Morning unfurled across the Shadow Kingdom in slow, silken ribbons of silver, casting soft light across the high-vaulted chamber where Riven stood. The pale sky stretched wide beyond the arched windows of his quarters, streaked with early clouds that glowed like forged steel. The wind outside murmured against the glass, distant and calm, for once without urgency.
He stood still, silent, watching as dawn illuminated the floating colossus that hovered far above the southern ridge—the Academy. A monolith of blackstone and runes, suspended in the sky like the blade of a god held forever in poise. It cast its shadow over the land below, vast and deliberate, a mark not just of power—but of permanence.
Riven's shoulders rose and fell as he let out a long, slow breath. The stiffness in his spine, the subtle ache in his hands—these were the remnants of sleepless months. Endless planning. Relentless discipline. The weight of responsibility borne across every waking hour.
