hesitation, his posture straighter, his presence heavier than before.
Dirt and scars marked his body, and his frame had hardened through relentless training.
He headed directly toward the blacksmith’s shop, intent on claiming his new weapon.
Vistara saw him and immediately leapt from the carriage.
“Riven!”
He stopped and turned, waiting as she hurried toward him.
Javon stared at the transformed warrior, eyes widening in disbelief.
“Oh my god,” he muttered.
“What was he eating in the forest? All of the lions?”
“Yes?” Riven answered.
His voice was calm, almost distant.
Vistara slowed as she approached him, catching her breath from rushing over.
Up close, she could see the changes in him—the hardened muscles beneath his torn clothing, the countless scars that marked his skin, and the quiet intensity in his golden eyes.
He felt heavier somehow, like the air itself bent around his presence.
“I thought you weren’t going to come,” she said softly.
“I am just grabbing my sword,” Riven replied.
His face remained blank, unreadable, as if the conversation required no further explanation.
An awkward silence lingered between them before Javon and Syanna approached, curiosity written plainly across their faces.
Javon stepped forward first with an easy grin.
“Hey, Mr. Hero. I heard you saved our tiny.” He pointed at Vistara with a teasing smirk.
“Thank you.”
He extended his hand confidently, waiting for a handshake.
Riven glanced at the offered hand but made no move to take it.
“That wasn’t me,” he said flatly.
“That was Raku.”
Javon blinked.
“Who is Raku?”
Riven did not answer.
His gaze simply shifted past the question as if it had never been spoken.
“I am Riven,” he said instead, his tone steady.
His eyes moved to the small girl beside Javon.
“I-I am Syanna,” she said nervously, lowering her head slightly.
Riven gave a small nod of acknowledgment, then turned without another word and walked into the blacksmith shop.
The bell above the door rang softly as it closed behind him.
Javon stared after him, hand still half-raised from the failed handshake.
After a moment, he slowly lowered it and walked over to Vistara.
“He’s a man of few words, huh?” he said quietly.
Vistara simply nodded, her eyes fixed on the shop’s entrance.
She returned to the carriage and waited, hands folded in her lap, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Javon followed beside her, his curiosity refusing to rest.
“Wait,” he pressed, lowering his voice.
“Who is Raku?”
Vistara remained silent.
Syanna trailed behind them quietly, glancing between her friends and the closed shop door, sensing the tension but saying nothing.
Inside the blacksmith shop, the air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of iron.
Weapons lined the stone walls—swords, spears, and unfinished blades resting in careful rows.
The distant roar of the forge echoed from the back room, accompanied by the rhythmic ring of hammer striking metal.
Riven stood at the counter, waiting.
Moments passed.
He raised his hand and knocked once against the wooden surface, the sound heavy and deliberate.
The hammering stopped.
A moment later, the blacksmith emerged from the back, wiping soot from his hands as he stepped into view, his eyes immediately settling on Riven.
“Ah… the silent blade himself.”
The blacksmith’s voice rumbled from the back of the shop before the man stepped into view.
He was broad-shouldered and dusted in soot, the heat of the forge still clinging to him in waves.
Walking behind the counter, he reached beneath it and carefully lifted a long object wrapped in dark cloth.
“I just finished your blade this morning,” he said, setting it down with surprising gentleness.
Riven stepped forward and accepted the weapon with both hands.
Even through the cloth, he could feel a faint pulse—like a sleeping heartbeat resting in his palms.
He slowly unraveled the wrapping.
A long, dark blade revealed itself, its surface smooth as polished obsidian.
The edge carried a faint, dull gold line that seemed to glow softly when it caught the light, like twilight frozen in steel.
The weapon’s shape was slightly angled, elegant yet deadly, built for precision rather than brute force.
Along the hilt, delicate engravings of cherry blossoms curled around the grip, their petals frozen mid-fall.
For a moment, Riven simply stared.
“…Wow,” he murmured.
The blade reflected his golden eyes back at him, and something in his chest stirred—a quiet sense of belonging, as if the weapon had been waiting for him.
“The Silent Blade,” the blacksmith said proudly, folding his arms.
“Forged for someone who strikes without hesitation… and speaks even less.”
Riven lifted the weapon slightly, testing its balance.
It felt impossibly light, yet carried a hidden weight of power.
He gave a small experimental swing, the blade slicing cleanly through the air with a low whisper rather than a sharp sound.
Perfect.
He studied it a moment longer before sliding it carefully into his sheath.
Sire, you should bow to show your respect, Raku’s voice echoed within his mind.
Without hesitation, Riven turned and bowed deeply to the blacksmith.
The man blinked in surprise, then waved a dismissive hand with a chuckle.
“Now, now—no need for that. Just make sure you use that blade to its full ability. A weapon like that deserves purpose.”
