The amber core—a swirling sphere formed from streams of energy the color of honeyed sunlight—hovered before him. The streams twisted like cloth and vapor, dancing in translucent layers of motion and stillness. Around the core, five soul fragments orbited at a constant pace, each pulsing with a low, rhythmic thrum that Riven felt more in his chest than in his ears.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on every detail. Raising both hands, palms facing the core, he began to will the fragments to move—his thoughts reaching outward, carrying his intent like a whispered command. Last time, they had responded out of pure survival instinct. This time… he wasn't sure.
To his surprise, they obeyed without resistance.
The fragments slowed, then stopped mid-orbit, floating motionless for a heartbeat before drifting gently toward the top of the core. There, they hovered, rotating slowly, as if awaiting instruction.
Here goes nothing, Riven thought, picturing the fragments as dry wood set above a firepit, each piece a fuel meant to feed the blaze.
The fragments resonated, subtly vibrating in response to his thoughts.
Then, one by one, they descended into the core leading with the green ones.
As each fragment touched the surface, it began to dissolve, folding into the swirling amber like ice into hot liquid. When fully absorbed, the core pulsed, releasing a warm ripple of energy that tingled across Riven's skin. The glow of the core deepened, its brightness growing steadily—alive, charged with mana.
But was it the same mana as before?
Riven didn't know—and he wasn't about to take chances. He immediately directed the released energy out of the core, channeling it through his left arm and into the weapon clenched in his hand. The sword thrummed faintly as the amber mana poured into it, a hum that buzzed against his fingers and vibrated up his arm.
He willed the second fragment to dissolve, and another wave followed the first—absorbed into the blade.
One after another, in a steady rhythm, he fed the core, filtered the power, and channeled it into the sword. With each fragment, the weapon pulsed brighter, warmer, heavier. By the time he reached the fourth green soul fragment, he opened his eyes.
The blade in his hand had transformed.
No longer a dull, grey short sword, it had nearly doubled in length and tripled in width. It glowed with an otherworldly brilliance—a molten amber light that seemed to shift and ripple within it. The blade wasn't whole anymore. Instead, fractured pieces of metal floated in formation, suspended by the condensed mana around them, held together in the rough shape of a greatsword. It resembled a shard of an orange star, radiant and volatile.
The sheer volume of energy it contained was staggering.
Riven could feel the weight of it—not just in his arms, but pressing into his bones, crackling through his nerves. Power far beyond what he should be wielding.
And yet... he exhaled slowly, a sigh laced with frustration.
This won't be enough to take down the beast.
His breath caught briefly in his throat before he drew in another, deeper this time. He steadied himself, heart pounding, nerves singing with adrenaline and leftover energy. Then, without hesitation, he dove once more into his soul space.
The last soul fragment hovered above the core.
It pulsed with a gravity the others hadn't possessed—its presence heavier, denser. Not like the green ones, but something deeper, older. Its very essence exuded strength, and Riven could feel it—a pressure that threatened to crush his thoughts if he stared too long.
This one was different.
Doubt crept into his mind at the thought of dissolving this final fragment. He wasn't sure it was safe. Then again, nothing he'd done over the past few days had been safe. The thought made him chuckle, low and dry. I'm in too deep now, he thought grimly, and with a breath that barely felt like his own, he willed the fragment to dissolve like the rest.
The instant it touched the core, a violent burst of energy exploded outward—followed by a thunderclap that rolled through the soul space like a shockwave. His floating body shuddered under the force, the very air trembling around him. Then came the light.
Blinding, all-consuming, absolute.
It was as if the sun had detonated at the center of his being. His entire soul space lit up in a blaze of golden-white brilliance, stripping away shadow, thought, and time. The torrent of energy surged through him, overwhelming his senses and forcing him out of the soul space entirely.
His eyes snapped open, and pain hit like molten iron.
It was everywhere—rivers of heat flowing beneath his skin, magma coursing through every vein. He gasped, teeth clenched, chest heaving. At first he thought his body was burning from the inside out. But no... this wasn't fire. It was mana. Far too much of it. The sheer volume had overflowed, gushing out of his soul space and flooding into his physical form.
Riven gritted his teeth harder, jaw aching from the strain, and forced the energy to flow outward—guiding it down toward the weapon in his left hand. Mana surged through his arm like a raging current, building pressure with each passing moment. Every inch of his skin felt like it was being torn open by miniature explosions, popping and rippling beneath the surface.
If only I could use my right arm too… He tried—desperately—but the mana refused to move toward it. And even if it had, the arm was still useless, numb and unmoving.
The flood continued, relentless.
As more mana converged into the weapon, the pain crested into something almost unbearable. More than once, he wanted to let go—drop the sword, cancel the flow, anything to make it stop. But the mana had taken on a will of its own, dragging itself forward with grim purpose, committed to fulfilling his last command.
Seconds stretched. Each heartbeat a lifetime.
Then, finally, the intensity began to wane.
The mana dimmed, receding like a tide, and with it, the worst of the heat and pain. It left behind only a dull, throbbing ache and the sharp tang of copper in his mouth—he'd bitten his tongue without realizing it.
Riven blinked the tears from his eyes and tried to lift his left arm, struggling to bring the sword into view. His limbs felt sluggish, as if he were underwater—every movement met with invisible resistance.
Turning his head, he caught sight of the weapon—and his eyes widened.
Before him floated a construct of pure amber energy, pulsing with life. The sword had become something else entirely—an elongated, four-pointed star of radiant light, triple the size of the original blade. Its edges shimmered with molten gold, and its form rippled as if struggling to stay stable.
Arcs of red and amber lightning danced along its surface, crackling with barely contained energy. The blade wasn't just glowing—it was alive, volatile, and straining against the bonds that held it together.
Riven's head felt light, as though the world had pulled slightly away from him. A faint numbness crept into his left arm, the sensation fading bit by bit like the aftershock of a limb too long asleep.
He blinked rapidly, sharpening his focus through the lingering haze and called out, voice hoarse but firm. "I'm ready!"
His words echoed faintly across the battlefield, swallowed by the plumes of smoke and clouds of dust stirred up by the beast's relentless rampage and Roman's thunderous strikes. Somewhere beyond the chaos, he caught a muffled reply—Roman's voice carried faintly through the din.
"Wait for my signal!"
Riven shouted back his affirmation, then started moving forward, each step slow but deliberate, boots crunching against the broken terrain. Jagged stone spikes jutted from the ground around him like the shattered bones of the earth, and the thick smoke clung to his skin.
As he walked, he did a quick check on his mana reserves. His amber core was nearly drained—just a faint swirl of golden energy trembling at its center—but his regular core still held a solid fifteen percent.
Good enough.
He pressed forward, weaving between splintered pillars and chunks of debris, his heart pounding with anticipation. The battlefield unfolded in flashes through the smoke, a chaotic sprawl of ruin and fury. Then—through the haze—he spotted Roman.
The warrior stood tall, braced like a mountain in motion, his greatsword drawn back to his right. The blade pulsed with a deep crimson glow, humming with restrained power. Riven watched as it began to shift—lengthening, darkening—until it blazed a brilliant red. Arcs of lightning coiled around the weapon like chained serpents, flickering and snapping in the charged air.
The storm was building.
And Riven was right in its eye.