章節 10: Shadowed resolve

Riven's gaze was fixed on the mountainside, though his mind was elsewhere. The air around him was cold, chilling most to the bone, yet he barely felt it. His thoughts, once tainted with memories of Geryl, had faded like mist under the first light of dawn. What remained was a sharpened edge, ruthless and cold, forged by pain and blood. This was no mere anger or grief—it was a force far more dangerous. Something within him had cracked open, releasing a hunger for survival that consumed his fear.

"You're different," Maurs observed, a shadow of intrigue in his voice. He had watched Riven change over the last days, noting how determination had twisted into something darker, something that no training could instill. What began as a search for answers had transformed into an acceptance of his inner darkness. Maurs could see the change in Riven's eyes—a hardness, a steel edge.

"I am," Riven replied, his voice a steady, icy whisper that resonated with a merciless calm.

Maurs nodded, a glint of satisfaction flickering in his gaze. "The soldiers won't stop, you know. They'll be smarter this time, better prepared. Their leaders know you're a Kaelthar. They'll expect you to be… different."

A ghost of a smirk crossed Riven's face. "Then let them come. I want them to know what it's like to bleed."

A Training of Blood and Bone

For three days, Maurs pushed Riven to his limits and beyond. The training was merciless—crushing bones, tearing muscles, and forging a warrior from the ashes of a boy. Every drill was a test of endurance, a gamble with survival. Maurs left no room for hesitation or weakness; each hour brought new trials meant to break Riven's body and hone his instincts into lethal precision.

The training began with strength. Maurs forced Riven to haul boulders up steep, crumbling mountain paths. He scraped and bruised his hands on the coarse rock, fingers numb as the bloodied skin clung to jagged edges. Maurs showed no mercy, hurling stones at him whenever he slowed. The pebbles left angry welts and bruises across his back and legs, reminders of what would happen in a real battle if he faltered.

Then came reflex training. Maurs set up a grid of nearly invisible razor wires, stretched between trees like the web of some sadistic spider. Riven had to navigate this deadly maze, moving blindfolded with only his telekinetic senses to avoid being sliced open. Even so, he felt the wires cut into his skin more than once, their sting leaving thin lines of blood on his arms and legs as he stumbled through the traps.

The final trial was precision. Maurs launched sharp metal shards into the air, each one a potential fatal strike. Riven's job was to intercept each one mid-air, deflecting or destroying it before it reached him. He missed often, and each time Maurs glared with a glint of disdain. But Riven's failures only fueled his rage, sharpening his focus until every throw, every parry, became a matter of life and death.

Beneath the grueling punishment, Riven's body hardened. His muscles ached with newfound strength, his senses sharpened with an edge that thirsted for blood. The old part of him, the fearful part, faded, replaced by a darkness that now felt like home.

The Ambush

Riven crouched in the shadows, silent as death. His senses flared as he waited, feeling the ground tremble beneath the weight of incoming soldiers. His heart pounded, fueled not by fear but by a raw, sharpened bloodlust. They were close—he could feel it, the faint vibrations of footsteps approaching the rocky cliffside. The cold air seemed to darken, thickening around him, charged with an unspoken menace.

From the lead emerged Kazu, his eyes narrowed with deadly intent, his sword glinting in the faint moonlight. Riven held his breath, watching as Kazu motioned for his men to advance. In that moment, Riven's blood boiled, his thoughts narrowing down to a single, primal urge: survive.

A Storm of Blood and Bone

With a sudden roar, Riven exploded from the darkness, his telekinetic force hurling two soldiers into jagged rocks with bone-crushing force. He tore into the first one, grabbing the man's throat and squeezing until his windpipe crumpled under his grip. Riven twisted sharply, snapping the soldier's neck with a sickening crunch, his face splattered with warm blood as the lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Kazu shouted an order, his sword raised, but Riven barely registered it. Another soldier came at him, thrusting his spear toward Riven's chest. Riven sidestepped, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it backward with ruthless precision, ripping the shoulder from its socket. The soldier screamed, but Riven silenced him with a brutal headbutt, the man's nose shattering, blood splashing across Riven's face.

