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The first thing Riven learned about shadow magic was that it didn't obey.
Fire had rhythm. Fire had hunger. It responded to will with fierce resistance, yes, but it responded.
Shadow did not.
It watched.
It waited.
And if your thoughts wandered too far into fear—it consumed.
The chamber Vaelin had chosen for this phase of Riven's training was sealed, silent, and completely dark. Not just dim, but soaked in magical gloom that swallowed sound and light alike. The only thing that could be seen was what the user of shadow chose to see.
Riven had chosen nothing yet.
He stood in the center, hands open, eyes closed. His thoughts echoed strangely in his mind, like someone else was whispering them back with delay. The Shadow Seal on his left wrist pulsed faintly with cold, not painful, but uncomfortable in a way that left his spine tense.
Focus.
The trick, according to the books Seris had provided, was not to force the shadows to move—but to give them permission.
Offer them space.
Offer them shape.
He opened his eyes.
Blackness greeted him.
Then he breathed in, slowly, allowing the cold sensation from the seal to spread through his left arm.
Nothing.
Again.
A flicker.
Shapes shifted beyond the black.
He turned—
Something was standing in the corner.
He froze.
No sound. No breath.
It didn't move.
He stepped toward it slowly, carefully reaching for the flame on his right hand—
The shadow stepped back.
It copied him.
No—it was him.
A mirror? A projection?
He took another step.
The figure vanished.
Behind him, something whispered.
"You should not be here…"
Riven spun, blade drawn.
Empty room.
But the Shadow Seal glowed.
Vaelin's voice came from the far wall, beyond the gloom. "The seal reacts to what you suppress. You cannot lie to shadow. It knows."
Riven lowered his blade. His hand was shaking.
"I saw something."
"You saw yourself," Vaelin said. "Your past. Your fears. Your rage. If you lie to your fire, it rebels. If you lie to shadow, it remembers."
---
That night, Riven didn't return to the dormitory. He stayed alone in the gloom chamber. He needed to understand it.
Why had the shadow shown him that form?
Why had it spoken?
As the hours passed, and the torch crystals flickered lower, Riven sat with the Seal active, letting the tendrils of shadow curl around his wrists like smoke.
He began to see glimpses.
A ruined throne.
A figure in red robes, face burned away.
The pendant. Glowing.
And then—
A door beneath the Vale.
He wasn't asleep. It wasn't a dream.
But it called to him.
---
Riven awoke in darkness again—but this time, not the kind he had summoned.
The Vale's central corridor was deathly still.
Too still.
He sat up. No sounds of Kael's light snoring. No echoes from the training wing.
He rose, gripping Ashrend.
As he stepped out, he saw it.
The wards lining the main hall had dimmed. The flame beacons were flickering.
Someone had tampered with the defenses.
He walked cautiously down the main corridor. His senses were sharper than usual—enhanced, perhaps, by the lingering touch of shadow still threading through his mind.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Not loud.
But deliberate.
He turned the corner and froze.
A cloaked figure stood before the mural of the Crownseals—one hand pressed to the stone, muttering in a language that scratched at the inside of Riven's skull.
He raised Ashrend. "Step away."
The figure didn't move.
Riven advanced. "Last warning."
The figure finally turned.
The face beneath the hood was marked with black veins, eyes glowing with a faint violet sheen.
Not a student.
Not a trainer.
Not even human.
"You… have come far," the creature rasped.
Riven's blade flared with flame. "What are you?"
The figure grinned. "A reminder."
It raised a hand.
Shadow erupted from the floor—but not Riven's.
Tainted shadow.
A corrupted version of the Seal.
Riven barely dodged the lash that struck the wall behind him, shattering stone. He moved on instinct—Fire and Shadow both flaring across his arms.
He struck low—Ignition Frame. Quick, clean.
The figure vanished in smoke—only to reappear behind him.
He spun—countered with Burn, the flame arcing wide.
This time, it hit.
The figure reeled back, cloak smoldering.
But it laughed.
"You think you can stop us? You haven't even remembered your name."
Riven gritted his teeth and switched to Shadow—calling forth the form he had seen earlier. A silhouette version of himself emerged and struck with perfect sync.
This time, the creature staggered. It hissed and threw something to the ground—a shard of bone, inscribed with Eclipse runes.
The ground beneath them shook.
Then the figure vanished into smoke.
Only the shard remained.
Riven bent to pick it up.
His hands trembled.
Etched across the bone, in the same hand as the message from Lyra, was a single phrase:
> They know you're awake.
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