KRAVEN_x

In a world where the strong reign and the weak are left behind, Riven is nothing more than an afterthought—a boy overshadowed by his powerful allies, mocked for his insignificance. Yet, beneath his seemingly ordinary exterior lies a strength he dares not unleash.

When a devastating battle sends him plummeting into a forbidden land where no one survives, his allies mourn his death, believing their weakest link is gone forever. But Riven’s fall is only the beginning. Rescued by a mysterious figure, he endures a year of relentless training, forced to confront the truth about himself, his power, and the unseen forces shaping his destiny.

Now, when his friends stand on the brink of destruction, Riven returns—not as the weakling they once knew, but as a force beyond their comprehension. The world will soon learn that the boy they overlooked is the one who will burn through the shadows and reshape their fate.

But will his newfound strength be enough to stand against the unseen forces pulling the strings from the dark?

The battle for survival has begun. And in the end, only ashes will remain.

"Ashes of the Unseen."

The moon hung low over Virestia, its silver glow spilling across the rooftops like a silent witness to the city's forgotten history. Once a beacon of power, now just another capital in a crumbling world. To most, it was a place of trade, survival, and lost ambitions. To Riven Thorne, it was home.

He sat in the farthest corner of a dimly lit tavern, cradling a lukewarm cup of tea. The air reeked of cheap ale, damp wood, and the lingering scent of past violence. Laughter and slurred voices filled the room, but no one spared him a glance. He preferred it that way.

A shadow loomed over his table, blocking the lantern's flickering light. The man smelled of sweat and alcohol, his voice thick with arrogance. A jagged scar ran from his forehead to his jaw, a relic of past battles.

"You've been sittin' here all night, not spendin' a damn thing." The man's breath was rancid. "What are you, a beggar?"

Riven remained silent, lifting his cup with deliberate slowness and taking a sip. His eyes, dark and unreadable, barely acknowledged the man's presence.

The scarred man scowled. "You deaf?"

The tavern had rules—no fights, no brawls, no unnecessary bloodshed. Riven wasn't in the mood to break them.

But the man didn't care. His hand shot forward, gripping Riven's collar.

The room tensed. A few heads turned, but no one moved to intervene. This was how things worked here—either you fought back, or you took the beating.

Before the situation could turn ugly, a calm voice cut through the tension.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood near the bar, arms crossed. His presence alone carried enough weight to make Garrik hesitate.

"Tch." Garrik clicked his tongue, releasing Riven's collar with a sharp tug. "Ain't worth it." He shot Riven one last glare before staggering away.

The newcomer, Orin, watched Riven with mild curiosity. "You always this quiet?"

Riven met his gaze. "Only when I have nothing to say."

Orin chuckled, sliding into the seat across from him. "Smart answer." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "But I've seen you before. Always in the background. Never making trouble, never getting involved. Yet you don't look like some ordinary kid."

Orin studied him for a moment before smirking. "You got a story, don't you?"

Riven's fingers curled around his cup. He had no interest in sharing his past.

Orin's smirk deepened. "No one, huh? Funny. People who say that are usually the ones hiding something."

Riven didn't respond. He wasn't lying—not entirely.

001 "Whispers of a Forgotten Past"