"Let's have a chat, Riven." Elder Thorne flicked his wrist, summoning a swirling portal of violet and blue mana. The air crackled around it, the arcane energy humming softly. Without turning, he called over his shoulder, "The rest of you, continue training."
Riven cast a quick glance at Jerrik, Lucenya, and even Valis before stepping forward. With a lazy wave of his fingers, he disappeared into the gate.
The mont they erged, Riven imdiately recognized the room.
Elder Thorne's office.
The sa place he had been brought to after his fight with Cole. The scent of aged parchnt and mana-infused incense lingered in the air, a familiar weight settling over the space. The bookshelves stood tall, each filled with tos on magic, history, and war. The grand wooden desk was polished as ever, a testant to Thorne's ticulous nature.
Riven's gaze flicked to the chair across from the desk, expecting Thorne to take his usual seat. Instead, the elder pulled a different chair beside it and sat down next to him.
"Sit."
Riven didn't need to be told twice. He plopped down, crossing one leg over the other, his chin resting on his fist as he studied Thorne. The man's posture was different—more relaxed than usual. It put Riven slightly on edge.
Then ca the inevitable question.
"Well?" Thorne leaned back, his golden gaze sharp yet unreadable. "Are you going to tell how you got those flas of yours?"
Riven smirked. "What, so curious about a black-colored fla?" He shrugged, keeping his tone deliberately casual. "I've been refining my fire techniques, and my mana… evolved, I suppose. Not sure how to explain it."
Not a lie. But far from the full truth.
Thorne didn't respond imdiately. Instead, he simply watched him.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
Then, with a quiet sigh, Thorne lifted his hand.
A faint shimr expanded outward, forming an invisible do around the room. The air grew still, as if the outside world had been completely sealed off.
"I've placed a silence spell," Thorne said, his voice lower now, almost asured. He leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze never leaving Riven's. "So why don't you tell where you really got those… Abyssal Flas?"
Riven froze.
For just a fraction of a second, his carefully crafted mask cracked.
He hadn't expected Thorne to recognize them. Not so easily. Not so definitively.
Elder Thorne chuckled at the look on his face. "Hah… did you really think no one would know?" His expression shifted, sothing distant flickering behind his eyes. "Well, perhaps not many would. But I was there."
His gaze drifted, as if looking past Riven—through him—into sothing far beyond the confines of this room.
"I fought in the war," Thorne murmured, his voice quieter now. "Against Velmorian and his Shadow Kingdom."
Riven was caught completely off guard.
For the first ti in a long while, he had no imdiate response. His lips parted slightly, but no words ca out.
He even knew of Velmorian?
He forced himself to regain composure, masking his curiosity with feigned ignorance. "Velmorian?" he echoed, his brow furrowing just enough to look convincingly puzzled.
Thorne exhaled, shaking his head. "I suppose you wouldn't know," he said, almost to himself. Then, his gaze refocused, sharp once more. "Velmorian was the King of the Shadow Kingdom. He was the strongest Necromancer in the continent — no, the strongest Necromancer in the world."
Riven's pulse quickened—but he kept his face neutral.
He wanted to ask what more Elder Thorne knew, but he knew better. If he seed too interested, it would only draw suspicion.
So instead, he leaned back in his chair, keeping his tone even. "And what does he have to do with ?"
Elder Thorne studied him, silent for a long mont. Then, he gave a slow, almost knowing smile.
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But your flas… they remind of his shadows."
Riven forced a casual shrug. "Shadows? But I wield fire. Sure it's colour is slightly unusual — but it's just fire at the end of the day."
Thorne's eyes glinted. "No," he said. "Not this fire."
Riven said nothing.
He wasn't going to confirm. He wasn't going to deny. He was just going to let the silence do the work for him.
And Thorne, perceptive as ever, didn't press further.
At least not yet.
Instead, Elder Thorne leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Regardless, you need to be careful," he said, his voice asured. "Not everyone here is an old man like myself who rembers the war. But so of the Elders here were there. And they fear necromantic power more than anything."
Riven tilted his head slightly. "And you?" he asked, his voice deceptively light. But his eyes—his eyes told a different story. A quiet, unsettling intensity simred beneath the surface. "Are you afraid of the Abyss?"
For a fraction of a second, Elder Thorne froze.
The color drained from his face as sothing shifted in the air.
Riven wasn't smiling anymore. He wasn't smirking, wasn't wearing his usual mask of amusent or calculated indifference.
No.
What stared back at Elder Thorne now was sothing entirely different.
Cold. Unfeeling. Vast.
A presence that was not ant to exist within a re student.
For the first ti, Elder Thorne felt sothing foreign—sothing he had not felt since the war.
A pressure.
No… not just pressure. Authority.
It wasn't magic, not exactly. It was deeper than that. It was the kind of weight that pressed into the soul itself, the kind that demanded submission without a single word being spoken.
For the briefest mont, his breath caught in his throat, and his instincts scread at him to bow.
Just… just who was this boy?
Then, as quickly as it had co, it vanished.
Riven blinked, and the mask was back. His usual smirk returned, his posture relaxed, his tone gentle. "Elder? You alright?" he asked, feigning concern like a perfect student.
Thorne exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Had he imagined it? Hallucinated it? He wasn't sure anymore.
"I…" He swallowed, forcing himself to settle. "I'm fine."
Riven simply nodded, as if nothing had happened at all.
Elder Thorne studied him for a long mont before speaking again, his voice quieter now. "Just rember—keep your guard up. Keep suspicion away."
