Riven stood alone in the quiet facility room, freshly showered and dressed in the plain recovery clothes Nova Arcanum provided. The last remnants of soreness lingered in his limbs, but it was faint now—fading, like the dungeon itself. What wasn't fading was the silence that followed.
No one had questioned him.
No one had tried to scan Nullshift. No one from the internal relic department had even approached. No guild officers, no curious scholars. Not even a passing glance from the system engineers on staff.
He wasn't naive. Nova Arcanum didn't overlook things. A reclassified A-ranked dungeon with a collapsed core and an unknown wielder walking out alive? That should've triggered half a dozen red flags.
And yet—nothing.
Only Lyra.
He was beginning to realize just how much her silence could shape the noise around him.
"No formal reports were filed. No relic scans were requested. Lyra's name carried enough weight to silence even the most curious researchers. And she made sure it stayed that way."
The door opened.
Speak of the frost queen herself.
Lyra stepped in, arms crossed, eyes flicking over him like she was assessing a half-finished project. "Still wearing that shapeless hospital fabric?"
Riven raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't exactly given options."
She tilted her head, unimpressed. "Since you clearly have no sense of fashion, I'm taking matters into my own hands."
He stared. "You're seriously going to dress me?"
"I'm going to make sure you don't look like a walking recovery ward," she replied coolly. "Follow me."
He sighed and followed her through a side corridor, deeper into the facility. The hum of mana conduits grew stronger here, more precise—older tech, layered with arcane control systems. The relic vault wasn't far. Compact, but fortified, with crystalline locks and mana-sealed drawers.
Lyra walked ahead with calm authority, placing her hand on a biometric panel. A soft pulse sounded as the vault accepted her.
"You get used to the security measures," she said absently.
Riven muttered, "I wouldn't know. I'm usually kept away from things that hum like they could explode."
She ignored that.
Lyra retrieved a sleek, dark-gray case from one of the vault's embedded drawers and set it on the table between them. The case unlatched with a hiss, revealing a compact set of armor—not bulky, not obvious. Smooth plates merged with woven fiber, etched faintly with embedded runes.
"This," she said, "is an adaptive relic. Not just armor. Think of it like programmable clothing. It bonds to your mana signature and responds to your intent."
Riven leaned over the case. Inside was a black, form-fitting suit that shimmered subtly with embedded energy threads. Lightweight, Durable, Way too stylish for someone like him.
"...You want me to wear this?"
"Not just wear it," she replied. "Sync with it. It shifts between battle form and civilian clothing. You'll look like you belong—whether you're in a suit, a coat, or a hoodie. Seamless transitions,Silent activation,No system trace."
He raised a brow. "Relic-grade fashion?"
Lyra smirked. "Let's just say I got tired of seeing you look like a half-burned bounty poster."
She motioned toward a private changing booth behind them. "And no, I won't peek."
He paused halfway toward it. "...Why are you helping me so much, anyway?"
That stopped her.
She didn't answer right away. For a second, her expression wavered—eyes distant.
Then she said, quietly, "Let's call it… an investment."
But her heart whispered something else entirely. And for just a moment, Riven caught a glimpse of something she didn't let anyone see.
He said nothing, and stepped into the booth.
—
A few minutes later, he emerged. The armor had already shifted into a sleek urban jacket and fitted black pants, lined subtly with tactical reinforcement. He looked... sharp. Not just functional, but ready. And for once—presentable.
Lyra looked him over. Nodded once. "Better. Still broody, but at least you don't look homeless."
Riven glanced down at himself. The material moved like liquid with his body—almost like Nullshift, but lighter, smoother. "It's... weird. Feels like it's part of me already."
"It will be, soon. It's not just armor—it learns. The more you move in it, the better it adapts."
He moved his wrist slightly and watched the sleeve shift into a more casual fold.
"Still weird," he muttered.
"You'll live," Lyra said. Then she added, more serious, "One more thing. Nova Arcanum didn't interfere because I didn't let them. They noticed something was off—wanted to investigate the reclassification. Wanted to scan you. Wanted to study Nullshift."
Riven frowned. "So why didn't they?"
She turned away. "Because I personally told them not to."
"That easy?"
She gave him a sharp look. "It's not about ease. It's about authority. And I don't use mine lightly."
He was silent for a moment. "You could've let them. Let them dissect me. Figure out what Nullshift is. But you didn't."
"I don't throw people to the wolves," she said, her voice softer now. "Especially not ones I... believe in."
He turned slightly, meeting her eyes. "So now what?"
"Now," she said, brushing past him toward the exit, "you wear that armor. You blend in. And you keep learning."
He followed her down the hall.
Behind them, in the stillness of the vault, a single item remained untouched—resting in a sealed container on the upper shelf.
A silver-edged datachip.
Stamped with Nova Arcanum's seal.
[CONFIDENTIAL – DUNGEON 42-C CORE DATA]
Unopened.
For now.
End of chapter.