The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting soft light across the stone courtyard. Riven stood at the center, staring at the group of young trainees fidgeting in front of him.
His master's words still echoed in his head.
"You're teaching today."
Riven had blinked. "Wait—you mean like… as a test?"
The old man had shrugged like he was discussing the weather. "Something like that."
Now, standing in front of what looked like a group of caffeinated squirrels in training uniforms—most of them barely past ten—Riven realized this wasn't a test of mastery.
Was it a test of survival,or maybe patience?
He wasn't sure but he was gonna find out.
He started by introducing himself.Right after his introduction,a boy with a mop of hair raised his hand. "Mister Riven, sir—do we get swords?"
Riven rubbed his temples. "Not yet. First, you learn how not to stab yourself while breathing."
Several of the kids giggled. One girl whispered something that made two boys immediately pick up sticks and start a dramatic slow-motion duel complete with sound effects.
Riven sighed, loudly. Yup. I'm gonna die here.
Still… part of him took it seriously. He ran through the stances his master drilled into him, demonstrating them cleanly, then breaking them down into simple steps.
"Feet apart. Shoulders relaxed. No, not that relaxed."
Slowly, the chaos began to take shape. The kids followed. Some were clumsy but eager. Others focused hard, lips tight with concentration, trying their best not to fall over mid-kick.
Midway through, Lyra appeared, watching from the edge of the courtyard with her arms crossed and an amused smirk on her face.
"Didn't take you for a teacher," she called.
"I didn't either," Riven muttered under his breath, then louder:"You here to help?"
Lyra shrugged. "Nah. I'm just enjoying the free show."
He shot her a dry look as one of the students tripped on their own foot and faceplanted into the grass.
"Glad I can provide the entertainment," he said,his voice oozing sarcasm.
By noon, the class was done. The kids bowed clumsily, thanked him, and scattered like happy puppies. Riven slumped onto a bench, absolutely exhausted in a way sparring never made him feel.
He didn't know how teachers did this every day. Probably with lots of tea and emotional damage.
Later that evening, Riven sat across from his master, sipping water like it was a victory drink.
"So," the old man said, "how'd it feel?"
"Exhausting. But… kinda satisfying," Riven admitted. "I thought it was a test—like, some way to really understand what I've been learning."
His master chuckled. "Test? Nah. I teach the kids every end of the month. Got tired this time and I figured you'd do fine."
Riven stared at him. "Why do I feel like your personal assistant these days?"
The old man leaned back, hands behind his head. "But you did fine, didn't you?"
Riven groaned and dropped his head to the table. "I thought it meant something deep, something more."
"It did," the old man said with a smirk. "It meant I got to nap."
"I've got to stop believing every word you sat.",Riven muttered under his breath.
That night, Riven packed his things. Reality was waiting—his job, his rent, his alarm clock from hell. But something had changed here. He'd grown—not just in skill, but in confidence. In presence. In patience.
As the morning sun painted the sky gold, he stood at the edge of the courtyard again.
Lyra approached, hands in her pockets. "You leaving?"
"Yeah." He hesitated for a moment,then offered his hand. "Thanks."
"For what?",she asked,confusion clear on her face.
"For everything",he said,his expression softening into a smile.
She shook his hand, then smirked and slipped her phone into his. "Text me sometime so that next time you teach, I'll bring popcorn."
Riven grinned. "Sure."
Then he turned to his master, who gave a lazy wave from the porch.
"Don't die,kid."
Riven gave a mock salute. "I'll try. No promises if I end up teaching again."
And with that, he walked down the dirt path—lighter in step, heavier in heart. Not because he was leaving something behind…
…but because now, he had a reason worth returning.
To beat the hell out of everyone who gets in his way.