Chapter 72: Removal

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Removal

"The mask you wear is not who you are underneath; it is the armor you built to survive the war." — Carl Jung

The inner chambers of the Elven Royal Spires smelled faintly of crushed star lilies and rock.

At the center of the vaulted circular room, glowing runes were etched into a floor of white veined marble.

A pedestal stood nearby, surrounded by a slow spiral of liquid mana that moved without any visible container.

Standing beside it was Master Illyrion.

The head Royal Mage was ancient even by elven standards.

Silver hair cascaded all the way to his waist, while his cloudy opal eyes seemed to stare through the physical world itself.

Riven stood in the center of the runic circle.

Lyra stood near the arched doorway, her hands clasped tightly against her chest.

Even Queen Aeloria had remained.

She stood several feet behind Lyra with her arms crossed, watching the proceedings with calm curiosity.

Illyrion slowly circled Riven.

"The mask is not merely worn."

He stopped behind him.

"It is core bound."

Riven remained still.

"It feeds on your ambient shadow mana to suppress the curse beneath it. If I break the binding incorrectly, the backlash could damage your core."

Riven reached up.

His fingers rested against the cold surface of the mask.

Six years.

Six years since he had first felt the mask fuse against his skin.

Six years of coldness.

Six years of numbness.

He looked toward Illyrion.

"Just do it."

The old mage studied him for several seconds.

Then he raised both hands.

Ancient elven words filled the chamber.

The runes beneath Riven’s feet suddenly flared.

Brilliant sapphire light flooded the room.

Riven felt something shift beneath his skin.

The mask tightened.

Then loosened.

Dark threads of mana began unraveling from the edges of the obsidian plate.

They twisted through the air like black strands of smoke.

Riven gritted his teeth.

The sensation was strange.

Not painful.

Just unfamiliar.

Something that had been connected to him for years was finally beginning to separate.

Illyrion’s chanting grew louder.

The runes burned brighter.

Then came a sharp click.

The internal locks released.

Riven froze.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

Then he slowly reached up.

His fingers curled around the edge of the mask.

He pulled.

The obsidian plate came free.

Riven stared at it.

Six years.

He had almost forgotten what the air felt like on his skin.

The room became completely silent.

Riven lowered the mask.

Then he looked forward.

For the first time in years, there was nothing covering half his face.

His pale skin caught the soft starlight filtering through the chamber.

Healthy.

Smooth.

Almost completely untouched by the life he had lived.

The face beneath the mask was nothing like the brutal image most people had created in their minds.

Riven’s features were surprisingly delicate.

Almost Ethereal.

High cheekbones.

A straight nose.

Long dark lashes.

A sharp law line.

Dark grey eyes that looked far more striking without the obsidian plate covering half of them.

He did not look like an adventurer.

He barely looked like the same person.

He looked young.

Far younger than the reputation surrounding him.

Riven slowly raised his hand.

His fingertips touched his cheek.

He stopped.

Warm.

His skin was warm.

For six years, the mask had kept his face cold and numb.

He had forgotten what his own skin felt like.

Riven gently moved his fingers across his cheekbone.

Then his jaw.

His eyes widened slightly.

A quiet breath escaped him.

He could feel everything.

The warmth of his skin.

The movement of his muscles.

The faint breeze from the chamber.

It was such a small thing.

Yet somehow it felt enormous.

For a moment, Riven forgot about the court.

The Royal Mage.

The Queen.

The capital.

Everything.

He was not a weapon.

He was not an adventurer.

He was not a survivor hiding behind an obsidian mask.

He was simply Riven.

A thirteen year old boy touching his own face for the first time in years.

A soft smile appeared.

It was small.

Almost uncertain.

But completely genuine.

Across the room, Lyra stared.

She had seen Riven fight.

She had seen him walk through bandit camps without fear.

She had watched him stand against Captain Vaelen.

She had even seen him smile before.

But never like this.

Without the mask, his entire expression changed.

The hard edges disappeared.

For just a moment, he looked almost innocent.

Lyra’s cheeks slowly turned red.

She quickly looked away.

Then glanced back.

Riven was still touching his face.

She couldn’t help staring for another moment.

’So that’s what he looks like.’

Illyrion cleared his throat.

The sound broke the silence.

"The core bound curse is fully neutralized."

Riven looked toward him.

Illyrion held out a velvet pillow.

The obsidian mask rested upon it.

"You may still wear it if you wish. The mask will retain its tactical effects. It can still suppress your mana signature and provide the same shadow related benefits."

Riven looked down at the mask.

"But the binding is broken."

Illyrion smiled faintly.

"You can remove it whenever you choose."

Riven stared at the obsidian plate.

Then he looked at his reflection in the polished marble.

He barely recognized himself.

For years, he had imagined that the mask had become part of him.

Now it was simply an object.

Something he could choose to wear.

Or leave behind.

Riven picked it up.

He turned toward Lyra.

Their eyes met.

She immediately looked away.

Riven noticed.

A faint smirk touched his lips.

"Something wrong?"

Lyra’s face became even redder.

"N-No."

Riven’s smirk grew.

"You’re staring."

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was surprised."

"Sure."

Queen Aeloria stood quietly observing, she had never seen her daughter like this.

Her face carried the faintest smile.

Lyra crossed her arms.

"Your face is just different than I expected."

Riven raised an eyebrow.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No."

She hesitated.

"It’s actually the opposite."

Riven chuckled quietly.

Then he slipped the mask into his coat.

He did not put it back on.

For the first time since Garreth’s death, he walked forward with his face completely uncovered.

No mask.

No barrier.

Nothing hiding him from the world.

He turned toward Illyrion.

"Good."

His voice carried a quiet lightness that Lyra had never heard from him before.

"I think I’m done wearing it for a while."

Riven looked toward the open doorway.

Sunlight from the royal spires spilled into the chamber.

He stepped toward it.

For the first time in six years, the light touched his entire face.