Turning to face Kazu, Riven saw that the commander's eyes were lit with a lethal determination. This was no ordinary opponent—Kazu's stance was disciplined, his movements calculated. Riven could tell he was sizing him up, searching for weaknesses, but Riven had no intention of giving him any.

Kazu lunged, his sword flashing as he aimed a deadly strike at Riven's throat. Riven parried, deflecting the blade with a forceful blast of telekinetic energy, but Kazu recovered swiftly, circling like a predator. They clashed again, the sound of steel meeting raw power echoing across the cliffs. Riven felt the impact resonate through his bones, each strike and parry chipping away at his strength.

Their fight became a brutal dance, both fighters pushing their limits. Kazu's blade found its mark, slicing a gash down Riven's arm, but Riven barely registered the pain. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto the rocky ground, but his focus remained unbroken. He lunged at Kazu, fists like iron as they hammered against his opponent's armor, each punch sending shockwaves through his enemy's body.

Kazu retaliated with a vicious upward slash, the blade carving a crimson arc across Riven's cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Pain flared, but Riven's rage drowned it out. He retaliated with a telekinetic strike that sent Kazu sprawling backward, slamming him into the rocky cliffside. The impact left a bloody smear on the stone, and Kazu coughed, spitting blood.

The Fight Descends into Madness

For what felt like hours, they traded blows. Riven's fists were raw, knuckles cracked and bleeding, but he ignored the pain. He could feel his strength waning, yet the sight of Kazu's blood-streaked face, the grim determination in his eyes, only fueled his rage further. He was no longer fighting merely to survive—he was fighting to break this man, to shatter him completely.

Kazu charged again, his sword a blur of deadly precision. Riven dodged, but the blade nicked his shoulder, carving a deep, bleeding gash. Ignoring the pain, he drove his knee into Kazu's chest, feeling the sickening crunch of ribs breaking under the impact. Kazu staggered, gasping for breath, but still he refused to fall.

Riven didn't relent. He grabbed Kazu by the hair, yanking his head back with a violent jerk, and slammed his fist into his face, again and again, each blow harder than the last. Blood spattered from Kazu's nose and mouth, his teeth shattered under the relentless assault. Yet somehow, Kazu managed to break free, his eyes blazing with fury.

With a furious yell, Kazu swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing Riven to backpedal. The blade caught Riven's side, slicing through flesh and muscle, the searing pain nearly blinding. Riven snarled, his vision darkening as he reached for Kazu's throat, digging his fingers into the man's flesh with a crushing grip. Kazu's face twisted with pain, his eyes bulging as he clawed at Riven's hand, desperate for air.

But Riven showed no mercy. He tightened his grip, feeling the fragile bones of Kazu's windpipe give way under his hand. Kazu's skin turned pale, his lips tinged with blue as he gasped for breath. Just when it seemed Kazu would succumb, he drove his knee into Riven's stomach, breaking the hold and sending Riven stumbling back, gasping.

The Final Struggle

Both men stood facing each other, battered and bleeding, their breaths ragged. The ground around them was slick with blood, bodies of fallen soldiers littered the cliffs, and the air was thick with the scent of iron and death. Kazu's sword trembled in his hand, his face a mask of blood and bruises, but his eyes burned with a desperate resolve.

With a final, wordless roar, Kazu lunged, putting every last ounce of strength into his strike. Riven met him head-on, their bodies colliding in a savage clash. Kazu's blade bit into Riven's side, carving a deep, bleeding wound, but Riven didn't stop. His fists hammered into Kazu's body with brutal force, each blow more ferocious than the last.

They fell to the ground, grappling in the blood-soaked dirt. Kazu's hands found Riven's throat, squeezing with all his strength, but Riven retaliated by driving his thumb into Kazu's eye, twisting and gouging until he felt the soft, wet pop beneath his finger. Kazu screamed, releasing his hold as he clutched at his ruined eye, blood pouring down his face in thick rivulets.

Riven staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his own wounds, his breaths coming in heaving gasps. Kazu lay at his feet, one eye destroyed, his face a gruesome mask of blood and pain. Riven looked down at him, feeling nothing but cold satisfaction.

