The aftermath of the Spire’s collapse left Riven disoriented. He awoke surrounded by shards of glass, each reflecting fragments of his face—some smiling, others frowning, but none mirroring his emotions. His pulse raced as the dim light of the realm flickered across the broken shards. Lyra hovered nearby, her form dimmer than before, almost translucent.

“You pushed yourself too far,” Lyra’s voice was sharp, filled with concern. “The Void Corruption is spreading.”

Ignoring her, Riven struggled to his feet, the veins on his arm throbbing as a stark reminder of the cost he’d paid. His breathing was uneven, and his grip faltered as he leaned on his sword for support. Around him, the jagged remains of the Spire littered the barren ground, their sharp edges glowing faintly with residual energy.

“It’s not over. The Spire was just one piece,” Riven muttered, his voice heavy with resolve but laced with fatigue.

Lyra hesitated before nodding. “The Archive’s heartbeat grows weaker. More realms are fading. If we don’t move quickly...” She trailed off, her spectral gaze fixed on the horizon.

The weight of her words hung in the air like an iron shackle, but before Riven could respond, a shadowy figure materialized from the shards—its cloak black as void, and its presence chilling the air. The figure seemed to ripple, its form shifting like smoke caught in a breeze.

“You are not alone in your mission, Custodian,” it rasped, its voice like a hiss from the depths of darkness. “But allies and enemies wear the same mask.”

Riven’s hand went to his sword, his instincts screaming danger. The figure’s form flickered, and for a moment, Riven thought he saw his own reflection within the cloak’s shifting shadows. But before he could react, the figure vanished, leaving behind a single glowing shard that hovered in midair.

“It’s a waypoint,” Lyra said warily, floating closer to examine it. Her form flickered, and a faint tremor ran through her voice. “A portal to the next fractured realm.”

Riven reached for the shard, its surface cold to the touch. As his fingers brushed against it, faint whispers filled the air—pleading voices, desperate for salvation. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. “Let’s go.”

In a flash, the shard activated, enveloping them in a burst of blinding light. When the glow receded, Riven found himself standing in a barren wasteland of ash and bone. The air was thick with a metallic tang, and the sky above was an unbroken sheet of gray. Jagged peaks rose in the distance, their silhouettes stark against the horizon, but it was the structure at their center that caught Riven’s attention—a towering temple carved from obsidian, its surface gleaming like polished glass.

A glowing screen appeared before him:

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[Realm: The Sands of Eternal War]

[Quest: End the Cycle of Bloodshed.]

Riven took a deep breath, the weight of the quest settling heavily on his shoulders. Around him, the wasteland stretched endlessly, a desolate expanse marked by the remnants of countless battles. Broken swords and shattered shields jutted from the ground like gravestones, and the ash underfoot felt unnervingly soft, as though it had been ground from bone.

“This place is soaked in violence,” Lyra murmured, her form hovering just above the ground. Her gaze swept across the battlefield, her expression troubled. “I can feel it.”

Riven nodded grimly, the weight of countless deaths pressing on him. The silence of the realm was oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of the wind whispering through the wreckage. As they moved toward the temple, Riven’s unease grew. The air seemed to thicken, each step requiring more effort than the last.

“Riven,” Lyra said suddenly, her voice low. She pointed ahead, and Riven followed her gaze to a group of figures moving among the ruins. They were warriors clad in mismatched armor, their faces hidden behind crude masks. Their movements were mechanical, almost lifeless, as if driven by some unseen force.

“They’re trapped,” Lyra said softly. “Fighting a war that never ends.”

Riven tightened his grip on his sword. “Let’s free them.”

As he stepped forward, one of the warriors turned to face him, its eyes glowing faintly beneath its mask. A low growl escaped its lips, and with unnatural speed, it charged. Riven raised his blade just in time to block the strike, the force of it sending him staggering back.

[Enemy Encounter: Bloodbound Warrior]

The battle was brutal. The warrior’s strikes were relentless, its blade moving with an unnatural rhythm that seemed almost impossible to predict. Riven countered as best he could, his movements sharp with practiced precision. Sweat dripped down his face as the clash of steel echoed across the wasteland.

Finally, he saw an opening and struck, his blade piercing the warrior’s chest. Instead of collapsing, the figure dissolved into ash, its mask falling to the ground with a hollow clatter. Riven bent to pick it up, studying the strange symbols etched into its surface. The runes glowed faintly, pulsing with an eerie light.

“These might be the key to ending this,” he said, his voice thoughtful. Around him, the air seemed to shift, as though the realm itself had taken notice of his actions.

“There will be more,” Lyra warned, her gaze fixed on the distant temple. “This war isn’t bound to just one soldier.”

They continued their journey, the temple growing larger with each step. As they approached its entrance, Riven felt the familiar weight of the Archive’s presence pressing against his mind. The whispers returned, louder and more insistent, their voices overlapping in a chaotic cacophony.

The interior of the temple was a labyrinth of shadow and stone, its walls adorned with carvings that depicted endless battles. In the center of the chamber stood an altar, surrounded by more masked warriors. Unlike the one outside, these figures did not move. They stood like sentinels, their masks glowing brighter as Riven drew near.

“You must stop this cycle,” a voice echoed, low and mournful.

Riven spun, his blade raised. A figure emerged from the shadows, draped in tattered robes similar to the one he had seen earlier. Its face was obscured, but its presence was overwhelming.

“Who are you?” Riven demanded.

“A witness,” the figure replied. “One who has seen this realm fall again and again. The only way to end it is to destroy the altar.”

Lyra narrowed her eyes. “And why should we trust you?”

The figure did not answer. Instead, it raised a hand, and the sentinels sprang to life. Their weapons gleamed in the dim light, and their hollow eyes fixed on Riven.

[Objective Updated: Survive the Trial of Blades.]