The Forgotten Grounds

---

They found the ruins at dawn.

A sprawl of blackened stone and shattered towers lay buried in mist, as though the land had tried to swallow it whole. Nature had begun its slow reclamation—roots winding through cracked marble, vines strangling what remained of once-proud archways. The air held the stillness of a grave, yet the ground pulsed faintly beneath their feet.

Riven stood at the edge of the rise, eyes narrowed.

"This was once the Arcanum of Veylin," he murmured. "Before the Seal Wars."

Kael dropped his pack beside a half-buried statue. "Looks more like a tomb."

"It was," Liora said quietly, brushing dirt off a crumbled sigil carved into the stone. "When the Sixth Seal broke, this place took the first blast."

Lyssa stepped up beside Riven, scanning the skeletal remains of what had once been a massive coliseum. "And this is where we train?"

"No distractions," Riven said. "No eyes. Just ruins and memory."

Kael muttered, "Wonderful. Nothing like training next to where people got vaporized."

But he drew his sword anyway.

---

They split the ruins into sectors.

Kael took the collapsed eastern courtyard, now nothing more than broken training rings under creeping moss.

Liora and Lyssa explored what remained of the spell archives, searching for usable fragments of magical theory.

And Riven? He walked alone into the inner sanctum—the lowest chamber of the academy, buried beneath four floors of dust and death.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, his Seal lit up.

Ah, Veyron murmured. You remember this place too, don't you?

Riven said nothing, but the pull in his chest deepened.

There were old weapons here, shattered training golems, shattered mirrors, and a single surviving pillar inscribed in ancient runes. He stepped closer, resting his hand against the worn stone.

The moment he touched it, the world shifted.

---

It was night again.

The hall whole.

He was younger. Unscarred. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror—eyes wide, confused.

Someone stood across from him, dressed in deep violet robes.

"Again," the man said. "You're not focusing."

"I am," his younger voice snapped.

"No, you're flinching."

The memory rippled.

Steel clashed. A sword flew from his hands.

The trainer sighed.

"You'll never survive the Seal Trials if you keep fighting like you're afraid to bleed."

"I'm not afraid," young Riven said. "I just—"

"You're still thinking like a prince," the man cut in. "Start thinking like a weapon."

---

He gasped and stumbled back.

The vision vanished. The ruins returned. Dust. Rot. Silence.

Riven dropped to one knee, head pounding.

Veyron's voice drifted up from the darkness.

That's the cost of unlocking memory through force. You're lucky that one was tame. Try going deeper too fast, and you might not return at all.

Riven rose slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He didn't care.

If pain was the price, he'd pay it.

---

By nightfall, the others returned.

Kael was bruised and muddy but smiling.

"Broke two stone dummies," he said. "And I'm pretty sure I figured out how to resist shock spells. Mostly."

Riven raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"

"Only passed out once. So, progress."

Lyssa didn't say much, but her eyes held focus. Liora carried a stack of salvaged spell-scroll fragments, each one laced with brittle enchantments that flared faintly even after centuries of decay.

They built a small fire in the central courtyard. Not for warmth. For focus.

"We're staying here a week," Riven said. "No Seals. No hunting. Just discipline."

Kael groaned. "Seven days of you playing drill sergeant. Can't wait."

Riven cracked the faintest grin.

Then his voice turned serious.

"Each of us needs to come out of this stronger. The Order won't wait. And the Seals… they're only going to get worse."

Lyssa looked into the fire. "Will training even matter against that kind of power?"

Riven's jaw tightened. "Training's the only thing that ever mattered."

---

That night, Riven didn't sleep.

He returned to the sanctum, set his blade in front of him, and sat cross-legged before the old rune pillar.

This time, he didn't touch it.

He spoke.

"I want to remember."

Silence.

Then—heat. Magic. Pressure.

The pillar lit from within. A whispering glow crawled through the carvings. The air thickened. His Seal burned, but not in pain—in recognition.

Another memory surfaced.

---

A duel.

He was older now—maybe twelve.

A ring of soldiers circled him. His father stood beyond them, arms crossed.

Across from him—Kael.

Younger. Angry. Bleeding from a cut above his brow.

"Again," the king said.

The two boys clashed. Again. Again.

Riven stumbled. Kael knocked him flat.

The king's voice was calm. Cold.

"Then you lose."

Riven rose, panting.

Kael reached a hand toward him.

But Riven didn't take it.

He charged.

---

The vision ended.

Riven opened his eyes, breath steady.

He didn't feel broken.

He felt lighter.

A part of him had returned.

---

At sunrise, he stood in the courtyard while the others approached.

He didn't speak. He simply drew his blade, looked at Kael, and nodded once.

Kael grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

They clashed.

Steel rang across stone.

Kael was faster than before. Smarter with his footwork. But Riven… Riven didn't hesitate.

He moved with precision born not just from practice, but from remembrance.

When he feinted, it was the feint of a trained royal.

When he spun, it was the spin taught by his father's war-captain.

Kael noticed. And grinned harder.

"Who taught you that move?"

Riven met his eyes. "I did. Years ago."

Kael blinked. Then laughed. "Memory's a hell of a teacher."

---

And thus began the true training.

Not to survive the next Seal.

But to face the storm they could no longer outrun.

---