The Veil was broken.

But the air felt just as heavy, as if the battle was far from over. Riven’s chest heaved as he stood amidst the ruins of the First Veil. The shattered crystal lay in fragments around them, each piece a remnant of the ancient power they had just destroyed. The chamber was silent now, but the weight of what they had faced still pressed down on him.

He wasn’t sure what had changed—the Veil had been shattered, but there was still a lingering sense of dread in the air. Like a threat that had been kept at bay, just waiting to return.

Lyra floated beside him, her glow dim in the aftermath of their fight. Her eyes were distant, but there was a flicker of concern in her gaze as she looked at him.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice a little too quiet, like she was testing the waters.

Riven exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright. “Does it look like I’m okay? We’ve just shattered a prison of fucking nightmares, and you’re asking if I’m okay?” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but the frustration that had been building inside him had nowhere else to go.

Lyra winced but didn’t back away. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Riven muttered, “but I don’t feel fucking alive. I feel like shit. Like we’ve been trudging through this goddamn battle for so long, and we still don’t have answers. There’s still more of this shit out there.”

He looked at the destroyed remnants of the Veil and clenched his fists. “We can’t just keep breaking shit apart, Lyra. What’s the point of fighting if we don’t even know what we’re trying to fucking save?”

Lyra’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer, her voice quiet but steady. “We’re saving the world, Riven. We’ve always known the stakes.”

Riven turned away sharply, pacing a few steps. “Yeah, but at what cost? How many worlds will we have to burn before this is over? I’m not gonna lie, I don’t have the fucking answers. I don’t even know if we can stop it.”

Lyra was quiet for a moment, before she finally spoke again, her voice almost too soft to hear over the dying echoes of the Veil’s power. “Do you think I have the answers, Riven? Do you think I know how to fix this? I don’t. But I’m here. I’m with you.”

Her words were a reminder of why they kept fighting—because, no matter how dark the world had become, they still had each other. And that had to mean something.

“Maybe it’s not about knowing the answers,” she continued. “Maybe it’s about doing what we can with the shit we’ve been handed.”

Riven stopped pacing, his eyes locking with hers. “And what if what we’ve been handed is a lie? What if everything we’ve been fighting for is some fucked-up illusion?”

Lyra’s eyes flared with emotion, her soft demeanor hardening. “Then we fucking make it real, Riven. You know why I’m here? Because I believe in you. I believe in us. We fight because we don’t have a choice. Because no one else will. And if we don’t fucking do this, who will?”

Riven’s heart pounded in his chest, but the anger that had built up inside him started to dissipate. Lyra’s words hit harder than he expected. She wasn’t just some naive ally tagging along—she was the only person who understood him. Who understood this fight.

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah... you’re right. I just... I’m tired of running, Lyra. I’m tired of fighting and losing.”

“We don’t have to lose,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “Not as long as we’re together.”

Riven gave a tight nod. He still felt the weight of doubt gnawing at him, but her words were a reminder that even in the darkest moments, they could face whatever came next. Together.

And as the last remnants of the First Veil faded into the ether, Riven couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of hope again. It was faint, fragile, but it was there.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

They spent the next few hours in silence, preparing themselves for what lay ahead. The shattered crystal had yielded no new answers, and the Veil’s destruction had only left more questions. But there was no time for answers right now.

As the darkness began to pull back and the first light of dawn filtered into the cavern, Lyra’s voice broke through the silence.

“We need to move,” she said, her tone firm. “The realms won’t wait for us to figure it out. If we stay here any longer, we risk the Veil’s power rising again.”

Riven nodded, wiping a hand over his face. “Right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They turned toward the passage that would lead them back to the surface, the weight of their journey still heavy on their shoulders. As they walked, the air seemed to clear, the oppressive weight lifting with every step they took.

But just as they reached the exit, a figure stepped into their path—tall, cloaked, with an air of malevolence. The presence was unmistakable. The figure’s eyes glowed with a green light, mirroring the remnants of the Veil’s power.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“You think you’ve won?” the figure’s voice was cold, its tone dripping with venom. “The Veil is not so easily broken.”

Riven gritted his teeth, his sword already in hand. “What the hell do you want?”

The figure smiled darkly. “You have awakened me, Custodian. But now, you will face what you’ve unleashed.”

Without hesitation, Riven lunged forward, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through him. The fight was far from over. And this time, there would be no holding back.

Riven’s sword gleamed in the faint light as he lunged toward the figure, the hiss of the blade cutting through the air. Every muscle in his body screamed for action, the adrenaline fueling his movements. He could feel the weight of the Veil’s power still hanging in the air, suffocating him. The figure before him, cloaked in shadows, was the embodiment of everything they had fought to destroy—the last vestiges of the Veil’s control.

