A few minutes drifted by as Riven lay sprawled on the wooden floor of the training area, Luna curled up atop his chest. He knew he should probably get up soon, but his body had other plans. His eyes wandered upward to the ceiling, tracing the faint shimmer of opal-white crystals embedded between the beams—each one threaded with subtle red and yellow streaks that pulsed softly, casting warm light across the room.
Intricate runes had been etched around and beneath each crystal, no doubt the mechanism allowing them to function as light sources. They seemed ordinary enough—unrelated to the spatial runes powering the training chamber. Still, Riven noticed one of them flicker faintly, its glow dimming for just a second before stabilizing again.
He blinked, frowning. Probably just my eyes, he thought. He hadn't really paid attention to the lights before, so for all he knew, that flicker was perfectly normal—or maybe he was just too tired to tell the difference.
Then the entire floor trembled beneath him. His eyes widened as he shot to his feet, heart pounding. Luna was quicker—she had already teleported to a nearby shelf, her fur bristling.
Riven scanned the room. Every weapon rack, every cabinet, every piece of furniture shook subtly. His mind raced. An earthquake? He vaguely recalled something about not staying indoors during one—especially in a place like this, where the outer walls weren't exactly inspiring confidence.
Roman's warning about using the back exit flashed in his mind, but he ignored it. Sprinting across the training room, he threw open the office door and burst into the bar.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
What the…?
A massive cube of translucent blue energy pulsed in the center of the room. Inside it, two figures stood motionless, locked in silent confrontation. Outside the barrier, the bar was in ruins—tables overturned, chairs smashed, deep claw-like gouges raked across the floorboards. The place was eerily empty, as if every patron had fled the moment that thing appeared.
Yeah, must be the giant blue box, Riven thought dryly.
A moment later, a strange pressure brushed against his senses. He couldn't see mana the way trained mystics could, nor was his perception sharp enough to read its flow—but the faint, ever-present amber current running through his body reacted instinctively. It pulsed in warning, like a heartbeat quickening in fear.
He dropped low without a second thought, creeping behind the bar with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes never left the two men inside the energy field. Only when he was fully concealed and staring intently did he finally recognize one of them.
Roman.
Riven almost called out—but stopped himself just in time. Roman's earlier warning rang in his head like a gong.
Leave from the back exit.
So instead, Riven focused on the other man.
He was tall, with long sky-green hair that drifted behind him, moving as if caught in an unseen breeze. He wore a tailored silver-and-green suit, an insignia emblazoned on his chest, and a short cape draped across his back. The man radiated elegance—sophistication in human form. Yet his expression betrayed something far more dangerous.
A manic grin stretched across his face, sharp and predatory, his glowing sky-blue eyes locked onto Roman like a hunter savoring the moment before the kill.
Roman, by contrast, was rigid, his expression a mask of hardened control. But beneath the surface, Riven could see it—the barely restrained fury.
An invisible current of wind coiled around the man, shifting like a living specter. At first, Riven wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the light, but as the seconds passed, he caught flickers of green energy pulsing within the air.
Then it hit him. Windmere.
His gaze sharpened, locking onto the crest emblazoned on the man's suit. A chill ran down his spine. He's from the Windemere House, one of the five greater noble houses.
Concerned, Riven cast a glance at Roman, but his expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold indifference as he stared down the Windmere noble.
The winds around the noble raged wildly, whipping up dust and shards of debris into a spiraling storm. Then, as the gusts began to die down, he finally saw it.
Hovering above the Windmere noble's head was a massive winged creature, its feathers a striking mix of silver and green that caught what little light there was in the room. The air around it shimmered faintly with pressure, every slow beat of its wings stirring the dust beneath.
The noble stood beneath it, arms spread and a predatory grin carved across his face. His lips moved, but Riven couldn't hear a thing—the energy field enclosing them smothered all sound.
Not that Riven needed to hear. He knew exactly what he was looking at.
The rare bloodline beast, Gale Beak.
Luna must have recognized it too. She tensed against Riven's shoulder, ears flat, her tiny body pressing further into the curve of his neck as if trying to disappear.
Roman's stance shifted. Slowly, he raised his left arm and brought it forward, his fingers flexing once before curling around something unseen.
That's when Riven noticed it.
