The climb toward the jagged peaks of the Crimson Divide was grueling. The rocky path twisted and narrowed, forcing Riven to navigate carefully over unstable terrain. Each step sent loose stones tumbling into the abyss below, their faint echoes swallowed by the oppressive silence. The shard in his pack pulsed faintly, its glow a constant reminder of the stakes that lay ahead.
Lyra floated beside him, her spectral form flickering as she scanned the cliffs. “That echo wasn’t lying,” she said, her voice low. “This path wasn’t made for travelers. It’s a trial.”
Riven adjusted his grip on his sword, the weight of the weapon steadying him. “A trial for what?” he asked, his tone wary.
Lyra hesitated, her glow dimming. “To prove your resolve,” she said finally. “The people of this realm didn’t just fight the Veil. They fought themselves—every doubt, every fear, every piece of their past that the Veil tried to twist. If you want to reach the peak, you’ll have to do the same.”
Riven glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Lyra admitted. “But the further we go, the stronger it gets. This place isn’t just a battlefield—it’s a mirror. And it’s going to show you things you’re not ready to see.”
The air grew colder as they ascended, the wind biting against Riven’s exposed skin. The path narrowed further, forcing him to cling to the jagged rocks for balance. As he climbed, faint whispers began to drift through the air, so quiet at first that he thought he was imagining them.
But the voices grew louder with every step, each one sharp and cutting. They weren’t just voices—they were familiar.
“You can’t save them, Riven.”
“You’re a failure.”
“How many more will die because of you?”
Riven froze, his chest tightening as the whispers pressed against his mind. The Void Corruption in his veins flared in response, its dark energy feeding on his growing unease. He clenched his jaw, shoving the voices aside as he forced himself to keep moving.
“Ignore it,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s not real.”
“It’s not that simple,” Lyra said, her voice soft but urgent. “This place isn’t like the others, Riven. The Veil’s influence is weaker here, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. These whispers—they’re pulling from your memories, your doubts. You can’t fight them with your sword.”
Riven shot her a sharp look. “Then how do I fight them?”
Lyra didn’t answer immediately, her spectral form flickering. “You don’t,” she said finally. “You face them.”
They reached a plateau where the path widened, giving Riven a brief moment to catch his breath. The wind died down, the air heavy with a stillness that felt unnatural. As he moved forward, the landscape around him began to shift. The jagged rocks blurred and twisted, replaced by painfully familiar shapes.
A battlefield stretched out before him, shrouded in smoke and ash. The bodies of fallen soldiers littered the ground, their armor scorched and broken. In the distance, a lone figure stood amidst the wreckage, his sword planted in the earth.
Riven’s breath caught in his throat. He recognized this place. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t real.”
“It’s as real as you let it be,” Lyra said, her voice tinged with sadness. “This is your memory, Riven. The Veil is showing you what it wants you to see.”
The figure in the distance turned, and Riven’s stomach twisted. It was himself—but not the man he was now. This Riven was younger, his armor unblemished and his eyes filled with a fire that had long since burned out. “You failed them,” the younger Riven said, his voice cold and accusing. “You promised to protect them, and look what happened.”
Riven’s hands tightened into fists. “I did everything I could.”
The younger Riven’s expression darkened. “And it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t save them then, and you won’t save anyone now. You’re just pretending to be something you’re not—a hero.”
“Riven, don’t listen to it,” Lyra said urgently. “It’s not you. It’s the Veil trying to tear you apart.”
“I know,” Riven said through gritted teeth, his gaze locked on the vision of his younger self. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
The younger Riven stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “You don’t belong here,” he said, his tone sharp. “You’re just another broken piece of the Archive, clinging to a fight you’ve already lost.”
Riven drew his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. “If I’ve already lost, then why are you so afraid?” he countered, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest.
The vision smirked, a cruel glint in its eyes. “I’m not afraid. I’m just here to remind you of what you are. Weak. Broken. Corrupted.”
The words hit like a physical blow, the weight of them pressing against Riven’s mind. The Void Corruption flared again, its whispers rising in unison with the vision’s taunts. He’s right. You can’t win. Let us take over.
Riven closed his eyes, his grip on his sword tightening as he fought to steady himself. The doubts, the voices, the corruption—they were all pushing him toward the edge, daring him to give in.
But then he heard another voice—faint, but unmistakable. “You’re stronger than this, Riven. You’ve faced worse, and you’ve survived. Don’t let them win.”
It was Lyra. Her presence steadied him, her words cutting through the storm like a beacon of light. Riven opened his eyes, his gaze hardening as he met the vision’s stare.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice calm and cold. “I’m broken. But broken doesn’t mean finished.”
With a swift motion, Riven raised his sword and drove it forward. The blade cut through the vision, shattering it into a cascade of light and shadow. The battlefield dissolved, replaced once more by the jagged cliffs of the Crimson Divide.