But this time, Riven wasn’t afraid. Not like before.

The figure’s smile only widened as it effortlessly dodged Riven’s strike, its form flickering like smoke in the wind. “Is that all, Custodian?” the figure taunted, its voice cold and mocking. “You think you can stop me with mere steel?”

Riven gritted his teeth, twisting his sword in a fluid motion to prepare for the next strike. “I’m done with the fucking games.”

The figure’s laugh rang out, cruel and detached. “You think you have any control?”

Riven’s mind raced, the figure’s words like an echo, like a riddle meant to unravel him. The Veil was never just a force he could fight. It was part of him, a reflection of every fear, every regret that had taken root in his soul.

But no more.

With a primal yell, Riven swung his sword again, this time not aiming to strike, but to break the air around him, to force the Veil to feel his defiance. The figure recoiled, its form flickering with uncertainty for the first time.

“You’ve made a mistake, bastard,” Riven snarled, his voice low, raw. The blood was rushing in his ears now, his every breath matching the fury he felt within. “You don’t get to control me anymore. You don’t get to fucking own me.”

The figure faltered for a brief second, and Riven seized the opportunity. He advanced, every movement born from the same fire that had carried him this far. He wasn't just fighting an enemy; he was fighting his own darkness, his own failure. The blade cut through the air with precision, finally grazing the figure’s form.

For a moment, it was as if the world stopped—the fight, the Veil, the terror—everything seemed to hold its breath.

Then the figure’s green eyes burned with even greater intensity. “So it’s come to this, then.” The figure’s smile twisted into something far darker, more sinister. “If you wish to fight your own demons, Custodian, then know this—” it raised its arms, and the room around them trembled, “you’ll have to face them head-on.”

The ground beneath Riven cracked, the earth splitting open like the gaping maw of a beast. Black tendrils of the Veil shot out from the cracks, writhing and twisting around Riven’s legs, pulling him down. His heart pounded, but he didn’t hesitate. This was it—the final confrontation with the darkness that had haunted him for so long.

“Fuck!” Riven cursed as the tendrils tightened, pulling at his limbs. His sword was knocked from his grip, and the weight of the Veil pressed down on him, threatening to crush him under its suffocating force. He could feel the weight of his failures—the worlds he hadn’t saved, the people he hadn’t protected—each regret pressing against his chest, suffocating him.

But through the haze of despair, there was one thing that remained clear—he wasn’t alone.

Lyra’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and full of fire. “Riven! Don’t you dare let it win!”

He fought to keep his focus, his body straining against the dark tendrils. The figures of his past—the faces of the lost—emerged from the blackness around him, their eyes accusing, their voices echoing with every failure he’d ever felt.

“You should have saved us,” one whispered, its voice like broken glass. “You could have done more.”

“You abandoned us!” another screamed, its voice sharp and bitter.

“No,” Riven whispered through gritted teeth. “I didn’t. I tried. But I’m not the same man I was.”

The voices grew louder, more insistent, but Riven shut them out. He had tried. He had fought. And this time, he wasn’t going to run. Not from the Veil, not from himself.

He tore his arm free from the tendrils, his eyes burning with renewed fire. “Enough!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ve faced my demons! I’ve carried this fucking weight for too long, and I’m done. I’m done letting it control me!”

With that, he reached into the darkness, pulling the sword from the ground with sheer willpower. The light around him flared brighter than ever, and as he swung the blade, the darkness shattered.

The tendrils recoiled as if burned, the figure screaming in rage as Riven’s sword cut through the very fabric of the Veil. The light surged, breaking the bonds of fear and doubt that had held him captive for so long. The air cleared, the oppressive weight lifting as the Veil dissolved into nothingness.

But as the last remnants of the shadow vanished, the figure’s voice lingered in his mind, a final whisper.

“You’ve only scratched the surface, Custodian. The real fight is within you.”

Riven stood, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. He wasn’t sure if he’d won. He wasn’t sure what had happened. But one thing was clear—he was done running from himself.

Lyra’s form flickered beside him, and he turned to her, his face a mix of exhaustion and determination. “It’s not over, is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head, her expression solemn. “No. But we’re closer now than we’ve ever been.”

Riven nodded, looking back at the remnants of the Veil. “Then we move forward.”

They turned, walking out of the now-deserted cavern. The journey wasn’t over, and neither was the fight. But for the first time, Riven felt like he was finally fighting on his own terms—not against an external enemy, but against the darkness inside him.