The naming wasn't out of sentiment. But it was because it felt right. Because part of him remained in every motion he had learnt.
The name settled in the air, quiet yet sharp.
Mael's Fang
Resting it gently against the bed-frame, he stood and drew the curtains closed.
SHHK
The rise in morning footfall plaguing his ears momentarily; the hum of pods overhead, distant vehicles, life in Sector 4 ticked by.
Laying down, hoodie still worn, the warmth cocooned him, but sleep did not arrive easy.
Instead his mind moved- not with anxiety, but with focus; recalling every technique he'd learnt.
'Shear Edge : The feeling of blade slicing not just through the air, but through resistance itself, as if it erased space in its arc.'
'Nullstride: That shift in motion - weightless, sudden, vanishing before the foot reaches the ground as if you're warping. No sound. No delay.'
'Oblivion Guard: Defence not built to hold, but to end. Countering not out of strength, but the art of absence.'
'And there's 'that' also'
Mind swirling, Riven knew he had to get more proficient in them, the cost of focus it'd take was harsh, so more training was due.
Huuufff
Breathing slowly, his body remembered the patterns, even here, even still.
Sinking into the bed, it's surface felt foreign, after weeks on hard floors and cold mornings, the sheets felt too soft. Slowly, but surely, he succumbed to the motions of sleep. As the edges of thoughts began to blur, he imagined the dojo again. The scent of tea. The quiet pressure of Maelis' gaze.
'.....'
The darkness behind his eyelids wasn't empty.
A flicker of violet mist curling like smoke flew across his vision. Then came the faint sound of wind brushing past.
Whoosh
There was no ground beneath him.
He was standing.
No...floating.
The world around him wasn't real, but it was. The mindscape.
Endless, stitched with streaks of silver and swaths of violet this time instead of grey. He could feel it pulse beneath his feet.
Ahead, a ripple of light carved itself into the shape of a blade, suspended in the air, it was familliar. It was his blade. Mael's Fang.
As he reached for it, the mist responded, coiling gently around his arm like a serpent.
Then-
A voice behind him.
Not loud. Not clear. But one he knew.
"Swing not to strike, but to feel the moment pass through you".
He turned, but the space behind was only hazy.
Another rise in sound brought his attention, this time nearer:
"A guard is not a wall. It is a question: Will you move, or will you break?"
He didn't speak, and he couldn't move it seemed. He just breathed, letting the space take him, one last time.
The mist dissolved around Riven quietly, as he slept on...
---
Riven stood by the window, sipping a cup of lukewarm water. The midday sun flooded his apartment in full, catching the sparse furniture. Everything looked clearer, sharper even.
Maybe it wasn't the light however.
Turning away, he moved to the wardrobe. A small stack of clothes waited at the bottom: t-shirts, pants; the classic assortments already lined up for him.
Grasping the storage capsule, he hovered it over the clothes, tapping the activation rune.
SWOOP
Spare clothes for any occasion ready, alongside Mael's Fang and the tea he was gifted; Riven walked over to the bed, looking down.
Staring at the academy uniform folded up, ready to be worn, he picked it up slowly. The deep charcoal colour with traces of silvery blue was just as striking as the first time he eyed upon it.
He slipped the jacket on. It fit well - snug around the shoulders, light across the chest, and unrestrictive at the waist. Tightening the belt, he smoothed the sleeves, all in all it felt perfectly light, but also protective enough. It was a design that gave him comfort the more he touched it.
The uniform looked like it would be heavy to him before.
Not in weight.
After everything, all the trials - this was just a fabric, but it meant something.
He didn't just look like a student in the mirror, he looked like some who had chosen to become something more.
Slipping the storage capsule in a small pocket in his belt, he stretched his limbs mimicking what it would feel to fight.
"Not bad." he voiced.
'Guess that's all...'
Checking to make sure he had everything, he slipped the holo-phone into his pocket.
Bare walls. A folded blanket. Quiet air.
