The chamber groaned beneath the weight of awakening power.
Dust rained from the cracked ceiling, shadows and light spiraling violently around Riven as if the sanctum no longer knew which force to obey.
Azael and the Hunter were locked in a brutal struggle—one that shook the entire structure with every impact.
But even their clash seemed to fade beneath the rising hum building inside Riven's chest.
A hum like creation.
A hum like destruction.
A hum like memory.
He staggered forward, gripping his ribs as the mark blazed, each pulse sending ripples through the air.
Azael's voice echoed through the chaos:
"Riven—focus!"
But Riven could barely hear him.
His heartbeat drowned out everything.
The memories came harder now—no longer fragments, but pieces of an old universe snapping back into place:
A throne made of obsidian starlight.
Worlds bowing.
Armies kneeling.
A shadowed figure beside him—Azael—loyal not by bond, but by destiny.
Riven gasped, falling to one knee as a flare of black-gold light shot upward, splitting the air like a blade.
The Hunter froze mid-attack, its faceless helm twisting toward him.
"THE ETERNAL STIRS," it intoned, voice deeper, colder—almost reverent.
"THIS FORM IS NOT YET MEANT TO REMEMBER."
Azael snarled, throwing the Hunter off him with a violent surge of shadow.
"You don't command him," Azael growled, shadows cracking the floor. "You never did."
The Hunter straightened slowly, the blue slit in its helm narrowing like an eye.
"YOU DEFY THE ORDER OF OBLIVION."
Azael stepped between Riven and the Hunter, wings spread wide—massive, jagged shadows that blocked half the chamber.
"I did once," he said, voice low, lethal. "And I will again."
The Hunter lifted its spear—
—but the ground suddenly buckled as a wave of energy blasted out from Riven.
Light. Darkness. Both bound, both fighting for dominance, both orbiting around him like celestial storms.
Azael's head snapped toward him.
"Riven—listen to me—don't resist the power. Direct it."
"I—I can't," Riven gasped, clutching the floor as cracks spread beneath his palms. "It's too much!"
But even as he said it, the power recognized him—coiling around him like an old friend starved for centuries.
The Hunter advanced.
"HE IS UNSTABLE. WE WILL ERASE HIM BEFORE HE RISES."
Azael moved to intercept, but Riven felt something else move.
Inside him.
Old.
Ancient.
Terrifying.
Beautiful.
A voice—not memory, not hallucination—whispered through his bones:
"Stand."
Riven rose.
Not fully conscious of doing it. Not fully himself. Not fully the Eternal One he once was.
Something in-between.
Something forming.
Azael's eyes widened—not with fear, but with awe.
The shadows and light swirling around Riven collapsed inward, compressing into a single point in his chest—
—and then exploded outward in a silent shockwave.
The Hunter was thrown across the sanctum, skidding and smashing into the stone pillars with a crash that shook dust from every corner.
Azael shielded his face, wings partially cloaking Riven from the debris.
When the shockwave faded, Riven stood at the center of a crater of melted stone.
His eyes glowed black-gold—steady now, no longer flickering.
The ground trembled beneath him.
Azael whispered, "Riven…"
But Riven looked at him with a clarity that made Azael's breath catch.
Not the boy he protected.
Not the student he trained.
Not the frightened soul hunted by shadows.
But someone Azael remembered kneeling galaxies.
Someone Azael once guarded not out of duty… but devotion.
Riven stepped forward, each movement heavy with barely-contained force.
The Hunter rose shakily from the rubble.
The blue glow in its helm flickered—its first sign of uncertainty.
Riven spoke, and his voice echoed in two tones—his own, and the voice he once carried when he commanded worlds.
"I am done running."
Azael's eyes darkened with something fierce—pride, fear, longing—something old.
The Hunter steadied itself.
"YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU WERE," it warned.
"No," Riven agreed, raising his hand as black-gold energy gathered in his palm, swirling like a newborn star.
"I am becoming something new."
The Hunter lunged.
But this time—
Riven didn't flinch.
Didn't gasp.
Didn't fear.
He lifted his hand.
The energy shot forward.
A beam of twisting shadow-light ripped through the chamber, spiraling around the Hunter, halting it mid-strike.
The Hunter strained— cracks spreading across its armor— blue light flaring wildly—
Riven's power tightened.
"You will not erase me," he said quietly.
"You will not erase what I am becoming."
"And you will never touch him again."
Azael inhaled sharply.
The Hunter's armor shattered in a burst of black shards.
Its blue core flickered, sputtered…
Then went dark.
The sanctum fell silent.
Riven stood trembling, chest heaving, the last of the black-gold energy fading from his hand.
Azael moved slowly toward him, cautious—as if approaching a star that hadn't fully stabilized yet.
"Riven," he murmured, "look at me."
Riven lifted his gaze.
Azael gently reached up, brushing his thumb under Riven's eye, wiping away soot and tears he hadn't realized were there.
"You did it," Azael whispered. "You awakened."
Riven's knees finally buckled, and he sagged forward.
Azael caught him instantly, arms firm, wings folding protectively around him.
Riven pressed his forehead into Azael's shoulder, trembling from exhaustion and lingering terror.
"I'm scared," he whispered.
"I know," Azael said, holding him closer. "But you're not alone."
Riven's fingers curled into Azael's shirt.
"Azael… what happens now?"
Azael's grip tightened.
His voice dropped to a dark, magnetic rumble.
"Now?"
He glanced at the shattered remains of the Hunter.
"At least one faction knows you've awakened."
He looked down at Riven—eyes burning with a terrifying promise.
"And more will come."
The shadows thickened around them.
A storm was rising.
And the world had just felt the first tremor.