Chapter 6: Doom's call

Walking out of the gym, Riven flashed away, appearing hundreds of miles away, in the middle of nowhere, with the only sign of human interaction being a single dirt path.

His outfit has seamlessly changed back into his robe, but there was a slight difference that would normally go unnoticed; one of the horsemen on the symbol lit up a bright purple color. 

From a distance, the rising staccato of hooves echoed off the trees—each hoofbeat striking like a war drum, growing louder with every breath. A thin black mist began to seep from the tree line, curling low and devouring the ground in its path.

The sound of galloping shifted, from the fierce and frantic to a slow and deliberate, each clop of hoof against earth resounding like a measured heartbeat. 

Then, through the haze, a figure emerged.

A black, regal warhorse thundered into view, its powerful form draped in dark armor and a tattered cloak that billowed with every stride. Black smog coiled around its frame like a living shadow—thick and unnatural, trailing in its wake like smoke from some otherworldly fire.

And atop it sat the rider.

Cloaked in layers of wind-torn fabric, they gripped the reins with two pale, bony hands. Slung across their back was a massive scythe, its silhouette jagged and cold in the light, like a wound cut in the world itself.

Slowly, they continued forward until they finally stood before him. Coming to a complete stop, the horse was deadly silent, a trace of fear for others, but Riven understood why and could only hope the horse could return to its home where it could relax in peace.

The rider jumped off the horse, and at the same time, their cloak vanished, revealing the person underneath.

Long white hair, tied back loosely, flowed behind her like a veil; her armor clung like a second skin—black, form-fitting, and high-collared, with a narrow keyhole cut just below the collarbone, revealing the slightest curve of her chest. 

Dark metal bracers and greaves shimmered like obsidian against the dark mist. While clawed gauntlets and a skull-clasped belt completed her silhouette. From one shoulder, a chain hung down, ending in a black-sanded hourglass that ticked with every motion.

Kneeling, she greeted, "My Lord."

"Lazaria, your presence here brings me no joy. For what reason have you arrived here?"

His icy tone sent shivers down her spine, making her heart race with uncertainty. "My Lord, please forgive me, but a matter involving your divine title needs your attention."

"Give me a run-down on the situation," Riven commanded.

She rose from the ground, standing upright and poised, embodying a strong yet disciplined stance. "My lord, recently the mother goddess alerted us to a civilization that had reached its Apex and, according to the timeline, unless something went wrong, it would rule that part of its universe for the next three thousand years.

But it recently came to our notice that the civilization in question had begun to embark on a Godslaying journey. While not against the rules, they had begun bringing unending desolation to the core planets along the universal river, disrupting the balance.

Should they continue, collapse would be inevitable."

"Haah, assemble the horsemen and go," he ordered, waving her off. Turing around, he began to walk away.

"My Lord! This may be too much for us to—"

"My words are final! Now go!" he shouted, his head turned toward her as he fixed her with a chilling gaze.

"Yes, my Lord." She said, getting ready to bow, but Riven had already left, appearing instantly inside his kitchen.

Letting out a sigh, he grabbed his apron, tying it over his suit, before he started cooking. Though his hands were busy with cooking breakfast, his mind was elsewhere.

He knew the problem at hand was more important than he wanted to admit; it was something even the Aeons would watch for, but just this once, he didn't want to be the one to bring 'Doom.'

Ever since the meeting, the lingering thoughts he had once silenced returned, consuming his being, making his wish for a normal life more prevalent than ever before.

The universal river was something that could just be destroyed so easily. It was the very thing that made the universe work in balance. Not only that, but many civilizations use it as a means of travel, and not just them; souls travel on it constantly, as does the energy that fills the universe.

No one would be foolish enough to damage it, and even if they did, the universe wouldn't just stop working; things would just be slower, and divine beings would have more of a reason to intervene in the daily life of mortals more than they already do.

"So it should be fine, right?" He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Yeah, it looks about done," Sera chimed in from the side, startling him.

"Wow! Sera, I didn't hear you come in."

