Nyxshadow

In a world ruled by magic, ancient Seals, and crumbling bloodlines, one boy carries a secret the world tried to erase.

Once the heir to a fallen kingdom, Riven Caelthorn Valenhart was only eight when the crown was shattered and his memories stolen. Now seventeen, he survives on instinct, swordplay, and the voice of a mischievous spirit whispering in his mind. He doesn’t remember who he was—but someone out there remembers him. And they want him dead.

Haunted by a forgotten past and hunted by the monstrous cult known as the Eclipse Order, Riven’s only allies are a cursed pendant, a flicker of flame, and a growing power he barely understands. As he trains to master elemental magic and the ancient Frames of Flame, he uncovers truths buried beneath lies—and discovers that the same power that destroyed his family might be the key to saving the world.

But every Seal he unlocks brings him closer to the truth.

And the truth might burn everything.

Dark fantasy. Elemental battles. Hidden royalty. A slow-burn mystery tangled with fate, sacrifice, and shadows that remember.

Riven : Crown of Shadows

The throne of iron sat buried in rust and silence.

The Warden hadn't moved in a hundred years. Maybe longer. Stories said he had once been a man—anointed, armored, exalted. A guardian of kings long dead. But the truth had warped over centuries, as truths often did.

Just a monument of steel and rage.

Riven stood twenty paces away, wind tugging at his cloak.

The others waited behind him at the edge of the field, weapons drawn but unsure whether they even mattered here.

Kael muttered, "That thing feels like a fortress."

Liora didn't blink. "It's more than that. I've seen echoes of it in old texts. It was created as a living seal."

Lyra's voice was low. "A gate that thinks. And judges."

A creak like groaning mountains split the air as it lifted its head.

Just molten iron, burning in a hollow helm.

Its voice followed—deep, slow, and not in words, but memory.

Suddenly, he was no longer standing in the Bone Marches.

Watching flames eat the east wing of Valenhold. Hearing his mother scream. Smelling the blood of his guards. Feeling the magic surge beneath his ribs as Seris activated the first seal.

The Warden stood now, towering, its limbs groaning as ancient pistons hissed and plates reformed across its frame.

> "Heir," it spoke. Voice like thunder dragged through rust.

Each footfall cracked the stone like thunderbolts.

Kael drew his blade. "We fighting that?"

Riven held out a hand. "No. Not with steel."

Liora's brow furrowed. "It's drawing your soul forward."

"I know," Riven said. "That's the test."

He stepped toward the Warden alone.

The field darkened around them. Fog turned black. The ruins faded until nothing remained but iron, fire, and silence.

Riven spoke. "I am Riven Caelthorn Valenhart. I am not my father. Not the crown. Not the curse. But I carry them all."

The Warden tilted its head, metal joints creaking.

> "And what have you done with what was given?"

> "And what did you build from it?"

The Warden raised its massive hand.

A single, burning brand lay within. Not shaped like a weapon. Not magic.

Liora's voice trembled behind them. "If you take that—"

"I become the next wielder," Riven said.

Kael called, "You don't know what it'll cost."

It slammed into his chest like a mountain crashing inward. Threads of molten memory rushed through his veins—echoes of kings who'd held the Seal before him.

Then collapsed—its body turning to rust in seconds, like time itself had been waiting for permission to finish what it started.

And the sky split with sunlight for the first time in a decade.

Liora tended the burn on Riven's chest in silence.

Lyra sat beside him, watching the fire.

"I'm becoming something I never wanted."

"But something we need," she whispered.

The Warden Stirs