Riven followed his parents through the tall wheat that swayed gently in the warm breeze.
Each step felt strange, almost unreal, as if he were walking through a memory instead of a place that truly existed.
The golden stalks brushed softly against his legs, and the familiar scent of the fields filled the air—earth, grain, and sunlight.
It was the same field he remembered from childhood.
Ahead of him, a simple wooden bench rested beneath a lone tree.
The tree’s branches stretched wide, casting a cool shade across the grass.
His parents walked toward it slowly, as though they had all the time in the world.
Riven did not.
His chest felt tight with questions.
When they reached the bench, Oliver sat first, his large hands resting on his knees.
Maelina sat beside him and gently patted the open space next to her.
Riven hesitated for only a moment before sitting down.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Maelina immediately reached for him, just as she always had when he was younger.
Her hands brushed softly along his sleeves and arms, checking him instinctively, the way a mother does even when her child is already grown.
Oliver watched quietly from the other side.
His sharp eyes moved across Riven’s body, lingering on the scars that ran along his arms, the faint marks along his jaw, and the deep line across his chest where the wound from the battle had once been.
His expression softened.
“Looks like you’ve had your fair share of battles, son.”
There was pride in his voice… but also worry.
Maelina’s hand tightened slightly around Riven’s arm.
“Please be careful when you fight,” she said softly.
“I know you’re strong now, but… please.”
Riven felt his throat tighten.
Even after everything that had happened—after the battle, the blood, the loss—they were still the same people who had raised him.
Still the same parents who had tucked him into bed and scolded him for climbing the barn roof.
A small smile formed on his lips.
“I will, mother,” he said gently.
“Don’t worry.”
A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
He reached out and held her hand.
The warmth of it felt so real.
For a moment he almost forgot the words Varnis had spoken on the battlefield.
Almost forgot the questions tearing through his mind.
Almost.
He drew in a slow breath and opened his mouth to speak.
But Oliver spoke first.
“You’re wondering why we never told you who you really are… correct?”
The question landed heavily between them.
Riven froze.
Slowly, he nodded.
His heart began to pound in his chest as anticipation twisted into something colder.
Fear.
He swallowed hard before speaking.
“D-did I really get everyone in Soulmere killed?”
The words felt like they scraped against his throat on the way out.
Maelina immediately turned toward him, her expression filled with concern.
Both of her hands gripped his arms firmly, as if she could physically shake the doubt out of him.
“No, honey,” she said gently.
“None of that was your fault.”
Her thumb rubbed softly along his sleeve.
“Those people… they were caught in something that should never have happened.”
Oliver let out a long breath and lowered his gaze to the wheat field stretching out before them.
“I was hoping to tell you when you turned fifteen,” he said quietly.
“When you were old enough to understand everything.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“But things didn’t go the way I planned.”
He looked back at Riven.
His eyes carried the weight of years.
“Son… you are the sole heir to the king of Yewshade.”
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Riven stared at him.
A prince.
The thought echoed in his mind again and again, refusing to settle into something real.
Oliver continued slowly.
“I served your father when The Veloran Unification War began. I was his right hand… his most trusted knight.”
His voice softened as memories surfaced.
“Your father was one of the bravest men I have ever served under. A king who fought beside his soldiers instead of hiding behind walls.”
Oliver looked toward the horizon as if he could still see those battlefields.
“When the war turned against us… he made the hardest choice a king could make.”
Riven leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
Oliver’s voice lowered.
“He sacrificed himself.”
The wind rustled through the wheat around them.
“So that your mother and I could escape with you.”
Silence followed.
Riven sat completely still.
His mind struggled to piece together everything he had just heard.
A prince.
A king.
A war.
None of it felt real.
Oliver continued quietly.
“We spent years hiding after that. Moving from place to place while the war raged on. When it finally ended… we traveled to Kavara.”
Maelina smiled faintly through her tears.
“Soulmere was quiet,” she said softly.
“Peaceful.”
She reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from Riven’s face.
“And we raised a very strong man.”