"Oh," she lightly chuckled, "Yeah, you seemed a bit lost in thought. I knocked on the kitchen door, but you didn't answer, so I just came in."

"Sorry about that, I just... had something on my mind." He said moving the pan out of the way before, he adjusted the heat of the burner after placing some water on it.

"I'm guessing it had something to do with the phone call you took earlier," She said as she placed her hand on his back, gently rubbing it—an action she often found herself doing back when they were younger.

"So you already know?"

"Yep, you did leave my daughter on the gym floor after," She said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

He gave a short, uneasy laugh. "Sorry about that."

 "You did the same to me back then." She let out a quiet chuckle when thinking about it

A sharp exhale passed for a laugh as he explained, "Y'know I didn't mean to do that."

"But tell me what's going on?" Sera asked, her voice filled with concern.

"A situation with my business came up, and normally, I would handle it and be done with it in a few minutes. But this time I just didn't want to. Instead, I told my subordinates to handle it."

 "Your Subordinates?" A brow was raised as she looked at him with a gaze that communicated more than words ever could.

He nodded, "Yeah, People in the industry call them the five horsemen of the apocalypse."

"But aren't there four horsemen?" She questioned.

"I think that's a common misunderstanding, but in any case, there are five of them, so calling them the four wouldn't work," he explained. 

"Ok, but if there are five of them, what do they represent? I only know of War, Conquest, famine, and death." She said, recounting what she remembered from the book of Revelation. 

"Pestilence is the one you missed," he added, as he walked over to the fridge, Sera following along.

"Wait, you said your subordinates, then what about Dutch? What would he be?"

"Dutch is the horseman of Pestilence," he said, gently setting some ingredients on the table.

"Are they trying to call him a pest or something by making him Pestilence? That's so mean, he's a very nice old man."

He almost laughed at that, "A nice old man," Huh? To countless beings in existence, Dutch was anything but. To them, he was the pest.

"Ok, but back to what you were saying, why is it a problem if your subordinates, the five horsemen, handle it?" She questioned bringing the conversation back to the crux of the problem.

"Well, the chances of them handling the problem properly are slim without there being any negative consequences and—"

"Riven," she called out, leaning on the counter in front of him, her arms crossed just below her chest as she looked him directly in the eye. "I don't know what happened to you during these past sixteen years, but the Riven I know believed more than anything else to allow others their chance to shine and would only step in if they needed it."

She stepped closer, her voice firm. "You've made up your mind to let them handle it, so let them."

He paused before setting the items in his hand down. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them. "You're right, I'll take a step back and see how things go."

"Of course, I am. Now let's focus on getting this food completed." She said, rolling up her sleeves.

"Alright, you think you can keep up?" With a mischievous grin, he teased her as he handed over the spare apron.

With a smirk, she gathered her hair into a tidy bun, tying the apron with a practical flick. "Psh, easy. Who do you think made your lunches back in high school?" 

Early morning light spilled into the kitchen, the soft clatter of pans, and the sizzle of eggs filled the air. Riven moved easily, sleeves rolled up, brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Across from him, Sera poured flour into a bowl. A plume of dust rose from the bowl, dotting her face in flour.

Riven's lips tugged upward as if he were trying not to smile too much.

There was laughter, not loud, but real. Between burnt toast and near-missed spills. It echoed softly, like a memory they'd both lived too many times to count. They moved around each other like they'd done this forever, never colliding, always just enough space between them— a dance that didn't need thinking.

But beneath that rhythm, there was something else. Not tension exactly, but a weight. A pause in a glance too long. The silence that came after a shared smile. The way her hand hovered over his a second too long before reaching for the spatula.

Her shoulder brushed his arm. He didn't flinch, but he didn't lean in either.

The Air smelled of cinnamon and something faintly bittersweet. The kind of sweetness that didn't come from the food. The kind that lingered and left you wondering what could've been, or maybe still could be.

But unbeknownst to them, while lost in the moment, two pairs of eyes watched them from the door.