Riven straightened and gave a quiet nod, his expression calm but resolute.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped back into the daylight, the new sword resting at his side as if it had always belonged there.
The blacksmith watched him go, scratching his beard thoughtfully.
“That kid already had new scars after just a week…” he muttered with a low laugh.
“I think he might become a regular.”
Shaking his head, he returned to the roaring forge, the hammer’s rhythm soon echoing through the shop once more.
Outside, Riven walked toward the waiting carriage, the faint weight of the Silent Blade at his side and a quiet determination settling deeper within him.
Riven stepped into the carriage without hesitation, the wooden frame creaking softly beneath his weight.
Instead of taking the empty seat beside Vistara, he quietly settled next to Syanna, his posture straight, his presence calm and distant.
The newly forged blade rested at his side, its dark sheath catching the faint morning light.
Vistara blinked, clearly caught off guard.
She leaned forward slightly, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear.
“Hey… why don’t you come sit over here?” she asked, trying to sound casual despite the hint of expectation in her voice.
Riven turned his head and met her gaze for a brief moment.
His expression remained unreadable.
“…Quieter over here,” he replied simply.
The answer fell between them with blunt finality.
A small silence followed.
Vistara’s cheeks puffed slightly as she looked away, her lips forming a stubborn pout.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her dress, and she sank back into her seat with visible annoyance.
Javon, who had been watching the exchange from across the carriage, suddenly burst into laughter.
“I can’t believe it,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach.
“Rejected for the sake of silence—”
Before he could finish, Vistara swung her fist into his chest.
A dull thud echoed inside the carriage.
Javon doubled over instantly, coughing and gasping for air.
“W–what was that for?!” he choked.
“That was for laughing,” Vistara snapped, though the faint redness in her face betrayed her embarrassment.
Syanna sat quietly next to Riven, hands folded in her lap, her gentle eyes shifting from one companion to the other.
A small, amused smile tugged at her lips, though she said nothing.
Riven remained still beside her, seemingly unaffected by the commotion.
Yet for the briefest moment, the corner of his gaze flickered toward Vistara — a subtle acknowledgment before his attention returned to the passing scenery outside.
Outside, the driver cracked the reins.
The wagons lurched forward, wheels groaning as they rolled over the stone roads of Sabercrest.
The city gates slowly opened before them, revealing the long path stretching toward Thunderwood.
As the caravan departed, dust rose behind the wheels, carrying them toward whatever awaited ahead — unspoken tensions lingering in the quiet space between them.
The carriage rolled steadily along the dirt road, its wooden wheels creaking as the horses pulled them toward Thunderwood.
Tall trees lined the path, their branches swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere had settled into a quiet rhythm.
Javon, however, was not someone who stayed quiet for long.
He leaned back against the wooden bench and stretched his arms behind his head before glancing over at Riven, who sat calmly beside Syanna.
The swordsman stared out the window, his golden eyes watching the forest pass by as if he were more comfortable among the trees than the people beside him.
“So Riven,” Javon said, breaking the silence, “Vistara told me you live out in the forest.”
Riven turned his head slightly toward him.
“Why not live in town?” Javon continued.
“Seems a lot more comfortable than caves and wild animals.”
Riven studied him for a moment before answering.
“When I was young, they turned me away,” he said calmly.
“So why would I stay with people who do not want me?”
There was no anger in his voice.
Just simple truth.
The words settled heavily inside the carriage.
Vistara’s expression softened immediately.
Hearing him say it so plainly made the story feel far more painful than she had imagined.
“I’m… sorry to hear that,” she said quietly.
“But you don’t have to live like that forever. When we reach Thunderwood, you can stay there if you want. I’ll make sure people treat you well.”
Riven looked at her for a moment.
His eyes were calm, but distant.
“I am okay,” he replied simply.
Vistara wanted to say more, but something about his tone made her stop.
She lowered her gaze instead.
Javon scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“Well… that question backfired,” he muttered before looking back at Riven.
“Sorry for bringing up bad memories.”
Before Riven could answer, something strange happened.
Two faint blue lights flickered across his chest.
At first they looked like reflections of sunlight—but then the lights grew brighter.
Two glowing orbs slowly drifted out from Riven’s body and began hovering in the air inside the carriage.
Their soft blue glow illuminated the interior like tiny floating moons.
Javon leaned forward, squinting.
“W–what is tha—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the orbs suddenly expanded.
Light stretched outward, forming shapes.
Limbs.
Figures.
In the blink of an eye, two translucent forms stood inside the carriage.
One was tall and imposing, his spiritual form radiating a deep blue aura.
His presence alone made the air feel heavier.
The other spirit appeared more refined and calm, his figure glowing softly with gentle silver-blue light.
