Opening his eyes, Riven spotted Roman walking away from the beast's corpse, his greatsword resting casually on his shoulder, gripped in one hand like it weighed nothing. Riven opened his mouth to speak—then paused. A flicker of light caught his eye from behind Roman's retreating form.
Right. The soul fragments.
Not wanting to waste perfectly good resources, he moved toward them—and blinked in surprise. It was oddly easy to move, no longer dragging around the weight and pressure caused by that oversized magical construct. A small relief. He broke into a light jog, feet crunching against cracked stone as he made his way to the edge of the massive crater where the beast's body lay sprawled.
The ground around him was scorched black, charred stone cracked and curled like brittle paper. The air reeked of molten metal and roasted flesh, the acrid stench burning the inside of his nose and coating his tongue with bitterness.
My attack did all this?
He still couldn't quite believe it.
Sliding down into the crater, he made his way to the beast's head. It lay limp, its massive eyes glazed over like frosted glass. A gaping rectangular hole had been driven straight through its skull—Roman's work, no doubt—blood still oozing from the wound, pooling into the cracked basin of earth and snaking slowly toward Riven's boots.
Up close, the damage was even more surreal. The lower half of the creature's head—and large sections of its body—weren't just destroyed. They were missing. Not slashed, not shattered. Simply… gone. Erased from existence.
A slow smile tugged at Riven's lips as he took in the result of his handiwork.
But the pulsing lights and the nauseating smell of burned viscera pulled him back to the moment. Five soul fragments hovered just above the body, flickering softly in the ashen air like dying stars. He stepped forward, raising both palms toward them.
They looked the same as before—small, shifting lights—but the color balance had changed. Two blue fragments. Three green.
He didn't dwell on the difference. Instead, he channeled his will, and the fragments responded. They floated into his outstretched hand, disappearing into his soul with a familiar pull through his arm.
Once the last one vanished, Riven spun on his heel and jogged back up the crater's slope, toward the figures of Roman and Sylvia. They were deep in conversation, voices low and tense, their silhouettes stark against the ruined horizon.
As Riven drew closer, he noticed Roman had removed his mask, resting it casually under one arm. Sylvia, too, reached for hers, unhooking it with a practiced motion and clipping it to her right hip.
Riven hadn't paid much attention to her face during the Soul Tournament. At the time, he'd been too preoccupied with surviving his matches to notice anything that wasn't trying to kill him. But now, standing still in the aftermath, he took a proper look—and nearly forgot to breathe.
Sylvia's face was striking. Ethereal, even. Her skin held an icy pallor, nearly luminous under the fractured light of the courtyard. Her eyes were a pale, piercing sky-blue, like frozen rivers under sunlight. And her hair—silver and flowing—cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight, catching the light with each subtle movement.
Roman's voice snapped him out of it. "Good work, kid. That was one hell of an attack."
Riven blinked, pulling himself back into the present.
"We need to get out of here now," Roman continued. "Aerthus won't last much longer, and the beasts might come for us next."
So that's his name, Riven thought, finally able to put an identity to the man who had been the source of so much chaos and aggravation.
Sylvia interrupted his musings. "Unless Riven can do that two more times, we need to go. Now."
That sparked a thought. Can I do it again? If he could, not only would they be safe—but he could absorb even more essence.
Closing his eyes, Riven slipped back into his soul space.
The familiar world greeted him—misty and bathed in green haze, with both cores glowing at different intensities. He drifted toward the amber core, where fragments of light—soul fragments—orbited in a steady rhythm. He focused on one of the green ones, sharpening his will, and commanded it to assimilate.
The fragment floated upward, hovered for a beat, then descended slowly into the amber core. But the moment it touched the core's surface—
Agony.
A pain so sharp and raw it exploded across his entire soul like shattering glass, spider webbing outwards with violent force. His form wavered, glitching, barely holding together.
The torment was unbearable, like someone had torn his essence apart strand by strand. His thoughts blurred. The green fragment slipped from his focus—and as soon as it did, the pain vanished like it had never been.
Breathing hard—though he had no lungs in this space—Riven's body reformed. He watched the green fragment float lazily back into orbit, untouched.
What just happened?
Unease prickled through him. He floated around the amber core, inspecting it more closely. His eyes widened. Hairline cracks ran along its surface in branching, chaotic patterns. Faint white light pulsed through the fractures, leaking out like a slow bleed.
He hovered there, stunned.
Could this be from dissolving too many fragments earlier? Does this ability have a natural cooldown? he wondered aloud, hoping—foolishly—that the space might answer him. But only the ever-present hum of his two cores filled the void, both still greedily absorbing the swirling green miasma of essence around them.
Blinking back to the real world, Riven opened his eyes. Sylvia and Roman were watching him, eyes sharp and suspicious.
Riven scratched the back of his head. "Sorry. Had to check something."
They didn't respond immediately, but their expressions said enough. They had questions. Lots of them.
Roman brushed dust from his jacket and said, "I've got some questions for you, kid—but right now, we run."
Riven and Sylvia nodded without protest.
Roman turned and sprinted toward a metal gate at the far end of the ruined courtyard. The hinges groaned faintly in the distance. Presumably, it led back toward the city.
All three of them passed through the thin metal gate, the rusted hinges creaking faintly behind them, and followed the dirt-paved road that would lead to one of the city's four gates.
None of them spoke. The air was thick with the scent of churned earth and smoke, and the occasional distant cry of some unseen beast echoed faintly through the trees.
They were all drained. Not just tired, but hollowed out. Their mana reserves were nearly empty, and the little they had left was being conserved—just in case the other two beasts decided to show up. The odds were low. But never zero. Riven's jaw clenched as the thought lingered.
For the first several minutes, silence stretched between them like a thread threatening to snap. It was Riven who finally broke it, voicing the question that had been gnawing at him ever since he'd seen them fighting through chaos for his sake—from the shattered dining room window.
"I really am thankful that you guys went through all that to rescue me," he said, his voice low, edged with sincerity. "But… why would you risk so much for me?"
Roman turned his head slightly, angling it in Riven's direction. Sylvia didn't react; her gaze remained fixed ahead, eyes darting occasionally to the tree line on either side of the path.
Roman spoke, voice steady. "Well, kid, you did get yourself into this mess by not listening to me. But—" he gave a half-shrug, "—you did help me back at the tavern. This was the least I could do."
He paused, clearly giving Sylvia space to respond. She didn't.
Roman sighed and continued. "As for her, well, some nobles still cling to their principles. Honour and all that. She felt responsible since she's the one who sent you to me in the first place."
Riven was touched by Roman's words. That made sense. He could believe Roman had come back for him out of a sense of debt. But Sylvia…
Her reasons didn't sit as neatly in his mind.
His mother—once a main family member of the Nebulous House—had never spoken kindly of nobles. According to her, they were a power-hungry, backstabbing, stuck-up, and envious lot. She'd described them with such vivid, bitter clarity that her words had imprinted themselves into Riven's memory like ink on parchment.
From what he remembered, the noble houses were divided into two broad factions: the Old and the New. But as far as his mother had been concerned, that didn't make a damn bit of difference. They were all the same at their core.
Riven turned his head, glancing at Sylvia. She continued walking, expression unreadable, eyes flicking ahead as if the answer to everything might be hiding in the treeline. She made no move to elaborate, seemingly content to let Roman's explanation hang in the air.
Riven sighed inwardly.
Whatever, he thought, borrowing a page from his mother's worldview. Nobles and their complicated reasons, honour-bound motives—it wasn't worth overthinking.
So he kept it simple. "Thanks."
Sylvia responded with a small, swift nod. Silent, but clear.