Chapter 64: Later

Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Later

"The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are." — Carl Jung

The winter following Garreth’s death was a slow, suffocating descent into absolute cold.

For weeks, Riven barely moved from the damp stone floor of the inn.

The grief was no longer a sudden explosion of pain. That had passed.

Now it simply existed.

A heavy, crushing ache that sat inside his chest and hollowed him out from the inside.

He would sit in the darkness for hours, his back against the cold stone wall, staring into nothing.

Sometimes he found himself waiting.

Waiting for a gravelly voice to come from the other side of the room.

"Straighten your back."

"Your breathing is too loud."

"Again."

But no voice ever came.

There was only silence.

Garreth was gone.

Riven had spent years learning how to survive alone.

He had never realized how much of that survival had depended on having someone standing nearby.

Someone who corrected him.

Someone who pushed him.

Someone who would drag him back to his feet when he fell.

Now there was no one.

The only thing that kept him moving was the heavy violet pulsing egg resting on a bed of dark cloth in the corner of the room.

Garreth had told him to hatch it.

So Riven would.

He had no idea what would come out.

He only knew that it was the last thing Garreth had asked of him.

So he waited.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Then winter settled over the outer rings.

The first deep freeze came without warning.

The pipes in the safehouse froze solid. The stone walls became cold enough to numb his fingers within minutes, and even the underground tunnels carried an unnatural chill.

Riven sat beside the egg one night, staring at its faint violet glow.

Then he heard it.

Crack.

His eyes opened.

A thin fracture had appeared across the surface.

Riven immediately stood.

Another crack followed.

Then another.

The shell finally split.

There was no thunderous roar.

No explosion of magical energy.

Only the sharp, clean snap of obsidian like scales parting.

Something small pushed its way through.

Riven stared.

The creature that emerged was no larger than a dog.

It had the sleek body of a reptile, the narrow features of a predator, and two small wings tipped with razor sharp cartilage. Its scales were so dark that they seemed to swallow what little lamplight reached them.

The hatchling shook itself.

Then it opened its eyes.

Luminous violet.

Its gaze locked directly onto Riven.

For a moment, neither moved.

Riven had read enough about magical beasts to understand what was happening.

Magic creatures possessed a primal imprinting instinct. When certain magical beasts hatched, the first living being they saw became the center of their world.

Their parent.

Their protector.

Their master.

The hatchling made a soft, questioning trill.

Then it scrambled across the stone floor.

Riven crouched instinctively.

The little creature climbed onto his leg, then his chest, before settling around his neck.

It buried its head beneath his chin.

Riven froze.

The creature was warm.

That alone felt strange.

He slowly raised one hand and rested it against the hatchling’s back.

Its scales were smooth.

Warm.

Alive.

For the first time in months, something inside Riven moved.

Not much.

Just a crack.

A tiny fracture in the ice surrounding his heart.

The hatchling gave another quiet trill.

Riven looked down at it.

"You need a name."

The creature blinked.

Riven spent the next several minutes considering various names he had heard in the Undervault.

Most were terrible.

Eventually, he settled on one.

"Nyx."

The hatchling chirped.

Riven nodded.

"Yeah. Nyx."

Nyx curled more tightly around his neck.

Riven leaned back against the wall.

For the first time since Garreth died, the safehouse did not feel completely empty, it felt warm.

Nyx grew quickly.

Much faster than Riven expected.

Within weeks, the tiny hatchling had become strong enough to climb across his shoulders without difficulty. She spent most of her time perched around his neck or resting against his shoulder while he trained.

Managing a growing magical beast while continuing his clandestine contracts was another problem entirely.

Riven solved it the way he solved most problems.

With money.

He found an underworld mage willing to work without questions.

The mage carved a specialized Binding Sigil into Riven’s forearm.

The rune allowed Nyx to dissolve into a small stream of shadow mana, temporarily storing her within the sigil. Riven could then summon her again whenever he wished.

It was useful.

But during those early months, he rarely used it.