Raku and Aelwyn had materialized.
Raku immediately crossed his arms and glared down at Javon.
“You ask too many questions,” he said bluntly.
Javon blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Aelwyn stepped forward calmly, placing a hand on Raku’s shoulder.
“Now now,” he said in a composed voice.
“There’s no need for hostility. The boy was simply curious.”
For a moment…
The entire carriage fell silent.
Syanna stared.
Javon stared.
Vistara watched calmly, already familiar with the spirits after seeing them in the forest.
Then Javon slowly leaned backward.
His eyes widened.
His mouth opened.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Syanna screamed at the exact same moment.
“SPIRITS!!”
The carriage erupted into chaos.
Javon scrambled backward, nearly knocking over the bench as he pointed a shaking finger toward Raku.
“WHY ARE THERE GHOSTS IN THE CARRIAGE?!”
Syanna clung to the far side of the seat like a terrified animal, peeking over the edge with wide eyes.
Meanwhile, Riven sat completely still.
Unbothered.
He sighed quietly.
“…They are not ghosts.”
Raku rubbed his temples in visible annoyance.
“I already regret appearing.”
Aelwyn chuckled softly.
“This is going to be a long journey.”
The carriage rolled steadily along the forest road, its wooden frame creaking softly with every bump in the path.
Dust floated lazily through the warm afternoon light pouring through the windows.
The earlier panic had quieted, but the tension inside the wagon still lingered like a storm that had not fully passed.
Javon and Syanna sat stiffly on one side of the carriage, their backs pressed against the bench as far away from the glowing figures as possible.
Across from them stood the two spirits.
Their bodies shimmered faintly with pale blue light, their presence unnatural yet strangely calm.
For several long seconds, no one spoke.
Vistara finally broke the silence with a small sigh, rubbing her forehead.
“Everyone relax,” she said softly.
“They’re not here to hurt anyone.”
Javon slowly lowered the hand he had raised defensively earlier, though his eyes never left the spirits.
“You say that like this happens every day,” he muttered under his breath.
Vistara glanced between everyone before continuing.
“Riven can see and communicate with spirits. Raku and Aelwyn are bound to him. They help him fight.”
Javon blinked slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then he leaned forward, pointing between Riven and the two glowing figures.
“So let me get this straight,” he said carefully.
“He can talk to spirits… they help him fight… and THAT—” he pointed directly at Raku “—is the one that saved you from the bandits?”
Vistara nodded.
Javon leaned back into the seat like the air had been knocked out of him.
Raku’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied him.
“He asks too many questions,” Raku said calmly.
“Sire… may I silence him?”
Riven turned his head toward Javon.
He stared at him for several seconds.
Actually thinking about it.
Javon slowly pointed at him in disbelief.
“You’re seriously considering it right now, aren’t you?”
“…No,” Riven finally said.
Raku sighed in disappointment.
Javon slumped back dramatically.
“You had to THINK about it though! That’s the part that bothers me!”
Syanna, however, had slowly leaned forward, her earlier fear fading into fascination.
Her eyes carefully studied the spirits, curiosity replacing panic.
“That’s… really incredible,” she said softly.
She looked toward Riven.
“So how do you know which spirits will help you?”
Riven answered simply.
“They call out to me.”
Syanna tilted her head.
“Call out?”
“Souls that cannot move on,” Riven explained quietly.
“They remain tied to the world by something unfinished.”
Raku folded his arms, his voice steady and proud.
“My purpose was to serve,” he said.
“In life I was a warrior sworn to a lord. When death came… I had no master left to serve.”
His eyes moved toward Riven.
“Sire gave me that purpose again.”
The tone in his voice carried absolute loyalty.
“I serve him now.”
Aelwyn chuckled softly beside him, stroking his long beard.
“My situation is somewhat different,” he said calmly.
His expression darkened slightly as he continued.
“My death was… unjust.”
His eyes flickered with a cold, distant anger.
“This young man promised me revenge so that my spirit may finally find peace.”
The air in the carriage grew quieter after those words.
Syanna sat back slowly, processing everything she had heard.
Her finger tapped thoughtfully against her chin.
“So…” she murmured.
“If a spirit still has something unfinished in the world… you can hear them and choose to help them.”
Riven nodded once.
“Yes.”
Syanna’s eyes lit up with fascination.
“That’s amazing.”
Aelwyn suddenly leaned closer, studying her carefully as he stroked his beard.
“This is a clever girl,” he said thoughtfully.
He nodded with approval.
“Very sharp mind.”
Then he added casually,
“She could make a fine apprentice.”
Syanna froze.
“…Apprentice?”
Javon immediately leaned forward again.
“Wait a second—why does SHE get to be the apprentice?!”
Raku groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Sire… I request permission again.”