"Tell your king," Riven rasped, his voice low and deadly, "that if he wants me dead, he'll need an army. And even then, I'll bury them all."

As the dust settled and silence claimed the blood-soaked ground, Maurs approached Riven, his steps calm and deliberate. The older man surveyed the battlefield—mangled bodies, torn ground, splatters of dark blood—and then turned his gaze upon Riven, taking in his bloodstained clothes and the wild look in his eyes.

"You've done well," Maurs said, his voice laced with both pride and gravity.

Riven barely heard him, his focus still trained on the violent memory of his fight with Kazu. Yet as the adrenaline ebbed, he became aware of a sharp, throbbing pain—the dozens of gashes and bruises on his body. Blood had pooled down his torso from the deep gash across his cheek, his left eye swollen and throbbing, a reminder of the fight's brutality.

But then, as he struggled to catch his breath, something strange happened. A cold, almost electric sensation washed over him, numbing the pain, smoothing it away. He barely had time to process it before a familiar voice, dark and quiet, echoed in his mind.

"You're welcome."

He blinked, feeling a shiver down his spine. His hands hovered over the cuts that had marred his skin moments before. They were gone—every last one of them. The aches, the deep wounds, the bruises… all vanished as if they'd never existed.

Riven turned to Maurs, his expression a mix of confusion and unease. But Maurs's face bore no surprise, only an approving nod, as if he'd anticipated this transformation.

"You have been marked, Riven," Maurs said quietly, his tone carrying a strange finality. "And that means certain things will come to pass, as they were meant to. That voice… listen carefully. It may be more familiar than you think."

Riven's brow furrowed, but he set his questions aside. "What now?"

"We're wanted men now," Maurs replied with a wry smile, glancing back at the carnage. "We need to disappear—for a while, at least. A new place, weapons, something to cover our faces."

With that, the two of them left the mountain path behind and began their journey down to a small village nestled within the lowlands. The village was cloaked in mist as they entered, its scattered houses standing silent, half-hidden by dense, gnarled trees. Smoke curled from a handful of chimneys, and the faint clinking of metal on metal grew louder as they approached a weathered blacksmith's forge on the outskirts.

Maurs led the way, his expression unreadable, though his eyes softened slightly as they neared. Inside the forge, the steady clanging ceased as a figure emerged from the shadows—a broad, sturdy man with a grizzled beard and hands stained from years of labor. He paused as he recognized Maurs, his face breaking into a warm, if slightly guarded, smile.

"Maurs," the blacksmith rumbled, his deep voice filled with a cautious respect. "Been a while since you last stepped into my shop. What brings you here?"

Maurs returned the smile, a glint of familiarity in his eyes. "We need your help, Haelom. My friend here is in need of… supplies."

Haelom's eyes shifted to Riven, assessing him. Riven's stare was intense, his presence slightly unsettling, but Haelom only grunted in understanding. "Well, if Maurs vouches for you, that's enough for me. I don't ask questions, though… I expect you'll respect that."

Maurs nodded, and Haelom gestured for Riven to follow him deeper into the shop, toward an ironbound door at the back of the forge. They stepped into a small room lit by a single lantern that hung from a low beam, casting long shadows on the walls. Against one wall, various weapons were mounted—a collection of fine daggers, short swords, and unique weapons, each crafted with an artisan's care.

Haelom reached up to a shelf and pulled down a long staff, its surface a rich, dark sheen. It was a marvel of craftsmanship, wrought from a single piece of polished obsidian that gleamed in the dim light, exuding an aura of both elegance and danger.

"Here," Haelom said, holding the staff out to Riven. "Made from pure obsidian. Light, yet unyielding as iron. Won't be easy to break."

Riven took the staff, feeling its weight and balance. It was like an extension of himself, firm and steady, exuding a dark, comforting energy. A faint thrill shivered through him, and he met Haelom's eyes with a respectful nod.

"I appreciate it," Riven said, his voice carrying a new edge of determination. "This will do just fine."

"Then consider it yours," Haelom replied, clapping a hand on Riven's shoulder. He handed them each a dark cloak and a simple, bone-white mask. "These might help keep your faces… less familiar. Keep low."