Riven looked at the two people sitting beside him.
These were the people who had raised him.
The ones who had laughed with him… worked beside him in the fields… scolded him when he snuck out to train too late at night.
They had always been his parents.
Yet now the truth hung heavily in the air.
Carefully, almost afraid of the answer, he looked at Maelina.
For a moment Maelina looked stunned.
Then her expression softened completely.
“Oh, sweetie…”
She pulled him into her arms without hesitation and kissed his forehead the way she used to when he was little.
“I am your real mother,” she whispered.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held him tightly.
“And you are my real son.”
Riven held his mother tightly for a moment longer before slowly pulling away.
His chest felt lighter than it had in years, yet at the same time heavier with the weight of everything he had just learned.
A prince.
The heir of Yewshade.
The words still echoed inside his mind.
He turned toward Oliver.
The man who had taught him how to swing a sword… how to work the fields… how to stand back up after being knocked down.
Riven stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.
“You’re still my father,” Riven said quietly.
“You raised me.”
Oliver chuckled softly, though emotion flickered in his eyes as he returned the embrace.
“And I always will be.”
They stood there for a moment, father and son, holding onto a bond that war, lies, and time had never truly broken.
Eventually Riven stepped back.
But the questions in his mind quickly returned.
He looked down at his hands.
The same hands that had cut down Varnis.
The same hands that had unleashed power he had never known existed.
“But I have to know…” Riven said slowly.
His eyes lifted toward Oliver.
“What exactly did I do when I fought Varnis?”
Oliver studied him carefully before answering.
“Well, son… the simple answer is that you borrowed power.”
Riven tilted his head slightly.
“I borrowed it?”
Oliver nodded.
“You drew strength from the soul bound to you.”
He gestured gently toward Riven’s chest.
“The spirit that fought beside you… the one you call Raku. He is part of your Spirit Vanguard now.”
Riven felt the words settle deep inside him.
Spirit Vanguard.
Oliver continued.
“That is the true power of a Soulbinder.”
His voice carried the tone of a man explaining something ancient and sacred.
“A Soulbinder does not fight alone. They gather powerful souls… warriors, guardians, spirits who choose to stand beside them.”
The wind rustled through the wheat around them.
“And through that bond,” Oliver said, “their strength becomes something far greater than either could achieve alone.”
Riven slowly looked down at his hand.
He flexed his fingers slightly, remembering the surge of energy that had filled his body during the battle.
The golden-blue aura.
The strength.
The clarity.
“So Raku lent me his power…” he murmured.
Oliver nodded.
“Yes.”
Riven looked up quickly.
“Can you teach me how to use it?”
There was a hint of desperation in his voice now.
“Please… father.”
Oliver’s expression softened.
But instead of answering immediately, he looked toward Maelina.
A quiet understanding passed between them.
When he turned back to Riven, there was sadness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Riven’s heart sank slightly.
“But we don’t have much time left.”
The golden field around them seemed to flicker faintly, like a dream beginning to fade.
Oliver placed a firm hand on Riven’s shoulder.
“If you want answers… you must find the castle of Yewshade.”
Riven frowned slightly.
“The castle?”
Oliver nodded.
“Within it lies your father’s ring.”
His voice grew serious.
“That ring carries the legacy of the Yewshade kings… and the truth of your power.”
He squeezed Riven’s shoulder once before letting go.
“When you find it, everything will become clear.”
Maelina stepped forward then, gently placing her hand on Riven’s cheek.
“I love you, honey.”
Riven felt panic suddenly rise in his chest.
Something was wrong.
The wheat field was fading.
The sky above them dimmed.
“No… wait,” Riven said, reaching toward them.
Oliver smiled sadly.
“I love you too, son.”
The world around them began dissolving into faint golden light.
“Mom! Dad! Wait!”
Riven lunged forward, trying to grab them.
But his hands closed around empty air.
Their figures vanished like drifting mist.
Suddenly—
The golden field vanished.
One moment the warm breeze was brushing against Riven’s skin and the scent of wheat filled the air…
Riven jolted upright with a violent gasp, his body moving before his mind could catch up.