Riven slowly leaned back against the wall of the carriage and closed his eyes.
“…Denied.”
The carriage continued rolling toward Thunderwood as the arguing resumed around him.
The road stretched long beneath the rolling carriage wheels as the group traveled toward Thunderwood.
What had begun as a tense and awkward journey slowly turned… loud.
Very loud.
Javon leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed while Raku stood nearby, his translucent figure faintly glowing in the dim interior of the wagon.
“You’re telling me,” Javon said for what felt like the tenth time, “that you’ve been dead for how long?”
“Three hundred and twelve years,” Raku replied calmly.
Javon blinked.
“…And you still act like this?”
Raku’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“And how exactly should a warrior act after death?”
Javon leaned forward dramatically.
“I don’t know—quiet? Mysterious? Haunting castles maybe? You’re out here arguing in a wagon like an old married couple.”
Raku scoffed.
“If I were alive, I would challenge you to a duel for such disrespect.”
Javon pointed at him immediately.
“SEE? That’s what I mean! You’re supposed to be some ancient spirit warrior and you’re bickering with me!”
Raku folded his arms.
“You began the bickering.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
“I asked a QUESTION.”
“You asked twenty-seven questions.”
“Because you KEEP answering them!”
Syanna covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
Even Aelwyn chuckled softly, stroking his beard as he watched the exchange like an old scholar observing a particularly amusing debate.
Meanwhile, Riven sat quietly with his eyes half closed, completely ignoring the chaos happening around him.
Or at least… pretending to.
Vistara watched the entire argument with mild amusement.
Seeing Raku act so animated was strange compared to the deadly calm spirit she had seen in the forest.
“Spirits get bored too, you know,” she whispered to Syanna.
“That explains a lot,” Syanna whispered back.
Hours passed as the forest slowly began to thin.
The towering trees gave way to open hills and farmland, and soon the distant wooden walls of Thunderwood appeared on the horizon.
But the town was far from calm.
As the carriage approached the gates, they could already see soldiers rushing through the streets.
Men hauled crates of weapons across the dirt roads.
Archers stacked bundles of arrows near the watchtowers.
Horses stamped nervously as riders prepared for deployment.
Messengers sprinted between buildings shouting orders.
“Reinforce the east barricade!”
“Move those shields to the front line!”
“Where are the supply wagons?!”
The entire town buzzed with urgent preparation.
Javon leaned forward to look out the window.
“Well,” he muttered, “looks like the party started without us.”
The carriage rolled through the gates as guards quickly waved them inside.
At the center of the town square stood a tall man clad in polished armor, speaking with several officers.
His posture was straight and commanding, yet the tension in his expression betrayed how heavily the situation weighed on him.
Lord Alric of Thunderwood.
Vistara spotted him immediately.
Before the carriage had even fully stopped, she threw the door open and jumped down.
“Father!”
Her voice cut through the noise of the square.
The man turned instantly.
For a brief moment the hardened commander disappeared, replaced by a relieved father.
“Vistara.”
She ran across the square and threw her arms around him.
He caught her in a firm embrace, holding her tightly before pulling back to examine her face.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly.
“I told you I would return,” she smiled.
He nodded proudly.
“And you did more than that.”
His gaze shifted toward the approaching soldiers and wagons behind her.
“You brought reinforcements.”
Javon, Syanna, and Riven stepped down from the carriage behind her.
As they walked forward, Raku and Aelwyn exchanged a glance.
“Best we remain unseen for now,” Aelwyn murmured.
Both spirits dissolved into glowing blue wisps that drifted through the air before slipping back into Riven’s chest.
The square suddenly felt far more normal again.
Lord Alric stepped forward to greet the others.
“Ah, Javon. Syanna,” he said warmly, opening his arms.
He hugged them both briefly.
“It is good to see you two again. Your help means more than you know.”
Javon grinned.
“Couldn’t let Vistara have all the glory.”
Syanna smiled politely.
“We’re happy to help.”
Then Alric’s attention shifted to the towering figure standing quietly behind them.
Riven.
Up close, the difference between him and everyone else was even more striking.
He stood nearly a head taller than most soldiers nearby, his broad frame wrapped in dark travel-worn clothing.
Fresh scars marked his arms and neck, layered over older ones that told stories of countless battles.
His golden eyes observed everything silently.
Even the nearby soldiers slowed their work to glance at him.
Alric studied him for a moment.
Then he raised an eyebrow.
“And who might this be?”
Vistara stepped forward proudly.
“This is Riven. He’s the one who saved me from the bandits.”
Alric looked him up and down once more, clearly impressed.
Then he let out a small laugh.
“…You brought a demi-god to help us?”
Javon snorted.
“Honestly? That might not be far off.”
Riven simply blinked.
“…I am just Riven.”
