The guild archives occupied the upper floor of the hall—a vast, dimly lit chamber stacked with towering shelves that groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, rolled scrolls, and dust-covered ledgers. Sunlight filtered through high, arched windows in pale shafts, catching motes of dust that danced like lazy fireflies. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, ink long faded, and faint traces of herbal preservatives—vanilla and lavender lingering from preservation spells. Every breath carried the dry, papery taste of forgotten knowledge, and the creak of wooden floors echoed softly underfoot.
Riven ascended the spiral stairs near midday, drawn by whispers overheard in the main hall: rumors of a sealed relic in nearby ruins, a site mapped incompletely in guild records. Higher ranks required proof of capability—cleared quests, artifacts recovered, threats neutralized. Vespera's party climbed still, their name bandied in dispatches from eastern guilds, successes built on foundations he had laid. He would outpace them. Surpass them. Force them to chase a shadow they could never catch.
The archives were quieter than below, populated by a handful of scholars hunched over tables. One stood out immediately.
She was bent over a massive volume at a central desk, wire-rimmed spectacles perched on a delicate, upturned nose. Wild chestnut curls escaped a haphazard bun, spilling in tendrils that framed her freckled face and brushed the pages as she leaned closer. Her azure robes—flowing scholar's garb with strategic slits for movement—clung softly to her lithe yet curvaceous form, the fabric stretching across perky C-cup breasts that pressed against the desk's edge with each eager shift forward. Lenses fogged faintly from her warm breaths, and she wiped them absently with a sleeve, muttering equations under her breath.
Piles of books surrounded her like a fortress: star charts, rune lexicons, histories of lost civilizations. Ink stained her fingers, and a quill twitched between them as she scribbled notes in frantic bursts.
Riven approached, footsteps measured. She didn't notice at first, absorbed in tracing a faded map with one finger.
"Need assistance?" he asked, stopping at the table's edge.
She startled, head jerking up. Sapphire eyes widened behind glasses, blinking rapidly. "Oh! I—yes, actually. Are you... the masked adventurer? The one from the imp clearance?"
He nodded once.
Relief flooded her features. "Perfect! I mean—good. I'm Elowen. Arcane scholar, third circle. I've been commissioned for a relic retrieval in the Eldridge Ruins—sealed chamber, puzzle wards, possible guardians. But the guild requires a tactical escort for solo applicants, and... well, most parties are booked on higher contracts."
She gestured to the map, curls bouncing with the motion. "The site has layered enigmas—pressure plates, illusory paths, mana conduits that shift. I can decipher the theory, but fieldwork... coordination under pressure isn't my strength."
Riven scanned the parchment: detailed sketches of crumbling spires, underground vaults, warnings of animated constructs. Viable. Rank-advancing potential.
"Accepted," he said.
Her face lit up, a patchy flush spreading across freckled cheeks. "Really? Wonderful! We can depart tomorrow at—"
In her excitement, she stood too quickly. A stack of tomes teetered. She lunged to catch them—and overbalanced.
Time slowed. Her foot caught on the chair leg. She pitched forward with a startled yelp, arms windmilling. Books scattered in a cascade, pages fluttering like wounded birds.
Riven moved instinctively, one arm catching her waist. She collided against him—soft, warm, curves molding briefly to his frame. Her face buried in his vest, glasses askew, chestnut curls tickling his neck. Parchment scent enveloped him strongly now—mixed with sweet herbs from her skin, vanilla and faint lavender.
She froze, breath hitching against his chest. "I—oh gods—I'm so sorry! I didn't mean—"
He held her steady until she regained footing, then released. She stepped back hastily, adjusting spectacles with trembling fingers, face burning crimson in uneven blotches.
"Clumsy," she muttered, kneeling to gather books. "Always clumsy. Tripping over air, spilling ink, forgetting wards mid-cast..."
Riven crouched to assist, stacking volumes with efficient motions. Their hands brushed once—hers warm, slightly ink-smudged. She jerked back as if burned.
They set out the next dawn, provisions light: her satchel bulging with scrolls and reagents, his with essentials. The ruins lay a day's march west—overgrown hills giving way to jagged stone outcrops, vines choking what remained of an ancient elven outpost.
The air grew cooler as they descended into the site proper, a sunken courtyard ringed by weathered pillars. Dust hung thick, particulate-laden and irritating to the throat, coating tongues with a chalky residue. Marble fragments crunched under boots, frigid even through soles, as if the stone retained centuries of night chill.
Elowen led initially, consulting notes. "The entrance seal is a rune matrix—needs synchronized mana pulses. Like this..."
She traced symbols in air, azure light sparking from fingertips. The door—a massive slab etched with glowing veins—rumbled but held.
"Timing off," Riven observed.
She nodded, biting her lip. "The conduits shift every few minutes. We need to—"
A low groan echoed from the shadows. Guardians awakened: stone golems, four of them, rising from rubble with grinding cracks. Eyes glowed faint blue, fists like battering rams.
Elowen yelped, stumbling back. "Already? The wards shouldn't—"
Riven positioned himself forward. "Patterns. Left two advance slow. Right flank faster. Center channels."
She steadied, glasses fogging from quick breaths. "Right—I can bind the center with frost chains. Buy time."
"Do it."
Her spell erupted—icy tendrils lashing out, crystalline cracks spreading over the central golem. It slowed, frost steaming in the dusty air.
The fight unfolded in controlled bursts. Riven's blade struck precise joints, sparks flying with metallic shrieks. Dust plumed with each impact, choking and gritty. Elowen supported from rear—bolts of arcane force shattering limbs, her prattles providing insights mid-chaos: "The runes on their chests—disrupt those for overload!"
He adjusted seamlessly, directing her fire. "There. Now."
A golem lunged; she dodged clumsily, foot slipping on loose marble. Riven caught her arm—feverish palm in his gloved grip—pulling her clear as his sword cleaved the construct's arm. Stone shards exploded, pelting them in sharp rain.
Deeper in, puzzles intensified: illusory floors over pits, pressure plates triggering darts that whistled past with deadly precision. Dust thickened, eyes watering. Elowen's knowledge shone—she rambled explanations, voice trembling but clear: alignment of stars on the ceiling matching pocket astrolabe, mana flows redirected via mirrored crystals.
One chamber required harmony: standing stones to attune simultaneously. She reached for a lever—tripped on uneven floor. Fell toward a spike trap.
Riven pulled her back again, bodies pressing close in the narrow space. Her curves yielded against him, breaths ragged, herbal scent strong. She clung a moment longer than needed, sapphire eyes wide behind lenses.
"S-sorry," she whispered, flushing deeply. "You keep... saving me."
"Focus," he said.
The final vault opened with a resonant boom, revealing the relic: a crystalline orb pulsing with trapped starlight. No guardians left. Victory.
As they emerged into twilight, orb secured, Elowen walked closer than before. Her infatuation simmered—bashful glances, stammers when praising his directions. She relished the guidance, a subtle thrill in following his lead.
Riven noted it distantly. Another thread in the web.
But his mind returned to the greater ascent. Higher ranks. Greater glory.
Vespera would watch him rise.
And fall.