Riven had long forgotten about ti.
He didn’t know how long he had been sitting cross-legged in silence, completely imrsed in the mana flowing through his body. His breathing was steady, every pore on his skin open, and his mind focused solely on one thing: syncing with the rhythm of the flow.
He absorbed mana slowly through the entire surface of his skin, letting it seep in, then guided it through every part of his body—coursing through muscle, bone, blood vessels, and even into the unseen gaps within. The coarse, wild mana, he gradually cald, shaping it into sothing smoother, softer, and bit by bit, he gathered it at the center of his body—just below his navel. That point beca a small vessel, where he stored all that he had absorbed.
And it all had to be done simultaneously.
He couldn’t just focus on absorbing. He couldn’t focus solely on guiding it. He couldn’t simply calm it or just store it. Everything had to happen in a single breath, under a single will.
His body still twitched from ti to ti as the flow struck unfamiliar channels not yet fully opened. But he endured. He t the stinging discomfort with calm resolve. And the longer it went on, the more his body seed to accept it. He felt more sensitive—more attuned.
He could hear the beating of his own heart. He could feel every brush of the night breeze against his skin. Even the crackling of the campfire began to sound like a soft lody, resonating with the current inside him.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
But then—it happened.
A delicate scent, like sumr blossoms, teased his nose. A warm breath tickled his ear. And then, a cool, alluring voice whispered right beside him.
"Good. You’re doing it on your own now."
Riven’s focus shattered instantly.
The mana flow beca chaotic. The channels he had painstakingly ford trembled. The mana that had just begun to settle surged wildly, colliding inside his body. His entire fra trembled, and his eyes flew open, his breath escaping in a quiet groan of frustration.
He turned his head, a sharp glare aid at the woman behind him who had just interrupted him at the worst mont.
But before he could speak, Ashtoria was already looking back with a neutral expression, completely unapologetic.
"Why did you stop?" she asked casually, her voice carried gently on the night wind, her hair swaying like black silk. "You don’t need my help anymore."
She stepped to the side, looking at Riven from the corner of her eye—those ruby-red eyes seeming to see through skin, muscle, and thought alike.
"Now, what you must do... is maintain that state. Not just while training," she continued, her tone even but firm. "But while you walk. While you eat. While you fight. Even while you sleep—the mana must not stop."
Riven fell silent. His lips parted slightly, about to protest—but no words ca. He had thought what he had just accomplished was enough. That being able to absorb and guide mana was already a noteworthy achievent.
But it was only the beginning.
He was still far from finished.
"If your progress remains steady... then even if you never discover your affinity, you could still beco a runemaster. That path doesn’t rely on affinity—it depends on understanding, intelligence, and relentless study."
"Runemaster?" Riven finally spoke, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. He had heard the term before, sowhere, but knew little beyond their rarity and unusual magic.
"Yes," Ashtoria replied. "Those who write and comprehend the language of mana. Who create magical effects through symbols and structure. Not by unleashing raw power—but by shaping it."
She looked up briefly at the clear night sky. The wind stirred her hair as she continued.
"But that path is long. Dangerous. And only those truly dedicated can endure it. If you’re not smart enough... if you don’t fully grasp the spell you’re crafting, your brain might lt under the strain of building such complex circuits."
Riven swallowed hard. The idea of his brain lting was... unsettling.
He glanced to the side.
Mira was still sitting cross-legged, her breathing heavy but steady, sweat dripping from her chin. The girl was fighting to control the mana flowing within her. And like him, she no longer had Ashtoria’s guiding touch on her back.
’And here I thought I was gifted,’ Riven mocked himself inwardly, wryly.
"Your sister just succeeded," Ashtoria said suddenly. Her voice was calm, yet the praise sounded genuine. "Both of you are quite talented. Most noble-born children take at least half a day to master this technique."
Riven glanced at her briefly, then let out a quiet sigh. For so reason, the praise didn’t fill him with pride. He didn’t want to be compared to average noble children. If he was to beco strong, his standard had to be far above that.
After a mont of silence, he asked casually, but with clear curiosity, "By the way... if I may ask, what’s your affinity? And how did you find out?"
Ashtoria didn’t respond imdiately. She seed to think for a mont. The air around them grew heavier, as if reacting to the tension in her silence. Then, slowly, she answered, her voice low and flat.
"My affinity... is destruction."
Her expression shifted—barely perceptible, but it was there. A subtle drop in temperature. A change in the air.
Riven froze. A mory flickered in his mind.
The voice of the Arkham cultist, the one he had killed: "She’s the reincarnation of destruction! A madwoman... a bloodthirsty monster... who delights in pain! If she lives, the world will end... she must die!"
And now, that very woman sat across from him, calmly uttering the sa word.
"Destruction?" Riven repeated, almost in a whisper. Not in fear. But in wonder.
Ashtoria watched his face. There was no fear in his eyes. No revulsion. No panic, as she had seen so many tis before. Only genuine curiosity.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, it eased sothing inside her.
She gave him a small nod.
Riven wanted to ask more. What kind of power does soone with the affinity of destruction possess? But he held back. Everyone had a right to keep their abilities secret. Asking would have been rude.
So instead, he chose a different question.
"How did you know... that your affinity was destruction?"
His voice was soft, cautious.
Maybe... just maybe, her answer would help him discover his own.
Ashtoria looked forward, past the dying campfire whose flas had faded to soft red embers. Her gaze turned distant. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet—but full of aning.
"I knew... when I wished for the world to burn."
Riven held his breath.
There was sothing in the way she said it that made the hairs on his neck stand on end—not out of fear, but because of the weight those words carried. A wish like that didn’t co from nothing. It ca from sowhere deep—sothing broken, sothing buried, sothing painfully real.
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