Shadows That Betray

Riven's breath hitches as his own shadow lashes out at him. It moves with a force he has never felt before—not an extension of his will, but something else entirely. Something foreign. Something alive.

The darkness beneath him writhes unnaturally, shifting like liquid night. He barely dodges as a tendril of his own shadow slashes through the air where he stood moments before. The rogue figures remain still, observing him with unsettling patience.

"You call yourself Shadowbound," the leader muses, their voice carrying a knowing edge. "But do you even understand what that means?"

Riven doesn't answer immediately. His mind races, attempting to regain control over his power. He clenches his fists, focusing his willpower to force the shadow back under his command, but the connection feels frayed. Weak. As if something is pulling at the other end of his own abilities, claiming ownership over what should be his alone.

This is impossible.

His power has always obeyed him. The fallen warriors he's absorbed have always fought at his side. But now—his own darkness refuses him.

For the first time since his awakening, uncertainty creeps in.

"What did you do to me?" Riven demands, summoning two of his strongest warriors in an attempt to reassert his control.

The moment they materialize, the rogue faction members don't react. Yet Riven's summons begin to tremble. One of them—an elite warrior he absorbed weeks ago—collapses into mist, vanishing without Riven's command.

Shock twists through him.

"What the—?"

The leader takes a slow step forward. "We are what remains of those who came before you," they say, voice smooth, measured. "The ones who walked this path long before you took your first step."

Riven clenches his fists, his jaw tightening. Before him? His powers were ancient, that much he knew. But he had always assumed he was the only one left. That the Shadowbound were a forgotten force, lost to time. If that were true… then what are they?

More importantly—why do they have the power to turn his own shadows against him?

A heavy silence stretches between them. Riven sizes them up, his mind calculating. If they could disrupt his connection to his own shadows, then a direct attack might be useless. He needs more information, needs to understand what they are before striking. He forces himself to exhale, steadying his heartbeat.

"Before me?" he repeats, buying himself time. "Then why haven't I heard of you before?"

"Because you weren't meant to," the leader says simply.

Riven watches them carefully. The way they stand, unmoving. The way their shadows do not ripple naturally, but instead stretch and contract with something beyond physical movement. It reminds him of himself. Or at least—what he could become.

"You're lying."

The second figure, a silent observer until now, finally speaks. Their voice is cold, almost disinterested. "Deny it all you want. The truth is already unraveling in front of you."

Riven shifts his stance. "If you know so much, then answer me this—why is my power resisting me?"

The leader tilts their head. "Because it was never truly yours to begin with."

Riven feels something inside him tighten. His own shadow flickers beneath him, an involuntary shudder rippling through the darkness. He narrows his eyes.

"I took these abilities. I earned them. I killed for them." His voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of something else—frustration? Doubt? He shoves it down. "No one has ever controlled my power but me."

The third member of the rogue faction chuckles softly, a hollow sound that echoes unnaturally in the dimly lit battlefield. "Is that what you think?"

The leader extends a hand, palm facing the ground. The air around them shifts, heavy with something unseen. Riven tenses, expecting an attack—but nothing happens. Instead, his own shadow suddenly snaps upright.

Like a puppet cut free from its strings.

Riven stumbles back as his shadow no longer mirrors his movements. Instead, it twists and contorts on its own, rising from the ground into a vaguely humanoid shape. It has no eyes, no mouth—just a shifting void in the form of something almost recognizable. Almost him.

A sharp pain lances through his skull, and for a split second, whispers flood his mind—countless voices speaking in a language he cannot understand. The weight of them is suffocating, like drowning in an abyss with no surface.

He clenches his jaw, forcing the pain aside. His shadow—the thing that was once his—tilts its head, mimicking the leader of the rogue faction.

"What… did you do?" Riven forces the words out through grit teeth.

The leader remains calm. "We didn't do anything. We simply showed you what was always there."

Riven tries to move, but his limbs feel heavy. The whispers grow louder. The shadows that once obeyed him completely now flicker between loyalty and something else—something ancient, something vast.

He breathes in sharply. Focuses.

This is a test. It has to be. They are waiting to see if he breaks.

No. Not happening.

He clenches his fists, summoning all of his willpower, all of his control. The darkness may be shifting, resisting—but he is still here. He is still Riven Graves. He will not let them dictate his power. He will not let them take what he has bled for.

With a sharp exhale, he forces his shadow back into submission. The whispers shriek in protest but begin to fade. The figure of his shadow collapses, reforming beneath him, still but subdued. The pressure in his head lessens.

When Riven lifts his gaze, the three figures are watching with something new in their stances.

Not amusement. Not superiority.

Approval.

The leader gives a slow nod. "Interesting."

Riven rolls his shoulders, forcing himself to stand taller. He won't show weakness. "I don't care who you are," he says, his voice low, dangerous. "But if you try to take my power from me, I will kill you."

The second figure laughs softly. "Good."

The leader's masked face tilts slightly, unreadable. Then, without another word, the three figures step back into the darkness. And just like that—they vanish.

The battlefield is silent again.

Riven exhales, his body still tense. He doesn't relax. Doesn't let his guard down. Instead, he looks down at his own shadow, watching how it lies still, as it should.

For now.

But the unease lingers.

Because for the first time, Riven is no longer certain who is in control.