His hand hovered in the air.
For a moment, it did not seem connected to him.
It trembled slightly as it moved forward—toward the red fabric, toward the dagger, toward the ring.
Halfway there, he stopped.
His gaze dropped.
Blood coated his fingers.
Dark.
Dried at the edges.
Still glossy in places where it had gathered in the creases of his skin.
Her blood.
It wasn't dripping.
But he could feel it dripping.
Warm.
Endless.
As if it were still running down his wrist, still flowing from a wound that no longer existed.
His throat tightened.
He swallowed, but nothing moved.
His advancements forgotten in the face of reality.
The chamber was silent.
Too silent.
Just him.
And the proof.
His fingers curled slowly.
The blood cracked faintly where it had dried.
He remembered—
The weight of the dagger.
The resistance.
The moment it gave way.
His hand jerked back slightly as if burned.
His breathing became uneven again, though there was no battle left to fight.
The red dress lay collapsed in on itself, empty.
The ring caught a faint glint of dying light.
His chest tightened in a way cultivation could not strengthen against.
He had power now.
More than ever before.
And the space beside him had never felt so wide.
His hand moved again—more carefully this time.
He reached the folds of fabric.
Touched them.
Cold.
Just cloth.
Not her.
His fingers slid toward the ring—
And before he could close them around it—
The air grew heavy once more.
And the ancient voice returned.
"Trial complete."
The words settled over the chamber without echo.
Riven's fingers stilled inches above the ring.
For a heartbeat, he didn't react.
Then—
"Congratulations."
The word felt misplaced.
Like it belonged to another world.
His brow tightened slightly.
Congratulations?
The voice continued, unaltered by his silence.
"You can now use the Dual Fate Seal."
The name meant nothing to him.
But the previous wording did.
Congratulations?
"When resonating with the mark, you will now be able to contend with opponents above your realm."
The statement was delivered as fact.
A faint crease formed between Riven's brows.
Congratulations?
The voice did not pause for comprehension.
"My remaining will shall now dissipate."
There was no shift in tone.
"This realm will collapse shortly."
"Go."
A fraction of a second passed.
Then—
"Conquer."
The word hung in the dimming chamber.
Riven's fingers curled slowly into his palm.
Congratulations?
Conquer?
His gaze lowered again to the empty folds of red fabric.
The ring.
The dagger.
The absence.
He swallowed.
His fist tigthened.
He wanted to punch that guy.
Badly.
But how when he wasn't even here.
"Yue,,," He muttered, his attention back on her belongings.
Then—
A section of stone along the chamber wall slid aside with a low, grinding rumble, revealing a dark passage beyond.
The pressure in the air faded completely.
Whatever fragment of consciousness had remained in the statue dispersed like dust in wind.
And Riven was alone.
With whatever remained of his once companion.
The passage yawned open to the side, dark and waiting.
But Riven's attention remained on the red fabric pooled at his feet.
He knelt.
And picked up the dagger first.
Her blood had dried along the edge.
He wiped it clean against the inside of his sleeve.
Gently.
Carefully.
Thoroughly.
When the blade caught a faint glint again, he stopped.
His fingers tightened around the hilt.
Then loosened.
He set it down beside him.
His hand moved to the ring.
He lifted it between thumb and forefinger.
The other girl's Knight's Order ring.
They had suspected it was spatial. But neither of them had known how to open it.
He paused.
I might be able to now.
He closed his eyes briefly and focused inward.
Toward the quiet depth of his Mind Palace.
He drew out that immaterial force again.
Soul force.
It felt thinner this time.
But when he guided it into the ring, it met no resistance.
Something shifted.
The chamber vanished from his perception.
In its place—
A small space unfolded before his inner sight.
Roughly three meters wide. Two meters high.
Crude. Unadorned. Dimly lit by nothing and everything at once.
Items lay scattered within it.
Clothes.
Small pouches.
Stones.
Coins.
A few simple tools.
It really is a spatial ring.
It was the first time he had ever seen one opened.
His gaze drifted to a corner.
Colorful dresses were stacked there. Folded with care.
Silk in pale blue. Soft green. Cream white.
His eyes dimmed slightly.
She would have liked that.
She had wanted to wear more dresses.
Change out of the torn red one.
For a long moment, he remained there.
Then he withdrew his soul force.
Deciding to further check the contents at a later time.
The chamber returned.