Nyx was small.

The winter was cold.

And having something warm curled around his neck was strangely comforting.

She became a living scarf.

She would perch on his left shoulder while he trained, chitter quietly whenever his core began thrumming too hard, and occasionally snap at insects that wandered too close.

Riven eventually learned that she had opinions.

Usually loud ones.

He also learned that she liked sleeping on his head.

He hated that.

Nyx did not care.

For the first time in months, Riven had something that needed him.

Something alive.

Something that would look for him when he left.

It did not replace Garreth.

Nothing could.

But it gave him a reason to keep moving.

So he did.

He trained.

He hunted.

He took contracts.

And slowly, painfully, he began to climb again.

Three years passed.

By the time Riven reached thirteen, the boy who had once sat motionless in a dark room was gone.

The grief had not disappeared.

It had changed.

It had calcified.

The pain remained somewhere deep inside him, but instead of crushing him, it had become something sharper.

Something useful.

Riven had turned every ounce of isolation, anger, and survival instinct into training.

The results were almost absurd.

At thirteen, Riven had already reached B+ rank.

His core had advanced to Tier Four.

Most people his age were still learning how to properly use basic spells.

Riven had spent years forcing his body and core beyond what most people considered reasonable.

He had become an anomaly.

A thirteen year old operative capable of taking contracts that would have been considered suicidal for experienced adventurers.

His mastery of Shadow magic had reached an entirely different level.

Phantom Step had become one of his most reliable defensive techniques.

Rather than simply moving through a shadow, Riven could distort his position so quickly that his previous location remained behind as a dense afterimage.

For a fraction of a second, that afterimage could absorb an incoming impact before collapsing.

Disturb Magic had become even more dangerous.

Riven no longer needed obvious preparation.

With a small movement of his fingers and a precise burst of Shadow mana, he could interfere with the structural nodes supporting an enemy spell.

Against inexperienced mages, that was often enough to end a fight before it truly began.

His Acoustic Dampening had also evolved.

It was no longer simply about stepping quietly.

Riven had trained his entire body.

His feet.

His breathing.

His balance.

Even the way his clothes moved against his skin.

He could cross a room without producing more than a whisper.

Sometimes even less.

And then there was the blade.

Garreth’s sword had changed with him.

Its first enchantment, Shadow Recall, allowed the blade to dissolve into smoke and return instantly to Riven’s hand.

Distance did not matter nearly as much as line of thought.

If the sword was somewhere nearby, Riven could call it back.

The second enchantment was Blood Scented Beacon.

Any target wounded by the blade carried a lingering trail of Shadow mana.

Riven alone could perceive it.

Even in complete darkness.

Even through crowded tunnels.

Even after the target had fled.

The third enchantment was Veil Walker’s Hilt.

The sword made no sound when drawn.

No sound when sheathed.

No ringing when steel met steel.

It was a weapon designed for someone who did not want his enemy to know the fight had started.

The final enchantment was True Shadow Weight.

In Riven’s hands, the blade was almost weightless.

To anyone else, it became an immovable anchor.

Garreth had left him more than a sword.

He had left him a weapon that still carried pieces of his philosophy.

Be precise.

Be patient.

Do not waste movement.

And above all, survive.

Three years of training had changed Riven physically as well.

The scrawny, hollow cheeked child who had first arrived in the frontier town was gone.

At thirteen, he had grown considerably.

His body was lean but heavily conditioned, every bit of muscle built for movement rather than appearance.

His shoulders had broadened.

His arms had become dense with strength.

His movements had developed the controlled efficiency of someone who had spent thousands of hours practicing the same motions until they became instinct.

Even his face had changed.

He looked older than thirteen.

Sharper.

More confident.

And somewhere along the way, that confidence had begun showing in his personality.

The quiet, awkward boy was gone.

Riven had become smooth.

Calm.

Sometimes even playful.

He had discovered that confidence was another weapon.

A well timed smile could accomplish things a sword could not.

