The sky stretched endlessly above his head, a blue so clear it pierced the eyes. Riven stood upon a cloud, and strangely, the surface felt solid beneath him, as though he were standing on firm ground.
A gentle wind blew, yet instead of calming him, a vague discomfort pressed against his chest, as though he were walking through a realm that did not belong to humankind.
Before him loomed a great stone, dark as night, as large as a house. Its surface was scarred—etched with cut after cut, as if struck by countless blades, yet not a single strike had left a true crack. The stone stood tall, silent, yet its presence stirred his chest, as though it guarded a secret older than time itself.
Riven swallowed. A strange familiarity crawled through him, though he did not know why. As he lifted his gaze, beneath the pale blue sky, the figure appeared.
A man stood before him. His skin was olive-toned, glowing faintly as if lit by the light of the setting sun. Long black hair flowed in the wind—a wind that carried no chill, but pressed instead upon the soul.
His face… it was nearly the same as Riven's. Only older, harsher, with eyes that held the weight of decades, perhaps centuries. His body was solid, his shoulders broad, standing as though the world itself were nothing more than a fragile shadow before him.
Riven's heart pounded. Fear surged, but so did something else—a strange familiarity, as though he were staring into a blurred mirror of the future.
Before Riven could open his mouth, the man moved. Slowly, he raised the long sword in his hand, lifting it high above his head. There was no battle cry. No earth-shaking aura. No eruption of energy like the tales of legendary heroes.
His movement was simple. A mere whisper of wind as the blade descended slowly. Smooth. Measured. Nothing more than a clean stroke through empty air.
Yet it was in that simplicity that the man's motion felt absolute.
Perfect.
And when the blade fell, the world split apart.
The air hissed, the clouds beside them tore open, sliced by a single stroke unadorned by power. No thunder, no lightning, only silence that echoed in Riven's chest. He staggered, pulled toward the abyss that yawned open.
Before he fell, his eyes caught the man's lips move.
"Do you understand?"
There was no anger in his eyes. No hatred, no warmth. Only an eternal calm, a stillness born of one who had seen the truth of the world and accepted everything. Deep. Unshaken.
Riven had no chance to reply. His body plunged downward, clouds spinning around him. Below stretched a vast land, endless to the horizon. But in an instant, that land ripped apart, shattered, cracked until it split the horizon itself. A great chasm yawned, bottomless, dividing two continents with a luminous rift that pulsed like veins of light in the body of the world.
Riven wanted to scream, but the wind devoured his voice. The sight was so vast, so impossible, his head throbbed as he tried to comprehend it. Then he fell, farther and farther still.
And when he awoke, his body was drenched in cold sweat.
Riven's breath raced. His chest rose and fell quickly. He lay on a thin mattress, eyes staring at the wooden ceiling of the dim room. It took several seconds before he realized he was back. It was only a dream.
But no… he knew it was not just a dream. Since childhood, since the earliest days he had opened his eyes in this world, the vision returned again and again. The face of the man who resembled him. The black stone carved with scars. The sword that split the world. And always the same words.
'Do you understand?'
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. But the throbbing in his chest would not fade.
Outside, rain poured heavily. Water battered the wooden roof of the small house, creating a chaotic rhythm, loud crashes pierced by the roar of wind. Lightning struck, its flash tearing through the veil of night, and thunder rolled, shaking Riven's heart.
He drew a long breath, then turned his head to the side.
There, his younger sister slept peacefully. Her breathing was steady, her chest rising and falling softly. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her forehead, but her small lips remained closed, untouched by the storm outside.
Riven watched her for a long moment. A faint smile touched his lips, bitter yet sincere. Though his body still trembled from the remnants of the dream, the sight of his sister sleeping brought him a measure of peace.
Slowly, he rose, careful not to make a sound. Every movement was measured, so as not to wake the only person he had left. His body shook, but he forced his feet to step.
He walked toward the window. His fingers eased open a narrow gap.
Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of wet earth mixed with leaves shaken by the storm. Through the gap, he peered outside.
The rain fell in sheets, veiling the world in gray. Trees bent in the distance, branches torn by the raging wind. Lightning flashed, its white glare blinding, followed by thunder that crashed and made the window panes shudder.
Riven shut his eyes briefly.
He hated storm rains. An old memory he had tried to bury clawed its way back, dragged forth by the sound of thunder. His heart hardened. He hated rains like this. He hated storms like this.
Then, something unusual caught his eye.
In the distance, three figures trudged through the downpour. Cloaked in ragged robes, drenched until they clung to their bodies, their steps were steady despite the mud clinging to their feet.
Riven held his breath, his body tense. He drew the window barely ajar, narrowing the gap until he could steal a silent glance through it, unseen.
The three men drew closer. Flashes of lightning revealed their faces—hard, grim, full of ill intent.
They stopped before the door of the house. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a massive frame, pounded on the door so hard the wood shook.
"Boy! I know you're inside!"
The voice was deep, harsh, reverberating in Riven's ears.
He did not answer. His heart hammered, cold sweat trickled down his temple once more.
Silence lingered for a few seconds. Only rain and wind gave sound.
Then came the crash.
The man kicked the door, and the rotting wood burst open with brutal force.