They shared a few more words, but time was pressing, and soon Riven and Maurs were back on the road, armed, masked, and more prepared than before.

Meanwhile, in the royal capital, Kazu lay in the healer's room, his injuries bandaged, his face pale from the pain and blood loss. The room was quiet save for the hushed whispers of attendants moving in and out, bringing ointments and potions.

The soft click of footsteps echoed, and the door opened to reveal the king and queen, their expressions severe. The king's gaze was cold, his jaw clenched as he took in the sight of his battered soldier. The queen stood beside him, her dark eyes sharp with disappointment and anger.

"Kazu," the king began, his voice low but filled with barely suppressed rage. "You assured us the boy would be taken care of. That this… Kaelthar… was no threat."

Kazu clenched his teeth, his face flushed with both humiliation and anger. "Your Majesty, he was stronger than I expected. Much stronger. The power he wields… it's unlike anything I've seen. He tore through our men as if they were nothing. I barely escaped with my life."

The queen narrowed her eyes, her expression one of cold disdain. "We expected better from you, Kazu. A Kaelthar child—barely grown, and yet you return like this?" She motioned to his bandages, the blood that had seeped through them, staining the pristine sheets.

Kazu struggled to sit up, grimacing as he faced the king. "I won't fail again. Give me a chance to return, and I'll bring his head back myself."

The king turned away, his face clouded with dark thoughts. "No," he said finally, his voice hard. "I have other plans for him. This Kaelthar has shown us that he is more than just a common traitor—he's a threat, one that will require a different approach."

The queen's lips curled into a chilling smile. "If he has such power, he may prove useful… provided we find the right means to control him."

Kazu bowed his head, frustration simmering beneath his obedience. He'd failed them, and they would not allow it to happen again. The king's voice broke through his thoughts, colder than ever.

"Rest and heal, Kazu. We will speak again soon. And remember this: next time you meet that boy… do not underestimate him."

With that, the king and queen turned, leaving the room as Kazu lay in silence, his fists clenched, his thoughts seething with both rage and resolve.

As the dawn broke over the forest, Riven and Maurs set out toward the lost city that lay abandoned deep within the mountains. Drakarth, as Maurs had told him, was once a thriving settlement but had fallen into ruin after being deserted by its last inhabitants, who'd left no trace of where they had gone or why. Now, it lay about 40 kilometers away, hidden among towering cliffs and dense forests, sheltered by fog and myths. For Riven, it was to be a haven—a place where he could remain hidden, regain his strength, and prepare for the inevitable battles yet to come.

The journey began on narrow, winding paths that wove through towering trees, the air thick with a chill that only grew stronger the deeper they ventured. The forest was quiet, a muffled silence that seemed to press in on them, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional distant call of birds. Maurs led the way, his steps sure and unhurried, as though he could see a path invisible to Riven's eyes. Every so often, Maurs would pause, glancing back to make sure Riven was keeping pace, his expression calm but unreadable.

As the hours passed, they came across rocky outcrops and steep hillsides, each obstacle reminding Riven of the weight of his recent wounds. But something was different now—he was no longer fighting just to survive; he was fighting to endure, to push himself beyond his limits, spurred on by the quiet determination that had taken root within him. With each step, he grew more aware of the faint, almost soothing hum of his telekinetic power, which seemed to resonate with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

At midday, they reached a shallow stream that cut across their path, its water clear and cold. Maurs crouched by its edge, scooping up a handful to drink before motioning for Riven to do the same.

"Drakarth lies on the other side of these hills," Maurs said, his voice low. "We'll keep moving once you're ready."

Riven nodded, his gaze wandering up to the imposing hills ahead. Each one seemed steeper than the last, their jagged edges lined with dark shadows cast by the afternoon sun. He could feel the weight of exhaustion settling into his limbs, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he focused on the thrill of the unknown, the promise of the place they were heading to.

As they climbed higher, the forest grew denser, the sunlight filtering through the trees in narrow beams that cast an eerie glow over the path. Vines twisted around trunks, and the air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Riven felt a prickle of unease as they walked, the forest seeming to close in around them, as if it were guarding secrets long forgotten.

