Morning arrived gently in Eryndel.
Sunlight slipped through the trees and painted the small wooden house in pale gold. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of warm bread and herbs into the crisp morning air.
Somewhere nearby—
someone laughed.
Inside the house, Riven was already awake.
He sat quietly on the floor beside the window, legs crossed, eyes half-closed.
Not meditating.
Not praying.
Listening.
The world spoke easily to him.
He heard his father humming badly in the kitchen.
He heard his mother moving softly through the next room, careful not to wake him even though he had been awake long before dawn.
Beyond the walls, he heard footsteps passing along the road. Birds settling in distant branches. The quiet groan of wood as the house shifted with the morning wind.
Riven slowly opened his eyes.
Too clear, he thought.
He stood and reached for the small wooden table nearby.
One hand lifted it effortlessly.
No strain.
No resistance.
He held it there silently for a moment before lowering it carefully back into place.
His gaze lingered on his palm.
He had known for years.
He was different.
Stronger than others.
Faster.
His body never truly tired.
Never truly hurt.
And whenever he focused deeply enough—
the world itself seemed slower.
Not because it obeyed him.
Because it couldn't keep up.
So he hid it.
He ran slower than he could.
Pretended to lose games he should've won easily.
And whenever anger rose inside him—sharp and dangerous—
he buried it before anyone could notice.
Riven never wanted attention.
He never wanted people asking questions.
Some instinct deep inside him whispered the same thing over and over.
Stay unseen.
Breakfast was loud.
Warm.
Ordinary.
His father complained about work while burning toast he swore wasn't burnt.
His mother scolded both of them for sleeping too late.
Riven laughed when expected.
Nodded when spoken to.
Smiled easily.
He loved them.
That truth anchored him more than anything else ever had.
This life—
small, fragile, ordinary—
was precious to him.
And somewhere deep inside—
he feared how easily it could disappear.
Far beyond stars.
Far beyond time.
Aarion remained.
The prison did not care how long it had endured.
Ten thousand years passed there without meaning.
Without mercy.
Aarion hung suspended at its center.
Chains pierced through his body endlessly.
Not iron.
Not steel.
Artifacts.
Relics forged for a single purpose:
To deny him freedom.
Blades locked his shoulders in place.
Spikes pinned his spine.
Needles pierced his eyes—not to blind him through darkness, but through suppression itself.
More than thirty divine relics had been driven into his body.
Each one had once been feared across creation.
Now they were nothing more than nails.
Blood flowed endlessly from his wounds before vanishing into the void beneath him.
Yet despite everything—
Aarion's breathing remained calm.
Controlled.
Unbroken.
Around him stood guards powerful enough to erase worlds casually.
Even they kept their distance.
Careful.
Watching.
Remembering what Aarion had been before this prison existed.
Then—
reality shifted.
No sound came.
No warning.
Three figures appeared instantly.
The guards bowed at once.
Aarion slowly lifted his head.
"…You returned."
Axiom stepped forward first.
"Ten thousand years," he said calmly.
"Has your answer changed?"
A faint smile touched Aarion's bloodied face.
"It never needed to."
Veyronis studied him silently.
"The method," he said.
"The path beyond all boundaries."
Aarion's smile faded slightly.
"It was never mine to give."
Nyxar moved next.
No emotion.
No hesitation.
A thin black needle formed in his hand before piercing directly through Aarion's eye.
Pain exploded through the prison.
The surrounding guards visibly trembled.
But Aarion never screamed.
"Speak," Nyxar said quietly.
Blood streamed down Aarion's face.
"…No."
Silence followed.
Then—
the prison trembled.
A low resonance spread outward suddenly.
The artifacts embedded throughout Aarion's body began vibrating violently.
Cracks spread across the chains.
Light leaked through the fractures.
The guards stepped backward in panic.
Veyronis narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…That resonance."
His voice lowered.
"It does not belong to him."
Then—
the chains shattered.
The prison exploded into chaos.
Artifacts broke apart one after another as seals collapsed across entire layers of reality.
Several guards screamed before their forms unraveled completely under the backlash.
Aarion's body remained suspended for only a moment longer.
Then it dissolved.
What remained—
was his soul.
Vast.
Sharp.
Unbound.
And then—
he vanished.
Silence returned to the ruins.
Broken relics drifted endlessly through the void like forgotten weapons from a dead age.
Nyxar clenched his fist.
Veyronis looked toward the empty prison slowly.
"That was his brother's technique."
Axiom remained silent.
"We captured him before," Veyronis continued quietly, "only because he protected the child."
Nyxar's gaze darkened.
"Without that burden…"
Even he hesitated slightly.
"…one of us may have fallen."
A long silence followed.
Then Axiom turned away.
"He will be difficult to find now."
Veyronis closed his eyes briefly.
"One of his names was never meaningless."
Nyxar spoke softly.
"…Endwalker."
And somewhere far away—
something ancient began moving once more.
Back on Eryndel—
Riven stood outside his home beneath the evening sky.
The wind moved gently through the trees.
Everything looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
A strange unease settled quietly inside his chest.
Like the echo of distant footsteps approaching from somewhere impossibly far away.
Riven frowned slightly.
Then shook the feeling off and stepped back inside.
The door closed softly behind him.
And far beyond the stars—
something had finally awakened.
END