A massive greatsword now rested in Roman's grip—its appearance so seamless and natural it was as if it had always been there. Nearly as tall as Roman himself, the blade was forged from a dark gray metal unlike anything Riven had ever seen. It didn't gleam like ordinary steel; instead, it seemed to drink in the surrounding light, its surface pulsing faintly with a subdued power.
Riven's breath caught. Mana-infused metal, he realized, his mind racing. Whatever that weapon was made of—it wasn't ordinary.
In a single fluid motion, he swung the sword in a broad arc before resting it against his shoulder.
If the Windmere noble was impressed, he didn't show it. He merely stood there, that wild, hungry grin still carved into his face as he stared Roman down.
Riven's mind raced, grasping for an explanation as to why Roman had drawn someone like that here. This was a poor, rundown district—what business did a noble of his stature have in a place like this?
Riven wasn't sure about much when it came to nobles. His parents had ensured he had as little interaction with them as possible, aside from the few he encountered at school before the Soul Tournament and some of his cousins, but he hadn't seen them in years.
As if in response to his thoughts, the noble's fingers twitched. A sudden vortex of green ethereal wind flared to life in his palms, swirling into two concentrated spheres. At the same time, his beast opened its beak, and another identical mass of wind energy began forming in front of it, all angled toward Roman.
The sheer magical pressure was suffocating. Riven's legs nearly buckled beneath him, and he had to circulate more mana through his body just to stay upright.
I should have just left.
The thought barely had time to settle before the noble thrust his hands forward, unleashing the three churning spheres. A spiraling vortex of wind tore through the air, roaring toward Roman.
One moment, Roman was still, watching the attack. The next, his arm had already dropped—and the vortex was ripped apart as though it had never existed. The ground quaked under the force of his counter. Riven barely caught the motion, but the deep red glow now pulsing along Roman's sword made one thing clear—it wasn't just an ordinary weapon. It was something powerful. Something capable of channeling immense amounts of mana.
The noble wasn't done. His hands dropped to the floor, and another vortex burst forth from beneath Roman, swallowing him whole. The beast seized the moment, wings igniting with green energy as it soared upward. Then, with a single massive flap, it sent two razor-sharp crescents of wind energy slicing toward the swirling vortex.
Riven's grip on the table tightened, his eyes locked on Roman's position. Where is his beast bond?
The vortex shattered as the wind blades tore through it, triggering an explosion of compressed air. Dust and shredded wood erupted in all directions, sending debris skidding across the floor. Through the chaos, Riven caught sight of a beam of red light streaking toward the beast.
Squinting, he realized—that's no light.
It was Roman. His sword angled forward, cutting through the dust as he shot toward the flying beast like a spear.
The beast reacted in time, flapping its massive wings to dodge, but Roman wasn't finished. Twisting mid-air, he landed on the dome's ceiling, crouching for only a fraction of a second before launching himself again. This time, his sword pulsed with red energy, doubling in size as he thrust it forward.
The enclosed space left the beast with no room to escape. Instead, it raised its talons, now wreathed in emerald light. The claws extended, tripling in length, and caught the blade mid-strike.
Roman jerked to a stop in midair, locked in a power struggle against the beast's crushing grip.
The noble took full advantage. His hands stretched forward again, but this time, the swirling green energy in his palms darkened, thickening into something wild. The winds no longer flowed in smooth streams—instead, they twisted and clashed against each other, violent and unstable, sending chaotic gusts blasting in all directions.
Roman tilted his head toward the noble, likely sensing the shift in power. He wrenched at his blade, trying to break free of the beast's grasp, but it refused to let go.
For the first time, Riven saw something flicker across Roman's face—concern.
Then, his expression hardened. His grip on the massive hilt tightened, and with a single motion, he swung himself forward, using the sword as leverage. His legs glowed with blue energy, indicative of mana surging through him, as he drove both feet into the beast's chest.
The impact was brutal. The creature faltered, its claws loosening just enough for Roman to rip his sword free. He dropped like a stone, crashing to the ground in a plume of dust.
But there was no time to recover.
Above him, the noble's outstretched hands burned with power. The twin spheres of energy had morphed, no longer simple vortexes. Now, they spiraled violently into a single mass—a dark green tornado, churning with chaotic, shredding winds.
It wasn't just magic anymore.
It was something destructive.
And it was heading straight for Roman.