Darkness. Not the kind that comes when you close your eyes or walk beneath moonless skies. This was deeper—complete, absolute. A silence that devoured thought, a void without direction or shape. Riven floated in it, weightless.
He could no longer feel the sting of Ashren's blows. No more pain, no pressure in his chest, no air in his lungs. Just emptiness. It was death—but not the kind he had feared. It was… peaceful. Until it wasn't.
A pulse. Gentle, but steady. Like a ripple in an endless sea of black. Something beyond the void was calling.
Riven's thoughts, broken and slow, began to stir.
Where am I…?
Memories returned in fragments—Ashren's voice taunting him, the cold rain on his skin, the final combo that ended it all. The punch to the solar plexus, the sweep, the slam, the joint lock. Riven hadn't stood a chance. Not really. He gave everything, and still lost.
So this is it… he thought.
But that light—
He saw it again. Faint. In the distance. A tiny flicker dancing through the abyss. The pulse grew stronger. Riven felt something tug at him, pulling his essence forward, closer to that warmth.
No... I'm not done.
Not with Ashren. Not with the promise he made to himself. He hadn't come this far to be swallowed in nothingness. He still had a goal. Revenge wasn't just a word to Riven—it was the only thing left holding him together.
The void shuddered.
The light expanded, cracking through the darkness. Riven's form began to twist and reshape, essence becoming flesh. Breath returned. He screamed—not in pain, but as a newborn.
Blinding light filled his eyes. He felt warmth against his skin, soft arms holding him.
Voices cheered around him in a language unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. A man's voice declared something with pride, while a woman cried tears of joy. His eyes fluttered open.
A grand hall greeted him—one of stone and flame, where warriors stood tall in robes bearing crests of dragons and lions. At the center stood the man who held him.
Tall. Towering. Muscles like sculpted iron. A presence that demanded respect. The greatest martial artist in the empire.
Riven had been reborn.
Not as a street rat. Not as a ghost of a bullied past.
But as the son of the strongest warrior in a world ruled by might.
The pain, the void, the death—it was only the beginning.
This was his second life.
And in this life… he would rise.
Time passed differently here.
As a child in this new world, Riven's body was small, but he could already feel the difference. His muscles responded to movement with an efficiency he'd never experienced. His bones were dense. His senses sharp. The blood in his veins ran hot with potential. This was no ordinary human body.
He was born into the House of Vanyor, the oldest martial clan in the central empire. His father, known as the Dragon of War, had united the southern regions with nothing but fists and fury. His mother, the Silver Lioness, once defeated an entire band of mercenaries while pregnant with Riven.
And now, the child of these two titans was hailed as the future of martial might.
They named him Rivanar.
But in his heart, he was still Riven.
He never forgot Ashren.
Even as a baby, there were moments when his fingers curled unconsciously into fists. When he saw shadows move, he flinched—memories from his past life flickering like dying embers. The maids whispered of his strange eyes—too focused, too aware. The elders said he had the gaze of an old soul.
He grew fast. By age three, he could already mimic the basic stances he saw in the clan's training grounds. By five, he was sparring with children twice his age and winning. The bloodline awakened within him early.
But more than blood, it was his will that burned the hottest.
The memory of defeat never left him. That moment when Ashren stood over him, victorious, was carved into his soul like a scar.
He would never feel that powerlessness again.
Not in this life.
This time, he would be the storm. The mountain. The abyss.
And when the time came, he would return—not as the broken boy who died in the rain, but as a god of war.
Ashren would see him again.
And beg for mercy that would never come.