"Look at them, Nyra," Aria whispered. "I'm telling you there's something more to their relationship than their telling us. There's this weird air around them, like two people lost in bittersweet memories after they meet again, years later, after a nasty breakup."

"Aria," Nyra sighed, "I think you need to stop watching so many dramas."

"That's not the point, aren't you a bit curious what they're hiding? Remember how any time we bring up their past or try to ask who our father might be, they change the subject. And even more, I know you've seen the resemblance between our actions and his."

"Mr. Riven already explained he wouldn't know since he left well before Mom even knew she was pregnant with us," Nyra replied calmly. "And what resemblance do you mean, the ones that any other person would share with us, since they're just common traits?"

"You know what I think?" Nyra huffed. "I think you're just looking too much into it."

"Well, I think it's not proper for young ladies like yourself to eavesdrop." A third-aged voice cut in.

Both looked away from the door, letting it gently shut, and looked towards the voice. "Dutch!" they both shouted.

During the last week, they had gotten to know the kind old man a lot better. He was very knowledgeable in a lot of subjects and helped them out with learning a lot about the mansion and how to navigate it efficiently.

"Dutch, what are you doing here?" Aria asked, eyeing the old man up and down. Last, she recalled, he said he would be busy with something and wouldn't be able to help her.

"I–"

"He was dropping us off." A woman interrupted.

"Aunt Herta!" Both Girls shouted, running up to hug her.

She stood with an almost surreal elegance—black hair falling just below her shoulders in soft layers, vivid red eyes gleaming with a teasing glint. Though her frame was delicate, there was a composed sharpness to her features that echoed Riven's, only softened by the faintest curve of a knowing smile.

"Hey girls, whatcha you guys up to?" With a curious glint in her eye, she embraced them tightly, her voice laced with intrigue as she questioned.

"We were–"

Just as they gathered their thoughts to respond, Dutch intervened, stepping in to speak on their behalf with an assertive confidence. "They were eavesdropping on my lord and their mother, Lady Sera, while they cooked breakfast."

"Oh, then whadja find out?"

"Nothing really, except Aria watches too much drama," Nyra replied, giving Aria a sidelong glance.

"Well, that's to be expected." A small chuckle escaped from her lips as she leaned against the wall. "Aria is very similar to her mother when she was that age. I remember—"

"Um, Herta, I would appreciate it if you didn't start reminiscing about my drama-filled days to my kids," out from the kitchen walked Sera and Riven carrying dishes of food on trays.

"It's fine, it's not like there's anything you wouldn't do in there." She crossed her arms with a smirk, tossing a glance toward Sera.

"Except for what I did do." She whispered under her breath.

Dutch stepped forward, extending his hands to take the trays from them. "My Lord, Lady Sera, please let me handle this."

Riven held out his hand, halting his actions. "It's fine, Dutch. Don't you have something to do?"

"Ah, you're right, my lord, I must be on my way." With a graceful bow that acknowledged each person in the room, Dutch made his quiet exit.

"Herta." Riven's voice came low, controlled, but laced with tension that only she would recognize.

"Riven," Herta matched his tone, her smile sharp enough to cut.

Sparks seemed to fly through the air as the duo looked at each other. Their silent competition was only broken by a single question.

"Wait, Aunt Herta, you know Mr. Riven?" Aria's voice cut through the tension with innocent disbelief.

"Huh, you didn't know?" Herta tilted her head toward the twins in mock surprise. "He's my good-for-nothing brother I always used to curse."

"Wait, how did you girls not know?" Riven raised a brow, glancing their way. "Dutch mentioned her back when you first met him at the mall parking lot."

"How about we talk about this while we eat?" Sera interjected, stepping past with the tray. "After all, we don't want the food to get cold."

"Agreed," Herta agreed, already turning toward the dining room. "Plus, Mom and April are waiting for us at the table."

"Grandma Kira is here!?" With gleeful shouts, both twins darted ahead. The three adults exchanged amused glances, a shared smile spreading across their faces, before following after the spirited pair.