At one point, Maurs stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the trees around them. Riven followed his gaze, catching sight of faint, almost invisible markings carved into a nearby tree—a series of symbols etched in a language he didn't recognize.

"These markings," Riven murmured. "Who left them?"

"Those who came before," Maurs replied cryptically. "Guides for those who knew how to read them. Drakarth has always had its watchers, though whether they're still around is anyone's guess."

They continued on, passing more of the strange symbols as they climbed. With every step, Riven felt a growing sense of anticipation, a feeling as though they were approaching something vast and ancient. Finally, as dusk began to settle over the land, they crested the final hill, and the lost city came into view.

Drakarth sprawled out below them, a skeletal ruin half-claimed by the encroaching wilderness. Broken towers rose from the ground like jagged teeth, their stone facades crumbling under the weight of centuries. Ivy and moss coated the walls, creeping over shattered windows and eroded doorways, while thick roots twisted across the cobbled streets, breaking apart the pathways with a silent, relentless force. Shadows stretched across the city, casting it in a haunting gloom that seemed both beautiful and foreboding.

Riven took in the sight, a strange mix of awe and sorrow filling him. Drakarth felt like a place forgotten by time, left to decay in the absence of those who had once called it home. Yet despite its desolation, it radiated a sense of strength, as if it had endured through countless storms, standing as a silent witness to the passage of time.

"This is it," Maurs said quietly. "Our hideout."

Riven nodded, his gaze sweeping over the city as he imagined what it might have been like in its prime. The silent streets, the empty buildings—all of it felt like a reflection of his own journey, the path he had taken to become who he was now. He felt a strange kinship with this place, a city left behind, yet somehow defiant in its ruin.

They descended into the city, their footsteps echoing off the empty walls. Maurs led him through narrow alleys and under archways, navigating the ruins with the ease of someone who had been there before. Finally, they reached a building that had withstood the test of time better than most—a stone structure with intact walls and a roof that provided shelter from the elements.

"We'll set up here," Maurs said, pushing open the heavy wooden door, which creaked as it swung inward. Inside, the room was dark and empty, save for a few scattered pieces of furniture that lay broken and covered in dust.

Riven stepped inside, letting the quiet settle over him. This would be their refuge, a place where they could plan, regroup, and prepare for whatever lay ahead.

As they began setting up, Riven couldn't shake the feeling that the city held secrets of its own—whispers of the past, waiting to be unearthed. And though they were hidden in its shadows, he knew that their enemies would not rest. This place, with all its eerie beauty and silent strength, was the beginning of a new chapter in his life—a place where he would forge the path to the battles that awaited him.

Two weeks passed since the bloody confrontation with Kazu and the ambush. The winds of change had blown, but Riven's focus never wavered. Deep within the ruins of the lost city, hidden from the world's prying eyes, he and Maurs made their camp. The ancient city, now nothing more than shattered stone and abandoned corridors, provided a perfect haven for the two of them.

Riven had spent every moment of the past two weeks honing his power, pushing his body and mind beyond what he had ever thought possible. He had no time to mourn, no time to rest. Every hour was a new opportunity to improve, to grow stronger—because he knew, deep in his bones, that the world would soon come for him.

Now, beneath the shadow of crumbling towers, Riven stood in the center of an open courtyard. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. The air around him was still, thick with the weight of anticipation. A few yards away, a massive boulder, nearly twice his size, sat perched precariously on the ground.

Maurs watched from the sidelines, his eyes piercing through the silence. Though his expression was unreadable, there was a sense of quiet pride in his gaze. He knew what Riven was capable of, but he had yet to see how far the boy was truly willing to push himself.

With a sharp inhale, Riven raised his arms slowly, the tendons in his muscles flexing as he focused. His eyes glowed faintly, a storm of telekinetic energy swirling within him. The boulder lifted off the ground, trembling as it rose into the air with a low, grinding sound.

The force was immense, but it was the precision that Riven sought to master. He twisted his hands slightly, guiding the boulder through the air, making it hover just inches above the ground before sending it higher, until it was several meters above his head.