Panic surged through his chest like a sudden storm.
“Mom! Dad!”
His voice tore through the quiet of the medical tent.
The shout echoed against the canvas walls, startling the wounded soldiers resting nearby.
Several men shot upright in their cots while others turned their heads, confusion written across their faces.
For a moment Riven didn’t see any of them.
His breathing was uneven as he looked around wildly, half-expecting to see the golden wheat field again… half-expecting his parents to still be standing beside him.
But there was only the dim lantern light of the tent.
The smell of herbs and medicine hung thick in the air.
Bandaged soldiers lay in rows of cots around him, some watching silently while others whispered to each other.
“Was he dreaming?”
“Didn’t he just wake up?”
“That’s the guy who killed Varnis…”
A few soldiers exchanged glances before one of them hurried toward the tent entrance.
“Go get Miss Vistara!” he called to someone outside.
“And Syanna! Javon too!”
Riven barely heard them.
His hands were trembling slightly as he ran them through his hair, trying to steady himself.
His heart was still pounding from the dream.
No… it hadn’t felt like a dream.
It felt real.
Too real.
Footsteps suddenly rushed toward the tent.
The canvas flap burst open.
Vistara rushed inside.
The moment she saw Riven sitting upright, her expression shifted from alarm to relief.
Without hesitation she crossed the space between them in long strides.
“Riven!”
Before he could react she threw her arms around him.
The sudden embrace caught him off guard.
For a brief moment he froze.
Then slowly… he relaxed.
Riven looked down at her as she held him tightly, as if making sure he was actually there.
And suddenly something about the hug felt… familiar.
Warm.
Safe.
It reminded him of something he hadn’t realized he needed.
His mother.
The way Maelina used to pull him close when he was younger… the quiet reassurance that everything would be okay.
The realization softened something inside his chest.
Vistara finally pulled back slightly, looking up at him with concern.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“You were unconscious for hours.”
Riven stared at her for a moment, his thoughts still spinning.
Then the memory of his parents’ final words echoed in his mind.
Find the castle of Yewshade.
Find your father’s ring.
Suddenly his expression hardened with determination.
“I need to find the castle,” Riven said.
The words came out low but firm.
Several nearby soldiers blinked in confusion.
At that moment the tent flap opened again.
Javon stepped inside first, followed closely by Syanna.
Syanna still wore the pale lifebinder’s robes she had used during the battle, faint traces of Vyr exhaustion visible on her face.
Even so, she moved quickly toward Riven, clearly relieved to see him awake.
Javon, however, stopped a few steps away and crossed his arms.
“So the hero finally wakes up,” he said casually.
“I need to find the castle.” Riven said again.
Javon blinked once.
Then he raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
Riven didn’t respond.
Javon tilted his head slightly before letting out a short laugh.
“Castle?” he said.
“Let me guess…”
He gestured dramatically toward Riven.
“You’re a prince now?”
A few of the nearby soldiers chuckled under their breath.
One of them muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at this point.”
Another soldier snorted.
“Man wakes up from a coma and now he wants a castle.”
The laughter spread lightly through the tent.
But Riven didn’t laugh.
He slowly turned his head and looked directly at Javon.
His expression was completely stone-faced.
The humor drained from Javon’s smile almost immediately.
The seriousness in Riven’s eyes made the entire tent grow a little quieter.
Javon stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head slightly.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with a groan.
“You are an enemy to men.”
Several soldiers nearby immediately nodded in agreement.
“Mhm!” one of them chimed loudly.
Another soldier pointed at Riven from his cot.
“Man wakes up stronger than everyone and now he’s royalty too?”
A third soldier sighed dramatically.
“Yeah, we hate this guy already.”
A few scattered laughs returned to the room.
But even through the joking, the atmosphere had changed.
Because everyone in that tent had seen what Riven did on the battlefield.
And the quiet truth hung in the air between them.
If anyone could suddenly turn out to be a prince…
It would probably be him.