“Well Riven, I am glad you decided to help us.”
Lord Alric stepped forward and extended his hand.
His posture carried the weight of command, but his eyes studied Riven carefully, measuring the towering man before him.
Riven looked down at the offered hand for a moment.
His expression remained unreadable, but after a brief pause he grasped Alric’s hand.
His grip was firm—so firm that Alric’s arm tensed slightly beneath the pressure.
“I thank you for saving my daughter from those bandits,” Alric said sincerely.
“That wasn’t—”
“Uh, father!” Vistara quickly cut in, stepping between them with forced enthusiasm.
“We should get ready for the siege.”
For a moment Alric looked confused, glancing between the two of them, but then he nodded.
“Yes… of course.”
He turned away and began barking orders to the soldiers nearby.
“Reinforce the western wall! I want the ballista crews ready before nightfall! Move!”
The soldiers scattered into action as preparations for the coming battle intensified.
Once Alric was far enough away, Javon burst out laughing.
“Real smooth there, tiny.”
Vistara crossed her arms and glared at him.
“I panicked!”
“Oh I noticed,” Javon said with a grin.
“You looked like you were about to tackle Riven before he finished that sentence.”
Riven simply stared at the two of them, silent as ever.
Javon stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.
“Alright, enough joking. Let’s get set up so we can save Thunderwood.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparation.
Soldiers hammered wooden reinforcements into the town’s walls.
Archers tested bowstrings and stacked arrows along the battlements.
Smiths worked tirelessly at mobile forges, sharpening blades and repairing armor.
The tension of the coming battle hung over the town like a storm waiting to break.
Syanna was with the lifebinders preparing materials.
Javon stood in the training yard near the wall, practicing with his shield and sword.
His armor clanked with every movement as he lunged, pivoted, and struck an imaginary opponent.
Riven watched from a short distance away.
With a sharp exhale, Javon planted his feet and slammed his shield forward.
For a brief moment a faint glow rippled across his armor, like a pulse traveling through metal.
“A Vanguard,” Aelwyn’s voice murmured.
The spirit slowly emerged from Riven’s chest, his translucent beard swaying as he stroked it thoughtfully.
“Maybe that is why he and Raku clash heads.”
Raku appeared beside him with a grunt.
“No,” Raku said flatly.
“He is just annoying.”
Javon glanced over.
“I can hear you, ghost.”
“Good,” Raku replied.
“Then hear this: your stance is sloppy.”
“My stance is fine!”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is!”
Riven watched the two bicker as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Finally, he spoke.
“What is a Vanguard?”
Aelwyn turned his attention back to Riven, pleased by the question.
“A Vanguard is a warrior who has mastered control over their own soul,” the old spirit explained.
“Most people possess a soul, but few ever learn to wield it.”
He gestured toward Javon.
“They can project their soul outward, shaping it into armor, shields, or weapons. In battle it strengthens their body and protects them from harm.”
As if to prove the point, Javon lifted his shield again.
This time the glow returned—brighter—forming a faint aura around the metal.
“For many knights,” Aelwyn continued, “that power takes decades to learn.”
Raku snorted.
“And yet he still fights like a drunk goat.”
“I am not a drunk goat!” Javon shouted.
Riven watched the glow fade from Javon’s armor.
“…Interesting,” he said quietly.
A few hours later the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and burning streaks of orange.
The last light of day stretched across the rolling pastures outside Thunderwood, casting long shadows from the wooden walls.
The town had grown quiet.
Crickets chirped softly in the tall grass, and a cool evening breeze carried the scent of pine from the Thunderwood forest.
Soldiers stood along the walls with tired eyes, gripping their spears and bows as they watched the darkness settle over the land.
Everyone knew it was coming.
No one knew exactly when.
Then the silence shattered.
“ENEMY!”
The shout rang across the walls like a thunderclap.
More voices followed immediately.
“Enemy approaching from the south field!”
“Horn signals! Sound the alarm!”
A war horn blared, its deep echo rolling across the town.
Riven’s eyes snapped open.
In a single motion he stood and began running toward the walls, his massive frame moving with terrifying speed.
His feet slammed into the dirt road, kicking clouds of dust behind him as startled soldiers jumped out of his way.
Javon grabbed his shield and sword and sprinted toward the front gate, his heart already pounding with anticipation.
Focus, he told himself.
Shield up.
Protect the line.
By the time they reached the battlements, the enemy had already emerged from the darkness.
The open pasture outside Thunderwood was crawling with figures.
Torches flickered like a field of fireflies as hundreds of men marched forward.
Some wore ragged armor like common bandits, but others were dressed in dark leather and cloaks marked with a violet emblem.
The symbol of the Nightshade Guild.
Their formation stretched across the field like a black tide preparing to crash against the town.
One soldier beside Riven whispered nervously.