Riven gave a small, knowing smile. "Of course."
"Give your talisman," Elder Thorne said, his voice steady, though his hands trembled ever so slightly as he took the cool stone from Riven's outstretched palm.
A faint hum filled the air as Thorne pressed his own plaque against the talisman, mana flickering between them. The runes on the stone glowed briefly before dimming.
"I've added enough rits to grant you a full day on the mana-dense island," Thorne said, handing it back.
Riven took it, running his fingers over the smooth surface, feeling the subtle shift in energy. He smirked. "Much appreciated, Elder Thorne." With a small, almost playful bow, he added, "I'll see myself out."
And with that, the conversation was over.
As Riven turned to leave, Elder Thorne remained seated, his hands tightening slightly into fists.
He had seen sothing… sothing impossible.
And for the first ti in decades… he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the truth.
—x—
The door to Elder Thorne's office shut behind Riven with a soft click, sealing away the tension that had thickened the air inside. He exhaled slowly, rolling the talisman between his fingers as he walked down the dimly lit corridor.
That conversation had been… enlightening.
Velmorian. The Shadow Kingdom. Abyssal Flas.
Thorne had co dangerously close to connecting the dots, yet he hadn't pushed. Riven wasn't sure if that was because the old man was truly uncertain, or if he was simply waiting—watching—to see if Riven would slip up later.
It doesn't matter.
Riven had danced along the knife's edge before. He would do it again.
As for now, he still had work to do.
The quiet night air settled over the mausoleum as Riven and Nyx walked side by side, their footsteps barely making a sound against the ancient stone. The tension from his conversation with Elder Thorne still clung to him like a second skin, thoughts spiraling in different directions.
Nyx broke the silence first, her voice low but laced with amusent. "That conversation was… intense." She exhaled as they stepped into the main chamber. "Who would have thought there were still stubborn old mages lurking around from the war."
Her obsidian eyes glead dangerously as her fingers curled slightly. "Maybe I should pay him a visit. Finish what was started over two hundred years ago."
Riven smirked at her audacity but his mind was already elsewhere.
"How is it that he's still alive?" He asked, voicing the question that had been gnawing at him. "He barely looks over fifty, yet he fought in a war that ended centuries ago?"
Nyx ca to a sudden stop, blinking as she turned to look at him. "Riven…" A flicker of confusion crossed her features. "Did you not know? Once a mage reaches their sixth circle, aging slows significantly. As long as they continue absorbing mana, they remain at that age indefinitely."
Riven raised a brow. "Huh. Immortality as a side effect of raw power. Not surprising, but…" He crossed his arms, mulling it over. "I am a little surprised that the old man's a sixth-circle mage."
Nyx's lips curled slightly. "He hides it well, but he's strong." There was an odd note in her voice—sothing almost like respect. "Strong enough that it makes want to fight him."
Riven chuckled. "Is that so?" Then, as an idea ford, he tilted his head. "What circle does one need to reach to ascend to Varethun?"
Nyx's expression shifted, her gaze turning distant.
"The tenth." Her voice softened, sothing reverent in her tone. "Velmorian reached it. I rember the exact mont because the ripple of his ascension was felt not only in this world but in the Abyss itself."
She closed her eyes for a mont, as if recalling sothing vivid, sothing untouchable. "He shed his mortal shackles. It was the most glorious sight."
Then her fingers clenched into fists.
"But they cast him down," she spat, her voice trembling with sothing between sorrow and fury. "They rejected him. And though I grieve for what he suffered, is it… is it wrong that I'm also glad? That from that pain, the Shadow Kingdom was born?"
She turned to Riven then, her expression strangely human—raw, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. "That I was born?"
Riven exhaled through his nose, his smirk turning wry. "Of course it's wrong."
Nyx flinched slightly, but he continued before she could respond.
"But greed is natural. It drives us, shapes us. And I've learned firsthand how dangerous it is to trust soone consud by it."
His voice dipped into sothing colder, sothing distant.
Nyx stilled.
She had never heard him speak like that.
Not ever.
For the first ti, true fear edged into her mind—not fear of him, but fear of whatever past he was rembering.
And then she saw it.
The way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly, as if suppressing sothing dark, sothing twisting.
A flicker of a frenzied expression crossed his face, like a mory clawing at the surface of his mind.
Nyx's throat tightened.
What happened to him?
But before she could ask, Riven suddenly exhaled sharply, as if shaking off a phantom grip. He threw his head back, closing his eyes for a brief mont before murmuring, "I must be more exhausted than I thought."
He inhaled deeply.
Abyssal flas erupted around him.
The dark fire coiled against his skin, pulsing, alive. His gaze flickered open—deep, black voids swallowing any trace of warmth.
Nyx's breath hitched.
That presence.
It was unmistakable.
He's changing.
Riven's voice was low, commanding. "Fight ."
She didn't hesitate.
The first strike ca fast—Nyx lunged, sword drawn, but Riven moved just as quickly. His flas surged in response, intercepting her attack mid-motion. A shockwave burst between them as steel t abyssal fire, the sheer force of the collision rattling the stone beneath them.
Nyx grinned, exhilarated.
She weaved through the flickering fire, dancing between the inferno as if it were second nature. But Riven anticipated every step, every maneuver, forcing her into a relentless exchange. His flas singed her skin, but she barely felt the pain.
She thrived in this.
Because in this mont, she could see it—feel it.
Her King was becoming sothing more — sothing greater, and she couldn't wait to see what he would beco.
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