Morning came quietly.
Riven stood by the window, the soft light brushing across his face. His gaze drifted downward—and paused.
In the courtyard, his father moved.
Slow.
Controlled.
Each step flowed into the next, like there was no break between motion and stillness. His arms shifted with precision, his breathing steady, almost rhythmic.
Riven frowned slightly.
"…What is he doing?"
He headed downstairs.
"Dad?"
Viren didn't stop immediately. He completed the movement before turning, as if even stopping had a structure.
"You're up early."
"What was that?"
Viren exhaled lightly. "It's called Kethra Vein Art."
Riven tilted his head.
"Never heard of it."
Viren gave a faint smile. "Not many have. It's a discipline that strengthens the body… and teaches you how to control what flows within it."
Riven's eyes sharpened slightly at that.
Control.
Without saying anything, he focused.
Aether gathered—subtle, quiet—flowing toward his eyes.
For a moment, everything became clearer.
Sharper.
He looked at his father again.
Nothing.
No distortion.
No trace.
Just… human.
Riven relaxed a little.
"…So he really is normal."
But then something clicked.
I can gather aether…
But I don't know how to fight.
His gaze lifted again.
"Teach me."
Viren blinked. "Hm?"
"That art. Teach me."
A pause.
Viren studied him for a second—something unreadable passing through his eyes.
"…You're serious."
Riven didn't hesitate.
Viren nodded slowly. "Alright."
He stepped forward.
"First thing—your body moves before your strength does."
Riven mirrored his stance.
It felt awkward.
Unnatural.
"Relax," Viren said, adjusting his shoulders. "You're trying too hard."
Riven exhaled.
Shifted.
"Don't force balance. Find it."
Riven moved again.
This time—
Smoother.
Still imperfect.
But not stiff.
"Good," Viren said quietly.
Time passed without them noticing.
Step. Adjust. Repeat.
The movements weren't about speed.
They were about flow.
And slowly—
Riven began to understand.
This wasn't power.
It was control through motion.
"Riven!"
He turned.
Ivan stood at the entrance.
Riven stepped out. "What is it?"
Ivan looked at him for a moment, noticing something subtle in the way he stood.
"…You trained."
Riven smirked faintly. "Something like that."
Ivan turned without another word. "Come. We're going somewhere."
Riven glanced back.
"I'll be back!"
"Don't stay out too long!" his mother called.
"Where are we going?" Riven asked as they walked.
"To the Aetherion Association."
Riven raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"
"A place that keeps records," Ivan said. "Of people like us."
Riven's interest sharpened instantly.
"…Ascendants?"
Ivan nodded.
"And more."
The building stood tall—too tall.
It didn't just look important.
It felt it.
As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
People noticed.
Not Riven.
Ivan.
Whispers followed quietly.
"…Kaelthorn…"
"That's him…"
Riven leaned slightly toward him.
"You're famous."
Ivan didn't react. "Not me. My family."
Riven glanced around. "So how strong is your family?"
Ivan kept walking.
"There are seven great lineages."
His voice was calm, but each name carried weight.
"Kaelthorn. Dravaryn. Solmire. Vaelcrest. Nytheris. Orinox. Zephyra."
Riven listened closely.
"And beyond them," Ivan continued, "three major organizations."
Riven exhaled.
"In this country… ten powers decide everything."
Riven let out a quiet breath.
"…That's insane."
Ivan glanced at him briefly.
"And now you're standing among them."
The assessment didn't take long.
But the silence afterward did.
"…Two-star Ascendant…"
"…combat level equal to three-star?"
"…how—"
Riven stepped out, stretching his shoulder slightly.
"…That was weird."
Ivan looked at him. "You passed."
Before Riven could reply—
A voice cut through.
"Oh? So this is what the Kaelthorn walks around with now?"
Ivan's expression changed instantly.
He turned.
"…Ardyn."
The young master of Vaelcrest Family
Approaching them.
Confident.
Sharp.
The kind of presence that didn't need to raise its voice to be noticed.
Riven looked between them.
"Friend of yours?"
Ivan didn't answer.
Ardyn's gaze shifted to Riven.
"…This?" he scoffed. "You've lowered your standards."
Riven frowned.
"Say that again."
Ardyn stepped closer, his expression amused.
"Lowborn," he said quietly. "Trying to stand where he doesn't belong."
Riven's jaw tightened.
"Watch your mouth."
Ardyn leaned in slightly, voice dropping—
"What are you going to do about it?"
A pause.
Then—
"…son of a—"
—
Riven moved first.
A clean punch.
Direct.
Ardyn's head snapped to the side.
Silence fell.
Ardyn straightened slowly, touching his cheek.
Then he smiled.
"…You hit me."
Riven stepped forward. "Say it again."
This time—
Ardyn moved.
Fast.
But Riven didn't panic.
His stance shifted—
Grounded.
Flowing.
The movements his father showed him—
Now sharper.
Alive.
Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…So you picked it up that fast."
Riven deflected the first strike.
Redirected the second.
His body moved—not forced, not stiff—
Flowing.
Controlled.
Even without heavy aether—
It worked.
Ardyn's expression changed slightly.
Interest.
Then—
He pushed harder.
Aether surged.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
Riven felt the pressure—
But held.
Adjusted.
Balanced movement with power.
Ivan watched quietly.
A faint smile appeared.
"…That's my brother."
Then—
Everything dropped.
A force slammed into the space.
Invisible.
Overwhelming.
Riven's body hit the ground.
Ardyn collapsed.
Even Ivan bent slightly.
Silence.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow.
Measured.
A voice followed.
Cold.
Unquestionable.
"Do you think this is your family's backyard?"
No one answered.
No one could.
The air itself felt like it had weight.
At the entrance—
A figure stood.
Unshaken.
Untouchable.
"The Association…" the voice continued calmly,
"…is not your playground."
Riven tried to lift his head.
Failed.
For the first time—
He understood something clearly.
There were levels to this world…
…that he hadn't even begun to see.
End