Riven gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face as the boulder's weight pressed against his telekinetic grip. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat synchronizing with the strain of the exertion. But he refused to falter. The weight of the rock felt like the weight of his entire life—the countless regrets, the memories of loss, the rage of his existence—but he would not let it drop. He was in control now.

The boulder hovered, shaking violently in the air, before Riven's concentration snapped. With a sharp push of his mind, the boulder shot forward, crashing into a pile of old stone with an earth-shaking explosion. Dust and debris flew in all directions, and Riven staggered slightly, his breath coming in sharp, jagged gasps.

Maurs walked toward him slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "You've improved," he said, his voice low but approving. "But you've only scratched the surface. The mind is a tool, but the body must also be trained to withstand the pressure of such power."

Riven wiped the sweat from his brow, nodding in acknowledgment, but there was no pride in his expression—only a hunger for more. His muscles burned, his body screamed in protest, but it wasn't enough. Nothing ever was.

"I can do more," Riven said flatly, his voice cold with determination. "Show me more."

Maurs raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his piercing gaze watching Riven closely. The ancient master of combat knew well the dangers of pushing beyond one's limits, but he also understood that Riven was different. The boy was something else entirely, driven by a force that was both terrifying and unstoppable.

After a brief silence, Maurs finally spoke. "Very well, then. You will learn."

He gestured toward a nearby plateau, where jagged rocks and boulders jutted out like the broken teeth of an ancient beast. "I will teach you to focus that power. But first, you must train not just your strength, but your agility. The rocks you see are a trial. Get to the top, and I'll teach you how to wield your power with precision."

Riven's gaze never faltered. Without hesitation, he moved toward the rocky path. His feet were sure, his body already adjusting to the challenge before him. The boulders loomed ahead, massive and intimidating, but to Riven, they were nothing more than obstacles to overcome.

Maurs watched as Riven began to climb, his body agile and nimble despite his size. The boy had grown stronger, but now was the time to refine his control, to make him not just powerful but adaptable in the heat of battle.

Riven's mind was alive with focus, every movement calculated, every muscle working in tandem with the telekinetic force that hummed within him. As he reached the first outcrop, he leaped from one stone to another, the rock shifting beneath his feet, threatening to send him tumbling into the abyss below. But he was faster—he was faster than the fall.

With a telekinetic push, he propelled himself upward, sending a boulder hurtling to clear his path. The rocks beneath him shifted violently, but he was already ahead of them, his mind and body a seamless machine.

Maurs' eyes narrowed. Riven had the raw power, but now it was about honing it, refining it into a deadly weapon that could be controlled and unleashed with devastating precision. He knew it would take time, but the boy was capable of far more than anyone would believe.

As Riven reached the top of the plateau, breathing heavily but with a satisfied look on his face, Maurs approached him once again, this time with a small, approving smile. "You have the potential to do more than just survive, Riven. But the question remains—are you ready to embrace it?"

Riven's eyes were hard as steel, and his voice was as cold as the stone around them. "I'm ready."

It was only then that Maurs seemed to realize the weight of Riven's resolve. The boy wasn't just training to survive—he was training to conquer.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruined city, Maurs could only watch, knowing that Riven's path was now set. There would be no turning back.

Riven's chest rose and fell in steady breaths, the exertion of the climb and his continuous training weighing heavily on him, but his resolve had not wavered. The plateau stretched out before him, jagged and unforgiving, yet he stood taller than ever—his body and mind pushed to their limits, his strength tested in ways he had never known.

Maurs stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he observed Riven. The ancient master had always seen potential in the boy, but today, he saw something more—something far darker, far more dangerous than Riven realized. The raw power that Riven had been wielding over the past two weeks was not merely a weapon, but a force of nature, and Maurs knew well that such power could easily consume him if he wasn't careful. It was a gift, but also a curse.

"You've come far," Maurs said, his voice low and steady, though there was a glint of something deeper in his eyes. "But remember this: true mastery is not just in the power you command, but in the discipline to control it. Strength means nothing if it controls you."