The ring felt slightly warmer between his fingers now.
He turned it slowly.
It was smaller than he'd expected.
Delicate.
The band was thin, designed for slender hands—not his.
And with only one hand, fastening anything precisely was awkward at best anyway.
There was also the insignia.
The Knight's Order crest was engraved along the outer curve.
He couldn't walk around wearing that openly.
He lowered it toward his own finger anyway.
Paused.
No.
Instead, he set it carefully on the stone beside him.
For a moment, he simply looked at it.
Then his hand rose to his neck.
Slowly, he reached beneath his collar and drew out the braided bracelet resting there.
Faded threads.
Rough edges.
Handmade.
His sister's.
He held it in his palm.
The memory of her small fingers struggling to braid it flashed briefly through his mind.
He stared at it longer than he meant to.
Then, with careful movements, he found the small clasp his mother had installed into it years ago.
At that time he had questioned the necessity.
His sister had made it so big, that he could easily fit it over his head.
There hadn't been any need for a clasp.
But now he was glad it was there.
He opened it.
The faint click echoed in the quiet chamber.
He picked up the ring again.
Slid it through the loop.
It hung loosely against the braid, the polished metal stark against worn thread.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he closed the clasp.
Or tried to.
It was a struggle, but eventually he did it.
He picked the necklace up again and slid it over his head.
It fell back against his chest.
The ring dangled just below his collarbone.
Cold metal against warm skin.
He adjusted the fabric over it.
Hiding it from sight.
He lowered his hand.
The weight at his chest was light.
But he felt it.
Then he slowly reached for the red fabric on the floor.
Carefully, he gathered it.
As he lifted it, something slipped free.
A dull metallic clink echoed against the stone.
Too loud.
He froze.
Lowered the cloth.
The amulet lay on the ground between his knees.
The one she had used to absorb corpses.
He stared at it.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
His jaw tightened.
He picked up the amulet.
Then the dagger.
Without ceremony, without hesitation, he sent the dagger into the ring first.
It was an easy process, with his body in direct contact with the ring, as long as he touched the object he wanted to send into it, it seemed to easily be transfered with the use of his soul force.
He made sure it really was in the rings space afterward and tried to take it out as well.
Everything was fine.
So he continued with the amulet.
It vanished into the small interior space.
Last, he folded the red dress as neatly as he could.
It took him two attempts.
His hands were not steady.
He felt it for a second longer, then placed it inside.
The corner with the colorful dresses now held one more.
Red.
He withdrew his soul force.
The connection faded but did not vanish.
Only then did he rise.
And turn toward the dark passage.
The passage swallowed him.
The darkness within was not oppressive like the trials had been.
It was… stale.
Unused.
The air felt older here.
Still.
His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved forward. The tunnel sloped slightly downward before widening into another chamber.
He didn't know how this was even possible.
They were supposed to have been in the statues head, but now he couldn't make sense of where he was anymore.
He entered the chamber.
It was smaller than the ritual hall.
Cruder.
This room had not been built for spectacle.
It had been lived in.
A stone desk stood near the center, its surface uneven and worn. Shelves carved directly into the walls sagged under the weight of stacked booklets and bound manuscripts. Loose sheets of parchment lay scattered across the floor as if abandoned mid-thought.
A study.
Riven stepped closer.
Dust had settled thickly over everything. No one had touched this place in a very long time.
He reached for the nearest booklet.
The leather binding cracked faintly when he opened it.
Handwriting filled the pages.
Dense.
Precise.
Technical.
He skimmed the first few lines.
"Initial imprint successful."
"Soul anchoring stable." "Resonance amplification exceeds projections."
His eyes moved faster.
They were notes about the ritual from before.
He turned the page.
And another.
More and more.
The strokes pressed harder and harder into the parchment.
Ink dug deep enough to leave grooves in the next page beneath.
Riven kept reading.
Page after page.
Calculations.
Attempts.
Corrections.
Then repetition.
Then denial.
His fingers tightened on the edge of the booklet until the leather creaked.
His jaw locked.
A faint tremor ran through his hand — not from fear.
From restraint.
The air in the chamber felt thinner.
He read the same line three times before it truly settled.
His breathing changed.
Not faster.
Heavier.
He closed the booklet halfway.
Then opened it again.
His nails bit into the parchment.
A sentence started to scrape out of him, low and hoarse.
"You—"