Lyra floated to his side, her glow warm and steady. “You did it,” she said softly.
Riven exhaled heavily, lowering his sword. “One step at a time,” he muttered. “Let’s keep moving.”
The air grew heavier as they climbed, the jagged path narrowing with each step. The whispers from earlier had faded, but an eerie stillness had taken their place. Riven could feel it pressing against him, like an unseen force waiting for its chance to strike. The shard in his pack pulsed faintly, its glow dim yet steady, as though it were keeping time with his heartbeat.
Lyra floated silently beside him, her spectral glow subdued. She watched him carefully, her expression unreadable, but there was a tension in her movements that hadn’t been there before. Finally, she broke the silence. “How are you holding up?”
Riven didn’t answer right away. He focused on the uneven terrain ahead, his boots crunching against loose stones. “I’m fine,” he said eventually, though his voice lacked conviction.
Lyra frowned, her glow dimming. “You don’t have to lie to me, Riven. I saw what that vision did to you. What it’s still doing to you.”
He stopped walking, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “What do you want me to say, Lyra? That I’m falling apart? That every step feels like it’s dragging me closer to the edge?” He turned to face her, his gaze hard. “You already know that. So why bother asking?”
Lyra didn’t flinch, her voice steady as she replied. “Because saying it out loud makes it real. And if it’s real, we can deal with it. Together.”
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Riven exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t need to deal with it. I need to keep moving. The Veil’s not going to wait for me to figure out my issues.”
“And what happens when you can’t move anymore?” Lyra countered, her tone sharper now. “What happens when the Void takes over because you’re too busy pretending you’re fine?”
Her words hit harder than Riven wanted to admit. He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t have the luxury of breaking down, Lyra. Not now.”
“No,” Lyra said quietly. “But you have the choice to let me help you. So let me.”
Riven didn’t respond, his shoulders stiff as he turned and continued up the path. Lyra watched him for a moment before following, her glow flickering like a fading ember.
They reached another plateau, the path widening into a flat expanse surrounded by jagged cliffs. The air here was colder, biting against Riven’s skin as a faint mist swirled around them. He slowed his steps, his instincts prickling with unease.
Lyra hovered beside him, her voice low. “There’s something here. Can you feel it?”
Riven nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “It’s like the air’s... watching us,” he muttered, scanning the mist for movement.
As they stepped further into the plateau, the mist thickened, curling around their legs like creeping fingers. The ground beneath them seemed to shift, the cracks in the stone glowing faintly with a pale blue light. And then, without warning, the world around them changed.
The jagged cliffs dissolved, replaced by a forest bathed in twilight. The trees were tall and ancient, their branches stretching overhead to form a canopy that blocked out the sky. Riven froze, his heart pounding as he recognized the place.
“No,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not here.”
Lyra looked around, her expression concerned. “Where are we, Riven?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the clearing ahead, where the trees gave way to a small, sunlit grove. At the center of the grove stood a house—simple and weathered, its wooden walls covered in ivy. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling lazily into the air.
Lyra’s glow dimmed as she studied him. “This is a memory, isn’t it?”
Riven nodded slowly, his hands clenching into fists. “It’s not just a memory. It’s my home.”
The door to the house creaked open, and a figure stepped into the clearing. She was young, her auburn hair catching the faint sunlight as she moved. Her smile was warm, her eyes bright, and for a moment, Riven forgot how to breathe.
“Anna,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Lyra’s gaze darted between Riven and the woman, her expression filled with unease. “Who is she?”
“My sister,” Riven said, his tone hollow. “She died... years ago. The Veil took her.”
Anna turned, her gaze locking onto Riven. Her smile widened as she stepped forward, her voice filled with joy. “Riven! You’re home!”
Riven took a step back, his chest tightening. “This isn’t real,” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s the Veil. It’s trying to mess with me.”
“It’s not just the Veil,” Lyra said gently. “This is your memory, Riven. Your guilt.”
Anna stopped in front of him, her smile fading as she reached out to touch his arm. Her hand passed through him like mist, her form flickering. “Why didn’t you save me?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with pain. “You were supposed to protect me, Riven.”
“I tried,” Riven said, his voice rising. “You think I didn’t try? I fought for you, Anna. I fought for all of us!”
Anna’s gaze darkened, her form shifting. Her face became pale, her eyes hollow as the light drained from her features. “And you failed,” she said, her voice echoing with accusation. “You failed me. Just like you’ll fail everyone else.”
Riven’s breath came in ragged gasps, his grip on his sword faltering as the vision pressed against him. The Void Corruption in his veins pulsed violently, its whispers merging with Anna’s voice.
She’s right. You can’t save them. You couldn’t save her.
“Riven!” Lyra’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and commanding. “This isn’t real. You have to break it!”
He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling as he forced himself to raise his sword. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
With a cry of defiance, he swung the blade. The edge cut through Anna’s form, shattering the illusion into a cascade of light and shadow. The grove dissolved, the forest fading back into the jagged cliffs of the Crimson Divide.