“Gods… there’s so many.”
Riven said nothing.
His cold eyes studied the battlefield.
Inside his chest, a familiar voice spoke.
“Sire… I believe it is time we reveal your power.”
Raku.
The warrior spirit’s voice carried a hint of excitement.
Riven nodded slightly.
“Raku, let’s go,” he said quietly.
He paused for a moment.
“Aelwyn will stay here and support us from afar.”
Before anyone could question him, Riven stepped forward and leapt from the wall.
Several soldiers shouted in shock.
“WAIT—!”
“Is he insane?!”
His massive body dropped through the air like a falling stone.
But before he hit the ground—
Two glowing spheres burst from his chest.
One streaked upward, floating gracefully onto the battlements like a drifting star.
The light faded to reveal Aelwyn, his translucent robes flowing in the wind as his feet touched the wooden planks of the wall.
The old spirit calmly stroked his beard as he gazed across the battlefield.
“Hmm… quite the gathering tonight.”
The second sphere shot downward beside Riven.
It exploded into form mid-fall.
Raku.
The armored spirit warrior appeared in the air beside him, ghostly boots landing on nothing as he descended alongside his master.
His eyes burned with anticipation.
“Finally.”
Riven hit the ground first.
The earth cracked beneath his weight, dust erupting around him.
Raku landed beside him a heartbeat later, his spectral armor clanking softly despite its ghostly form.
Ahead of them, the Nightshade soldiers slowed their march.
Whispers spread through their ranks.
“Who the hell is that?”
“Just one man?”
Raku rolled his shoulders and grinned like a warrior finally released from a cage.
“Sire,” he said eagerly, summoning his spectral blade into his hand.
“Shall we begin?”
Behind them, high atop the wall, Aelwyn raised one translucent hand.
A faint glow began forming around his fingers as ancient runes of spirit magic slowly appeared in the air.
“Yes,” Riven said calmly.
“Let’s begin.”
The soldiers stationed along the wall had been watching the field, their eyes fixed on the dark mass of enemies gathering beyond the pasture.
When the glowing sphere rose from Riven’s chest and drifted upward toward the battlements, several of them leaned closer in confusion.
Then the light faded.
A tall, translucent man with flowing robes and a long beard stood calmly on the wooden walkway.
For a brief moment there was silence.
One of the younger soldiers slowly pointed.
“G-g-ghost…”
Another soldier turned and saw Aelwyn standing there, faint light passing through his body like mist.
“GHOST!”
Panic spread instantly.
Men dropped spears and stumbled over each other trying to escape the battlement.
A few nearly tripped down the wooden steps as they scrambled to the other side of the wall.
“Get away from it!”
“Spirits are cursed!”
“I’m not dying tonight!”
Within seconds the entire section of the wall had been abandoned, leaving Aelwyn standing there alone with the cool evening wind brushing through his translucent robes.
He blinked slowly and watched the terrified soldiers disappear.
Aelwyn lifted a hand to his beard and stroked it thoughtfully.
“Hmm…”
He leaned forward slightly and sniffed the air around himself.
“Is it my breath?”
He exhaled and waved a hand in front of his face as if testing the theory.
“Curious. I don’t remember it being that offensive when I was alive.”
With a small shrug he turned his attention back to the battlefield.
Below him, Riven had already landed and begun moving.
The massive warrior surged forward across the pasture like a charging beast.
Each step dug deep into the earth, dirt spraying behind him as he accelerated toward the enemy line.
Beside him ran Raku, the ghostly warrior gliding across the ground with effortless speed, his spectral armor shimmering faintly in the fading light.
The Nightshade soldiers ahead of them slowed as the two figures approached.
At first the bandits only saw Riven.
A towering man covered in scars, sprinting toward them with terrifying speed.
Then they noticed the spirit running beside him.
A pale armored warrior that moved like a phantom.
Unease rippled through the front ranks.
“What is that?”
“Is that a spirit?”
“Kill them before they get closer!”
Several archers quickly raised their bows.
“Loose!”
A volley of arrows cut through the air toward Riven.
Raku laughed.
“Pathetic.”
Riven didn’t slow down.
He drew his new blade in one smooth motion, the dark steel catching the last light of the sunset as the faint gold line along its edge shimmered.
Raku surged ahead slightly, raising his ghostly sword.
The first arrows struck—
—but many passed straight through Raku’s spectral body.
The few aimed at Riven were knocked aside with brutal precision as he swung his blade in wide arcs, steel flashing as arrows snapped and fell uselessly to the ground.
The distance closed in seconds.
The first bandit barely had time to lift his weapon.
Riven crashed into their line like a falling boulder.
His sword moved once.
A clean, brutal strike.
Two men dropped instantly.
Raku followed beside him, his ghostly blade slicing through another soldier with a flash of pale light.
