The rain had finally stopped.
Riven and Elira stepped out of the cave, the smell of wet earth still hanging in the air. The forest was silent, heavy with mist.
They walked slowly toward the village, their boots sinking into the mud.
Riven's eyes wandered across the trees.
Every place he looked — every branch, every drop of water — seemed to show him fragments of his past.
For a moment, he saw himself again: the old Riven, the one with blood on his hands, standing among the burning ruins.
His heart tightened. He's still here, he thought. He'll come back… he'll take me again.
Then—
A faint, dry sound.
Like a crack from deep within his chest.
Riven froze. His breath caught in his throat.
> "That sound…" he whispered. "It came from inside me."
Elira turned sharply toward him.
> "Riven, what was that? I heard it too."
Riven placed a hand over his heart.
It felt as if something had broken — not bone, but something deeper.
> "I… I don't know," he said quietly. "It felt like… something inside me just split."
The air around them grew colder.
A whisper brushed against the back of his mind — soft, but full of dread:
> 'You can't break what's already cracked…'
Riven shivered. Elira reached out and took his hand.
> "We'll face it together," she said firmly. "Whatever that sound was—it won't take you again."
… .
The Watcher in the Mist
The fog thickened as they neared the village.
Riven's steps slowed; his breath grew faint. The aura around him — once dark and heavy — began to shift. It was turning pale… almost white.
Elira noticed first.
> "Riven… your aura—it's changing," she whispered.
. ..
Riven didn't answer. His skin looked cold, his lips colorless. A strange light surrounded him, soft but fading like dying embers.
Elira reached for him, but the moment her fingers brushed his sleeve, a chill ran through her hand.
> "Riven, you're freezing!"
Riven's gaze wandered to the edge of the forest. Something was there. Watching.
He turned sharply, his cloak swaying in the mist —
but behind him, there was nothing.
Only trees, silent and wet from the rain.
> "Riven, what is it?" Elira asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Riven's eyes narrowed. His heart was racing again.
> "I don't know," he murmured. "But it feels like… someone's watching us."
A cold wind swept through the path. The mist stirred —
and for a brief moment, a shadowed figure appeared between the trees.
Tall, calm, and motionless — the same man who once struck Riven down.
Elira gasped.
But when she blinked, the figure was gone. Only silence remained, thick as the fog itself.
Riven's aura flickered again. The white light around him pulsed weakly — then dimmed.
He fell to one knee, clutching his chest.
> "Elira…" he breathed. "If it turns white… it means… I'm fading."
Elira caught him before he hit the ground.
> "No! You're not dying — not again!"
Riven tried to smile, but his strength was leaving him.
The forest seemed to lean closer; somewhere, far away, a low whisper echoed:
> "The shadow never leaves the light…"
—
The Fading Light
Riven's aura flickered again. The white glow spread from his chest to his shoulders — soft at first, then violently bright.
Elira squinted and stepped back.
> "Riven… your aura—it's changing," she said in fear. "Riven, this isn't good!"
Riven fell to his knees, his breath ragged.
> "Elira… what's happening to me?"
Elira's voice trembled.
> "I don't know! But that color—the white light—it could mean death…"
Just then, a whisper echoed through the air.
It sounded human, but it came from no mouth:
> "Don't stop, girl. If you stay here, he dies."
Elira froze, eyes wide.
The voice was inside her head.
She spun around, but there was no one — only mist, and that invisible presence pressing against her thoughts.
> "Who's there?!" she shouted.
The reply came softly, but sank deep into her mind:
> "Who I am doesn't matter. But if you want to save the boy, go to the village. There's still hope there."
Elira's heart pounded. Riven was trembling on his knees, eyes lost in the fog.
> "Elira… sister… who are you talking to?"
She looked down at him, tears gathering in her eyes.
> "Don't worry," she whispered. "But we have to get to the village. Now."
Riven nodded weakly.
Elira pulled his arm over her shoulder and helped him walk through the mist.
With each step, Riven grew heavier.
But just as they neared the forest's edge, the same voice echoed again — this time inside Riven's mind:
> "I never left you… I'll speak to you when the time comes."
Riven flinched, clutching his chest.
> "I heard it…" he whispered. "He's here… watching me."
Elira looked around, panic in her eyes — but there was nothing.
Only the mist, and far in the distance, the faint silhouette of a man in the shadows, standing perfectly still, watching them.
—
The Healer's Truth
When they returned to the village, the night was silent — too silent.
The air was thick with the scent of rain and smoke.
Torches burned weakly at the gates, their flames trembling in the cold wind.
Elira's chest tightened the moment she saw Corven waiting there — beside the old healer woman.
> "Elira!" Corven shouted. "What happened to him?!"
Elira's voice cracked as she answered.
> "Please, there's no time! My brother — he's dying!"
The healer's expression darkened.
Without a word, she motioned for them to follow her.
They hurried into a small wooden house, lit only by the dim glow of candles.
The air inside smelled of herbs, ash, and iron.
The woman laid Riven down on a rough wooden bed.
Her hands moved quickly — checking his pulse, his breath, his aura.
And then, she froze.
> "What… is this?" she whispered, her eyes wide. "This boy… what are you?"
Elira stepped closer, panic rising in her throat.
> "What do you mean?! He's my brother!"
The old woman pressed her trembling hand against Riven's chest.
There was only a faint, irregular beat — barely there at all.
> "His heart," she murmured. "It's not right… it's stopped before."
She looked at Elira, her voice shaking.
> "Do you understand? His heart has died once. And yet, he's still breathing."
Elira's lips parted, but no words came out.
> "That's impossible…" she whispered.
> "No," said the healer. "It means something brought him back. Something that shouldn't exist in this world."