Riven dropped to his knees, his chest heaving as he stared at the ground. Lyra hovered beside him, her glow soft and steady.
“You did it,” she said quietly. “You faced it.”
Riven didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The weight of the memory lingered, pressing against him like an open wound.
The silence after the vision shattered was almost deafening. Riven remained on his knees, his breathing ragged, his sword planted in the ground like an anchor. The jagged cliffs of the Crimson Divide stretched around him, their harsh lines a stark contrast to the fragile memory he had just destroyed.
Lyra hovered close, her glow steady but subdued. She didn’t speak at first, watching him carefully as he stared at the ground. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was soft. “Riven...”
“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice raw and broken. He looked up at her, his expression haunted. “Every step we take, every shard we recover—it just brings it all back. Every failure. Every person I couldn’t save. How am I supposed to fight the Veil when I’m barely holding myself together?”
Lyra’s gaze softened, her spectral form flickering faintly. “Because you’re the only one who can, Riven. And because the people who didn’t make it—the ones you couldn’t save—they’re counting on you.”
Riven’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “And what if I fail again? What if we get to the end of all this, and it still isn’t enough?”
Lyra floated closer, her glow brightening slightly. “Then you fight until the very last moment. Because that’s what they would have done.” She paused, her voice growing quieter. “That’s what Anna would have done.”
The mention of his sister’s name hit like a blow, but it didn’t send him reeling this time. Instead, it steadied him, grounding him in a way he didn’t fully understand. He took a deep breath, his grip on his sword relaxing as he pushed himself to his feet.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice firmer now. “The Veil’s counting on me to give up. It’s trying to use my memories, my guilt, to break me. But if I let it win, then everything we’ve done will mean nothing.”
Lyra nodded, her glow warm. “Exactly. And you’re not in this alone, Riven. No matter how heavy the burden feels, we carry it together.”
Riven adjusted his pack, the shard within it pulsing faintly. Its light was steady now, no longer chaotic or unstable, as though the fragment itself had settled after his confrontation with the vision. He glanced at the jagged peaks ahead, their sharp edges cutting against the dull gray sky.
“The echo said the peaks would lead us to what we’re looking for,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “If the shard was here, what’s waiting for us up there?”
Lyra’s expression turned serious, her spectral glow dimming. “It could be another piece of the Veil, or something left behind by the people who fought it. Either way, it’s important. The shard’s reacting to it, and that means it’s connected to the Veil’s power.”
Riven nodded, gripping his sword tightly as he began moving again. The climb ahead looked more treacherous than anything they’d faced so far, but he felt steadier now—his steps firmer, his resolve renewed.
“Whatever’s up there,” he said, his voice resolute, “we’ll face it. And we’ll take another piece of the Veil apart.”
The climb was slow and grueling, the air growing thinner as they ascended. The jagged cliffs seemed to close in around them, the path narrowing until there was barely enough room to place a foot. The wind howled, carrying with it faint whispers that prickled at the edges of Riven’s consciousness.
“The Veil’s presence is stronger here,” Lyra said, her voice tense. “We’re getting close to something—it’s hard to tell if that’s a good thing or not.”
Riven exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the cold air. “It’s never a good thing,” he muttered. “But it’s what we’re here for.”
As they reached a small plateau, the shard in Riven’s pack pulsed brightly, its light cutting through the swirling mist around them. He paused, pulling the shard free and holding it up. The light intensified, casting strange, shifting patterns across the rocks.
“It’s reacting to something,” Lyra said, her glow brightening. “There’s something ahead—something powerful.”
Riven’s grip on the shard tightened, his gaze fixed on the path beyond the plateau. The jagged cliffs rose into the mist, their peaks obscured, but a faint, flickering glow could be seen in the distance.
“That’s our destination,” he said, slipping the shard back into his pack. “Let’s hope whatever’s waiting for us doesn’t try to kill us on sight.”
Lyra managed a faint smile. “When has it ever been that easy?”
They pressed on, the mist thickening as they climbed higher. The glow in the distance grew brighter, its light steady and unyielding. Riven’s steps were slow but deliberate, his focus unwavering despite the exhaustion gnawing at him.
As they reached another narrow ledge, Lyra floated beside him, her expression thoughtful. “You’re different,” she said quietly.
Riven glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“After that vision... you’re steadier,” Lyra said. “The Veil tried to break you, and it didn’t. That’s important, Riven. It means you’re stronger than you think.”
He let her words sink in, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low. “But strength doesn’t matter if we don’t finish this.”
Lyra nodded, her glow steady. “And we will. One step at a time.”
They climbed in silence after that, the weight of their mission pressing heavily on them both. The glow ahead grew stronger, its light piercing through the mist like a beacon. Whatever waited for them at the summit, Riven knew one thing for certain: there was no turning back.