The emergency call came at dusk.
An ancient spirit had manifested in the northern valley — large enough to distort the air around it.
Only their unit was deployed.
By the time Riven arrived, Seraphine and Kael were already fighting.
The spirit towered over them, its body shifting like smoke carved into shape. Each strike it delivered shattered stone and sent shockwaves through the valley floor.
Kael pushed forward relentlessly, blade flashing.
Seraphine's sword glowed with holy radiance as she carved precise arcs into the creature's form.
But the spirit regenerated.
Again.
And again.
And again.
They were strong.
But it was not weakening.
Riven stood beneath a tree at the edge of the battlefield.
He did not rush in.
He did not shout.
He watched.
His eyes followed the rhythm of the spirit's regeneration.
Every pattern has a flaw.
Every existence has a point of instability.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
Something shifted.
There was no visible magic.
No circle.
No chant.
Just a subtle distortion in the air — like the world had blinked.
Then he stepped forward.
The spirit roared and launched a crushing strike toward Seraphine and Kael.
Riven moved instantly.
His shield rose at the exact angle.
The impact exploded outward, wind tearing across the valley — but the two behind him remained untouched.
For a single heartbeat—
The spirit faltered.
Just slightly.
Kael noticed it first.
"It's open!"
Seraphine didn't hesitate.
They charged together.
Blade and steel cut through the weakened core.
The spirit froze.
Then collapsed.
Silence fell over the valley.
To anyone watching, the victory belonged to Seraphine Ardent and Kael Draven.
Riven lowered his shield.
And walked away.