The man collapsed, his soul briefly flickering as Raku’s strike passed through him.
Raku grinned wildly.
“Ah… now this feels right.”
More enemies rushed forward, shouting in anger and fear.
Steel clashed.
Men screamed.
The battlefield erupted into chaos the moment Riven crashed into the enemy line.
Steel clanged against steel.
Men shouted orders that were quickly drowned out by screams and the thunder of clashing weapons.
The smell of churned dirt, sweat, and blood filled the evening air.
High above the battlefield, Aelwyn stood alone on the abandoned section of the wall, calmly observing the carnage unfolding below.
His translucent robes fluttered gently in the night breeze as his sharp eyes tracked the movements of the enemy.
Riven and Raku tore through the front ranks like a storm.
Aelwyn sighed softly.
“Well… I suppose it would be rude not to contribute.”
He slowly raised one hand.
A small spark flickered to life above his palm.
The spark grew.
And grew.
Flames twisted together, spiraling into a blazing sphere the size of a barrel.
The fire burned unnaturally bright, casting orange light across the wooden battlements and reflecting off the wide eyes of the few soldiers who had cautiously crept back to look.
One of them swallowed hard.
“W-what is he doing…”
Aelwyn gently rotated his wrist.
The massive fireball began spinning faster, the flames roaring louder as heat rippled through the air.
Below, dozens of Nightshade fighters rushed toward Riven, trying to overwhelm him with numbers.
Aelwyn calmly aimed.
“Ah… there you are.”
With a flick of his fingers—
The fireball launched forward like a falling star.
It streaked across the dark sky before slamming directly into the center of the charging soldiers.
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the battlefield with terrifying force.
Flames burst outward in a violent shockwave, throwing bodies through the air as fire swallowed an entire cluster of enemies in an instant.
The ground trembled beneath the blast.
When the smoke cleared, a massive crater of scorched earth and fallen soldiers remained where the group had once stood.
Along the wall, the soldiers of Thunderwood and Sabercrest stood frozen.
Mouths hung open.
Spears slowly lowered.
One soldier blinked several times as he looked between the burning crater… and the single spirit standing casually on the wall.
“…Do we even have to do anything?” one of them asked quietly.
Another soldier rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“I hope we never make an enemy of him.”
Further down the battlements, Javon leaned forward against the wooden railing, watching Riven carve through enemy after enemy.
Riven moved like a machine.
Precise.
Unstoppable.
Raku fought beside him like a ghostly executioner, cutting down soldiers that tried to flank his sire.
Javon shook his head slowly.
“Maybe he really is a demigod…”
He took a deep breath and pushed past the line of soldiers guarding the gate.
“Well,” he muttered, gripping his sword and shield, “I hope I don’t regret this.”
Before anyone could stop him, Javon sprinted down the steps and charged out into the battlefield.
On the highest point of the wall, Vistara stood beside her father, Lord Alric, both of them staring at the overwhelming display of power below.
Riven fought at the center of the chaos, surrounded by enemies that seemed powerless to stop him.
Alric crossed his arms slowly.
“Who exactly did you meet in that forest?”
His voice carried both awe and caution.
“That man…” he continued quietly, watching another group of soldiers fall beneath Riven’s blade, “has the power of fifty men by himself.”
Another explosion lit the field as Aelwyn launched a second fireball.
“And that doesn’t even include the spirits fighting beside him.”
Alric’s gaze hardened slightly.
“We must ensure we never cross someone like him.”
Beside him, Vistara said nothing.
Her eyes remained locked on Riven.
He moved through the battlefield like a silent force of nature.
No anger.
No shouting.
No rage.
Just relentless motion.
His steel face showed almost no emotion as he cut down enemy after enemy.
Then something changed.
Riven suddenly stopped moving.
For a single heartbeat, the battlefield seemed to pause around him.
A group of Nightshade fighters rushed toward him all at once, shouting as they tried to overwhelm him.
Riven slowly raised his blade.
A deep pulse of energy spread from his chest.
Vyr surged through his body like a rushing river.
The energy flowed down his arm and poured into his weapon.
The dull gold line along the edge of the blade ignited with brilliant light.
The sword began to glow.
A deep, radiant violet.
Riven stepped forward.
And swung.
The blade cut through the air with terrifying speed.
A massive crescent of gold energy erupted from the swing, tearing across the battlefield like a wave of destruction.
Fifteen men were caught in its path.
The energy sliced straight through them.
Armor.
Weapons.
Bodies.
All cut cleanly in half as the wave continued forward before finally dissipating into the night air.
Silence followed.
Even the soldiers on the wall stood frozen.
Smoke drifted across the battlefield where the attack had passed.
In the center of it all stood Riven.
A small smile appeared on his face.