A little teasing could make people lower their guard.

And occasionally, when someone caught his attention, Riven enjoyed seeing just how far he could push that charm.

Unfortunately, there was one problem he could not solve with confidence.

He had outgrown the frontier.

There simply was not enough here anymore.

The local merchants could not provide high grade equipment.

The fixers had fewer and fewer contracts worth accepting.

The advanced grimoires had already been exhausted.

Even the Undervault contacts were beginning to recognize that there was only so much work they could offer one person.

Riven had bled the town dry of opportunities.

He needed somewhere larger.

Somewhere dangerous.

Somewhere with stronger opponents.

The Capital.

That evening, Riven sat at one of the adventurer outpost’s wooden counters.

Nyx was curled around his neck, her dark scales blending almost perfectly into his cloak.

The little wyvern suddenly lifted her head.

A beetle crawled across the timber.

Nyx stared at it.

The beetle kept walking.

Nyx slowly leaned forward.

Riven glanced sideways.

"Don’t."

Nyx stopped.

The beetle continued.

Nyx looked at Riven.

Riven stared back.

"Nyx."

The wyvern sighed.

At least, it sounded like a sigh.

Then she settled back against his shoulder.

Beside him, Vesper snorted into her tankard.

Her wild violet hair was tied into a messy braid, with several strands hanging loose around her face.

She looked small enough that someone unfamiliar with her might underestimate her.

That mistake usually lasted about five seconds.

The crackling mana surrounding her made her true strength obvious.

She took another drink.

"You’re stagnating, kid."

Riven leaned against the counter.

"Am I?"

Vesper looked him up and down.

"Another month in this dirt hole and you’ll start taking garbage recovery quests just because you’re bored."

Riven chuckled.

"Boredom can be dangerous."

"It can also make you stupid."

"That too."

Vesper shook her head.

Riven turned toward her.

Then he leaned slightly closer.

"Though I might not mind staying a little longer."

Vesper narrowed her eyes.

"Why?"

Riven’s mouth curved into a slow smirk.

"If it means I get to keep enjoying your company."

Vesper stared at him.

Riven continued.

"You’re easily the best view in this wretched city."

Vesper choked on her drink.

A faint red color appeared across her cheeks.

She slammed the tankard down.

"Watch it, boy."

Riven grinned.

"Only telling the truth."

"You’ve gotten way too confident."

"Probably."

He reached up and scratched Nyx beneath her jaw.

The wyvern immediately relaxed.

Vesper watched him for a moment before shaking her head.

"You’re a menace."

Riven smiled.

"But?"

Vesper sighed.

"But she’s right."

Riven’s expression became more attentive.

She pointed toward the eastern horizon.

"The Capital."

Her violet eyes met his.

"That’s where the real contracts are."

"That’s where the academy is"

Riven said nothing.

Vesper continued.

"Better catalysts. Better grimoires. Better fixers. Stronger adventurers. Stronger enemies."

She took another drink.

"Honestly, there isn’t much left for you to learn here."

Riven’s playful expression slowly faded.

His gaze moved toward the distant horizon.

The frontier city had given him everything it could.

Shelter.

Training.

Enemies.

Allies.

And memories.

Some good.

Some painful.

But staying here would not bring Garreth back.

It would only keep him standing still.

Riven stood.

His broad frame straightened as his hand rested against the hilt of Garreth’s sword.

Nyx lifted her head.

"Yeah."

His voice was quiet.

"I’m gonna miss you."

Vesper raised an eyebrow.

Riven looked down at her.

Then his smirk returned.

"Want to come along?"

Vesper stared at him.

Riven leaned closer.

"I could use a stunning guide."

Vesper’s eye twitched.

"You’re too bold now boy."

Riven laughed.

"Just teasing."

For the first time in three years, he looked toward the Capital without thinking about running away from something.

He was going there to find something.

Power.

Knowledge.

Stronger enemies.

And perhaps, for the first time since Garreth died, a new beginning.