Riven's eyes, hard and unflinching, met Maurs' with an intensity that showed no sign of slowing down. He had always been told he was strong, but now, more than ever, he understood the price of that strength. He had already lost so much—he had already been forced to make choices no boy his age should ever have to make. Power was all he had left, and he would not squander it.

"I know what I need," Riven said, his voice steady and cold, like the edge of a blade. "Teach me."

Maurs nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. "Very well. Your training has only just begun. We start now."

He led Riven deeper into the ruins, guiding him through crumbling hallways and wide, empty courtyards where the wind whispered like a ghost. Every step they took was a reminder of the lost civilization that had once thrived here, only to be forgotten by time. But now, it served a purpose—a sanctuary, a hiding place for Riven and Maurs to prepare for what was coming.

Maurs paused near a large open space, surrounded by ancient stone pillars. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the broken stone beneath them. It was here that Maurs decided Riven would learn his next lesson—the lesson of endurance, the lesson of pain.

"Your control will not come easily," Maurs said, his voice filled with an edge of finality. "To truly master your power, you must learn to face pain—not only physical pain, but the mental and emotional strain it will put on you. Power always comes with a cost, Riven. You need to be ready to pay it."

Without warning, Maurs reached out with his hand, and the ground beneath them seemed to tremble. Rocks began to shift, slowly at first, and then with greater intensity. Before Riven could react, the ground cracked open, and from beneath the surface, large boulders began to rise—moving toward him like living creatures, their jagged edges sharp and threatening.

Riven's eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate. His arms shot up, and he pushed outwards with his telekinetic power, sending the rocks flying back. But Maurs was relentless, his gaze cold as he watched Riven struggle against the oncoming tide of debris. The boulders crashed together, forming a wall that closed in on Riven, trapping him in a cage of stone.

"Focus, Riven," Maurs commanded, his voice unwavering. "Use the power you've honed. This is not a test of strength, but of control. Can you focus through the pain, through the pressure, and use it to your advantage?"

Riven's mind screamed as the walls of rock began to tighten around him. The boulders pressed in from all sides, the weight of them growing heavier with every passing second. His body trembled, his muscles burned as he fought to maintain control, but the pressure was suffocating.

His breathing grew erratic, and for a moment, doubt crept into his mind—was he truly strong enough? But then, a voice rang out from the depths of his soul, cold and commanding.

You are stronger than this.

Riven's focus snapped back into place. His power flared, and with a roar, he pushed outwards, throwing the boulders back with such force that they shattered against the distant walls of the ruined city. The ground beneath him trembled, but he stood tall, his eyes burning with the intensity of the storm inside him.

Maurs looked on with quiet approval, though his gaze was tinged with something darker. The boy was relentless, but would he be able to handle the consequences of that relentlessness?

"Well done," Maurs said simply, though there was a wariness in his tone. "But remember, Riven. This power you wield is not just something you can unleash on a whim. It's a reflection of you. Every moment of anger, fear, or doubt feeds it. The question is: can you control it, or will it control you?"

Riven nodded, his breath still coming in heavy pants. He had pushed himself further than he ever thought possible, but the question lingered. Could he truly control this power? Could he master it? Or would it break him?

"There's more to do," Riven said quietly, the hunger for power still burning in his chest.

Maurs' eyes softened slightly. "Indeed, but first, you must rest. Tomorrow, we continue. There is much you must learn."

The two of them returned to the heart of the ruins, where their camp awaited. Riven sat down heavily by the small fire Maurs had lit, his mind swirling with thoughts of the power he had tapped into. The flames flickered and danced in front of him, casting long shadows on the broken stone walls around them.

As the night deepened, Maurs sat across from him, quietly watching the young man. The boy had already become something dangerous—something powerful. But Maurs knew that strength alone would not be enough to survive the trials ahead.

Riven's journey was only just beginning, and as the fire crackled between them, Maurs silently wondered just how far the boy would go. Would he be the hero the world needed—or the monster that would destroy it?

The question remained unanswered, but in the quiet of the ruined city, it lingered in the air like a specter.

Tomorrow, they would train again. Tomorrow, Riven would learn more of the power he sought to control.