The First Memory
---
The pendant pulsed at midnight.
No glyphs flared. No external trigger. No danger nearby. Just a soft, rhythmic glow beneath his shirt—like a heartbeat out of sync with the world around him.
Riven stared at it.
He didn't move. Didn't call for Lyra. Didn't wake Kael, who lay snoring two bedrolls over. Outside the cave, the fire crackled low, the embers whispering secrets to the wind.
He was alone.
But not really.
> You feel it too, don't you? Veyron's voice slithered through the silence. It's waking. The seal you were never meant to break.
Riven didn't answer.
He touched the pendant once. Carefully.
And the world fell away.
---
He didn't fall, exactly.
It was more like sinking.
Into warmth. Into light. Into the sound of heavy footsteps and the scent of smoke and lavender.
And then—
Voices.
A boy's laughter, high and clear.
A woman humming.
The ring of swords clashing in a courtyard.
And a deep voice—measured, calm, full of presence.
> "Again, Riven. Faster this time."
---
He opened his eyes.
The sky above was bluer than any sky he'd seen in years.
There were towers—marble white, lined with crimson banners.
A garden of olive trees, just as Lyra had described.
And a training yard where two figures sparred in the midday sun.
One was a child, perhaps eight.
The other was tall. Strong. Dressed in royal armor that shimmered with spiritlight. Not decorative. Not for show.
Battle-worn.
Real.
The man's voice echoed again.
> "Don't just swing. Feel the opening. Anticipate it."
The boy—Riven—nodded, brow furrowed in frustration.
He tried again.
Failed.
The man crouched, lowering his blade.
He didn't scold. Didn't frown.
He smiled.
A tired, worn smile.
> "You're not weak, Riven. You're learning. Strength isn't born in the blood—it's carved by failure."
---
The present-day Riven stood there, watching from behind the veil of memory, throat tight.
He tried to move. Couldn't.
He tried to speak. Couldn't.
The younger version of himself—so small, so fierce—looked up at his father and asked:
> "If you die… who protects us?"
There was silence.
And then:
> "If I fall, you will rise. Not to take my place. But to defend your own."
---
The memory cracked.
The warmth began to flicker.
Darkness crept in at the edges of the vision, curling like smoke, like rot.
The sky dimmed.
The banners burned.
Riven turned—just in time to see Seris walk into the courtyard.
But not as he knew her.
Younger. Barefaced. No cultist robes. Her eyes still gleamed like obsidian, but her smile was softer. Human.
> "You never belonged to them," she whispered to the boy. "Your light was never theirs to claim."
The boy hesitated.
> "But my father said—"
> "Your father is already dead."
She touched his cheek.
> "Even if he's still breathing."
---
Riven tore himself out of the vision, gasping like he'd been drowning.
He sat up violently, hand on his chest, sweat soaking through his shirt.
Lyra was already kneeling beside him, eyes wide.
"Riven?"
He didn't answer.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Was it the pendant?"
He nodded.
Then whispered: "I saw him."
She stilled. "Your father?"
He looked at her, eyes dark with something beyond pain.
"Alive. Training me. Teaching me. And then… she was there."
"Seris?"
He nodded again. "She was already inside. She'd already begun… twisting me."
---
Kael stirred, groggy. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Riven said quickly. "Go back to sleep."
Kael sat up, squinting. "You're sweating like a drowned lizard, and she looks like she saw a ghost."
"She did," Lyra muttered.
Kael rubbed his face. "Great. Another nightmare?"
"Not a nightmare," Riven said. "A memory."
Kael's tone sharpened. "How much did you see?"
Riven met his gaze. "Enough to know I wasn't just targeted. I was groomed."
Kael swore under his breath.
---
The fire had died out.
Liora sat silently near the entrance, eyes half-closed, listening without listening.
Riven approached her.
"Do you believe in manipulated memories?" he asked.
She opened her eyes. "More than I believe in fate."
"Could she have planted herself? In me? Even then?"
Liora studied him.
"Not planted. But… shaped. If Seris was near you before your father's fall, and you survived the Seal rupture—she may have layered threads into your mind. Things that only now begin to unwind."
Riven clenched his fists.
"If she's been guiding me since I was a child—"
"Then you've already beaten her," Liora said.
He frowned.
"Because you're still asking questions."
---
That night, Riven sat alone, staring at the pendant.
The glow was gone.
But the warmth lingered.
He remembered his father's face.
His voice.
His calm.
He remembered the cracked sigil carved into the bark of the olive tree.
Three swords. One broken.
And for the first time, he felt the break not as a weakness—
But as a warning.
> This kingdom will fall before it is rebuilt.
---
Far in the north, Seris stood before the Obsidian Mirror, watching the same memory unfold in her own pool of vision.
She smiled.
> "He's waking up. Finally."
A masked cultist stepped forward. "Shall we prepare the second Seal?"
Seris shook her head.
> "No. Let him come to it. The heir must open the doors on his own."
She turned away.
> "It's the only way the crown will fit."
---