Not cruel.
Not joyful.
But satisfied.
Javon burst onto the battlefield just as another group of Nightshade soldiers rushed toward Riven.
“Move!” Javon roared, slamming his shield forward.
The impact sent one attacker flying backward while Javon’s sword cut cleanly through another’s guard.
Steel rang sharply in the air as he planted his feet beside Riven, breathing heavily but grinning through the chaos.
“Well,” he said between swings, “this is a lot worse than training!”
Riven didn’t answer.
His blade flashed again, dropping another enemy before they could even finish their attack.
Javon glanced at him.
“Still not talkative, huh?”
“Look! Javon joined him!”
Another soldier leaned forward nervously.
“If they’re out there fighting alone… we can’t just stand here.”
Lord Alric had been watching the entire battle unfold, his eyes carefully tracking the shifting tides of combat.
The Nightshade forces that had once flooded the pasture now seemed far less overwhelming.
Between Riven’s brutal advance, Raku’s relentless strikes, and Aelwyn’s devastating fire from above, the enemy army had already lost hundreds.
Alric suddenly raised his arm.
“That’s enough watching!” he bellowed.
“Open the gates!”
The massive wooden gates groaned as they began to swing outward.
“Forward!” Alric commanded, his voice carrying across the battlements.
“Support them! Drive the enemy from our land!”
A roar erupted from the soldiers of Thunderwood and Sabercrest.
Armor rattled.
Boots thundered against the ground.
The soldiers poured out of the gates like a wave, charging across the field to reinforce the fight.
Meanwhile, Riven continued moving through the battlefield with unstoppable focus.
Enemy soldiers lunged at him from every direction.
His blade cut them down without hesitation.
One soldier raised a spear—
Riven stepped inside the attack and cut through his chest.
Another rushed from the side—
Riven pivoted and drove his blade through the man’s shoulder.
Blood stained the ground behind him as he advanced.
Then—
Riven stopped.
His golden eyes locked onto something in the distance.
Far beyond the collapsing front lines of the Nightshade army, a lone rider sat calmly atop a dark horse.
The man wore black armor trimmed in silver.
A long cloak drifted behind him as he observed the battle with cold patience.
Even from a distance, Riven knew who he was looking at.
.
His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
“Varnis.”
The name left his mouth like a blade itself.
Without warning—
Riven moved.
He exploded forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as he dashed straight through the battlefield.
Soldiers tried to intercept him.
They failed.
One after another fell as Riven carved a direct path toward the distant rider.
Javon noticed immediately.
He blocked an incoming strike before glancing up just in time to see Riven blasting past the front lines.
Javon stared for a moment.
Then he groaned loudly.
“Of course he leaves when everyone gets involved!”
Two bandits rushed him at once.
Javon raised his shield and braced himself.
“Fine!” he shouted as he slammed into them.
“I’ll just fight the rest of the army myself!”
A third attacker came from behind, only to be cut down by Raku’s ghostly blade.
The spirit appeared beside Javon, his expression calm but sharp.
“You require assistance,” Raku said.
Javon deflected another strike and glanced at him.
“Don’t make it sound like I can’t handle myself!”
More soldiers poured into the fight.
Luckily, the reinforcements from Thunderwood and Sabercrest were finally arriving.
The battlefield quickly shifted as armored warriors joined the struggle, pushing back the remaining Nightshade fighters and helping Javon and Raku stabilize the front.
Above them, Aelwyn continued his relentless assault.
Another blazing sphere formed in his hand before he launched it into a tightly packed group of enemy soldiers.
The explosion lit the battlefield once again.
Where the Nightshade army had once numbered in the thousands…
Now fewer than five hundred remained standing.
Smoke drifted across the pasture.
Bodies littered the field.
And at the far edge of the battlefield—
Riven finally stopped running.
He stood alone before the mounted figure.
His chest rose slowly with steady breaths.
His sword dripped with the blood of the men who had tried to stop him.
Across from him, Varnis gently pulled the reins of his horse, bringing the animal to a slow halt.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The wind rustled through the grass between them.
Varnis studied the young warrior carefully—his blood-soaked blade, the hardened look in his golden eyes, the bodies left in his wake.
Then he tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.
“Hm,” he said thoughtfully.
“Have we met before?”
Riven didn’t answer.
Varnis continued studying him, as if searching his memory.
“I can’t recall your face,” he said casually.
“Yet you cut through my men like a man carrying a grudge.”
His gaze sharpened slightly.
“Tell me…” Varnis said, a faint smile forming.
“Do you know me?”
Riven slowly raised his sword.
“You killed Aelwyn..”
His golden eyes burned with quiet fury.
The battlefield behind them raged on.
“Aelwyn?…Hmm I have a hard time remember all the people I killed. But you boy..you look familiar.”