Suddenly, Riven's body jolted — his chest glowing with a pulse of white light.
The air crackled with strange energy.
Corven stumbled backward, shielding his face.
> "He's burning up!" Elira cried.
The old woman moved quickly, chanting words older than language itself.
A faint blue glow surrounded Riven as she forced his body into stillness.
His breathing slowed. His aura dimmed.
Then — silence.
> "He must not wake up," the healer said softly. "Not yet."
Elira's eyes were wet with fear.
> "Please… tell me what's happening to him."
The woman didn't respond right away.
She just stared at the fading light in Riven's chest, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she whispered:
> "If my fears are true… your brother is no longer just human."
. ..
Time blurred. Riven didn't know how long he slept — or whether he still slept at all.
When he opened his eyes, the world was all white. Soft bird-song threaded through the air like a distant lullaby; the light made everything look like a memory.
He stood on a plain of pure white, and at its center, on a throne carved from something like ice, sat a single figure. White eyes, white hair — as if color itself had fled from him.
Riven swallowed. "Who are you?" he asked, voice small in that endless light.
The man smiled, a sound that did not belong to sorrow. "Ah—welcome. In truth, you were dead long ago," he said in a voice both warm and cutting. "I used a little of my power to bring you back. If you die, I die with you." He laughed, mild and strange.
Riven blinked. "You used your power? What nonsense are you saying?"
The man's smile didn't fade. "Listen: I am the part of you that keeps the gentle things alive. I am the beauty that avoids striking, that refuses to kill. I have always watched you. Why—why do you slaughter everyone?" His gaze sharpened. "But do not forget: death is near. You must correct yourself, or those you love will die."
Riven's chest tightened. "How can I do that?" he asked. "I want to protect my sister. If she dies—" His voice cracked; his eyes went distant. "I will bring the world to an end."
"You must grow strong to protect her," he said. The white man's laugh was almost tender. "Good. Very good. I will give you one more chance. Protect her. She cries for you." With that, the light around the throne swelled and then contracted, and Riven felt something like warmth flow into him.
The dream frayed at the edges. The white throne dissolved into motes of light. Before he lost the image entirely, the man's last words echoed like a bell: "Choose the path of living light, or be the shadow that kills what it loves."
Riven woke with a gasp, the words still ringing in his chest — and a new warmth pulsing where the white light had touched him.
—
Riven awoke fully in the small room, his body still trembling.
The warmth from the dream lingered in his chest, pulsing faintly, almost like a heartbeat of its own.
Elira knelt beside him, eyes wide and filled with concern.
> "Riven… are you alright?" she whispered.
He swallowed, his throat dry.
> "I… I saw him. The white man… he gave me a warning. I have to protect you, Elira… or—"
Before he could finish, the old healer woman leaned close, examining him again. Her face was grave.
> "Sit still, boy. You are alive, yes, but your body carries a power it was never meant to hold."
Riven frowned. "What do you mean? That white aura… in my chest… it's killing me?"
The woman shook her head.
> "Not killing, child. It is a sign — a warning. That white light is the pulse of life and death intertwined. You flirted with death and returned. But the world has marked you. If you do not learn to control it, it will consume you — and those you love."
Elira gasped. "So… that's why his heart stopped! That's why he… almost died!"
The old woman placed her hands gently over Riven's chest. The faint white glow reacted to her touch, stretching like liquid light.
> "Feel it?" she asked. "This is the first time your body has accepted even a fraction of this force. You will grow stronger, but danger comes with every pulse."
Riven looked down at his trembling hands. The warmth spread into his fingertips.
> "I… I can feel it. It's inside me now."
The healer nodded. "Yes. But remember, boy — power is not strength. Protecting those you love is strength. Use it wisely. Or the shadow of death will follow your every step."
Riven clenched his fists. Determination burned in his eyes.
> "I will protect her. I won't fail. I will grow stronger… for Elira."
The white glow flickered briefly once more, as if acknowledging his vow. Outside, the first rays of sunlight broke through the mist, illuminating the village with a pale, hopeful light.
—
The Mountain of Trials
Riven climbed higher into the mountains, leaving the village and the familiar world behind.
Snow hissed under his boots, and jagged cliffs cut into the sky like shattered glass.
Here, no one could stop him — no voice, no eyes, only the wind and the raw, unyielding stone.
He trained relentlessly. Striking rocks with his fists, lifting boulders heavier than himself, running through blizzards as lightning cracked the sky.
Each day, he tested his body. Each night, he wrestled with his mind, battling the shadow of Little Riven that still lurked inside.
Then came the moment. Alone in a cavern lined with shimmering metal — veins of silver and gold running through the rock — Riven placed his hands on the glowing stone floor.
> "I am ready," he whispered.
White light exploded from him. His aura expanded, filling the cavern, bending metal and cracking stone. Pain shot through his chest — his soul seemed to strain, as if the very essence of himself was splitting.
And it did.
From Riven's body, two forms emerged. One, the original, battle-worn and dark, his eyes burning with experience and vengeance.
The other — the Good Riven — luminous, calm, his presence soothing yet firm. A being of protection and restraint, the part of Riven that refused to kill without reason.
They stared at each other. The cavern trembled. Snow and stone outside rattled in warning.
The two Rivens were one soul, divided — two paths, two choices, yet a single destiny.
Riven looked at Good Riven.
> "So… you are me?"
> "Yes," the other replied, voice echoing in the cavern. "And now, together, we can become what we were meant to be. Stronger. Better. Alive."
Riven nodded slowly, a rare smile forming. For the first time, he felt complete.
Outside, the wind howled through the mountains, as if heralding a new era.
—