This place had seen him before everything changed. Before Maelis. Before Null Edge. Before the weight behind his stare.
Now it was just a room.
Stepping towards the door. There was no ceremony. No lingering pause.
huff
Just a quiet breath...before he turned the handle.
Click
Light spilled in from the corridor. The air outside felt fresher, sharper - as if the world sensed his shift.
There was no need to look back.
It was time.
---
The pod station hummed with soft energy, nestled between curved walls of steel and tinted glass. Sector 4's northern terminal wasn't as busy as the others. It was quiet, efficient, even almost too clean.
Riven stepped onto the platform, the sliding doors shut with a whisper.
Pods lined the rails like sleek, metallic beetles - these small vehicles fitted for a single or multiple pairs of riders. A shimmer pulsed along the magnetic lines, the veins of Eldris' rapid transit system.
Moving to the console, a glowing interface flickered to life as he tapped his phone; noticing earlier there was a tap to pay option.
His CRE Bank confirmed the fare instantly.
Ding
A notification rang out.
Destination: Eldris Academy - Sector 2. Estimated Arrival: 42 minutes.
The pod hissed as it detached from standby. The door opening upward, revealing a smooth interior, molded in ergonomic curves, soft lighting and comfort-ability at first glance.
There was time-not long ago at all- when all of this would have stunned him. The tech, the process, the precision of it all. But now he hardly drew a breath. This wasn't the same boy who wandered into a forgotten dojo full of questions. Things still amazed him, for sure, but differently now. He was more centred, less frantic, in more control.
He stepped in, and the door sealed.
For a moment, there was still stillness. And then clean, swift motion.
The pod surged forward, and the world outside became streaks of steel, trees and sky.
Sector 4 peeled behind him quickly.
Leaning back against the seat, he caught his reflection in the side panel. Quieter than before. Still young, still unsure of many things, but no longer lost.
The pod hummed onward, carving a line through the arches of Eldris. Buildings thinned. Towers faded. The grey veins of Sector 4 gave way to broader streets, open design, more sky.
Sector 2.
The shift was subtle at first; cleaner roads, wider lanes, the quiet presence of order. Then it was unmistakable.
Glass and steel turned to stone and arcs. Trees lined the roads in perfect formation, their leaves touched with violet edges. Sleek drones moved in synchronised pathways overhead
Tall banners, each marked with a distinct, glowing abstract flame. The very emblem of Eldris Academy, it waved gently in the midday light. Each line woven into one another. a symbol of convergence, of mastery in perfection.
WZZZ!
The pod glided into the arrival bay. It hissed softly as it slowed, its lights dimming.
It seemed he was a few minutes away from the academy's main building.
Riven blinked. The scenery outside was nothing like Sector 4. No noise, or clutter. It felt like stepping into a page of a book he'd yet to read.
The door of the pod lifted open.
Shaaa
Stepping out into the air, he could tell the difference.
A quiet breeze brushed past him, carrying the distant scent of polished stone and blooming flowers. Ahead the academy loomed like a fortress carved from elegance, the architecture a blend of ancient symmetry and cutting-edge design; an example of creativity and discipline in balance.
Some early students, just like him, lingered in the area wearing their uniforms. A group by a glass-panelled wall debated enchantment runes with fascination. Further along, two girls practised spells; chanting something before a small fire floated in their hands.
Shimmer!
Everywhere Riven looked, the air pulsed with purpose. These weren't children around him. They were aspiring elites - mages, tamers, and more, all bound by ambition.
Adjusting the pads of his uniform a bit, his eyes flicked to the subtle glow of the academy's emblem etched on a nearby gate: an abstract flame woven from smooth, sharp arcs, each line seamless.
For a second he slowed.
Glancing to his right as he neared the academy gate; voices rose, sharp, not at all playful. It was a commotion.
Turning his head.
Two students, one radiating nobility from his mannerisms, the other composed but firm - were locked in a quiet standoff....