Chapter 17 - Sword, Sweet, and Stupid Words

Riven swung his sword again, a diagonal slash from right to left, then took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell heavily. Sweat clung to his temples, and the strain in his arms had started to build. Still, he didn't stop.

In his grip, the new sword—Crysthalis—glimmered faintly beneath the morning sun. Its polished surface seemed to drink in the scattered light filtering through the trees. It was beautiful, too beautiful for someone like him.

He stood alone in a quiet clearing, trying to position his feet the way he had once seen knights do. Lowered shoulders. Steady grip with the right hand. Left hand supporting the balance. But the movement felt unnatural, his limbs stiff and awkward like a puppet imitating a dance it didn't understand.

His form lacked balance. His swings were inconsistent. Sometimes too high, sometimes weighted on the wrong side. But he kept going. Even when he knew he wasn't talented.

He closed his eyes briefly and pictured the knights he had watched from afar. How they moved. How they fought. He had no master. No father. No one to show him how to wield a blade. All he had was observation, and memory.

The fight from the night before surfaced again in his mind, the intruder from Arkham. He had barely survived that encounter.

If the man hadn't already been injured, if Riven hadn't wielded Crysthalis, he would've died right there in the forest.

He was still too slow. Still too weak.

That was exactly why he needed to train harder.

In a world where strength ruled all, survival wasn't a right, it had to be earned. And he couldn't protect his sister if he stayed the way he was.

Stroke after stroke. Step after step. Sweat ran down his face, soaked the collar of his shirt, and dripped to the ground. Yet each time his sword moved with a bit more control, every time his feet held their position a little firmer, a flicker of pride stirred in his chest. The feeling reminded him of those long days spent practicing in the water, back when he still had dreams worth chasing.

And he liked that feeling.

Time passed without him realizing it. More than an hour slipped by. The forest grew quieter. Sunlight pierced higher through the canopy above.

Then something shifted.

He felt it.

A faint presence nearby.

He turned on instinct, sword lifted and ready to strike at the figure approaching. But before he could move—

Thump.

A weight slammed into him. He hit the ground hard, and before he could react, someone had pinned him down.

A hand gripped his throat.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

There—barely a few inches from his face—was the same woman.

Her hair was long, red as blood, fanning out around her like living fire. A faint scent clung to her—roses, but laced with something sharp and dangerous. Her crimson eyes glowed like polished rubies, staring straight into his own. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. But her expression was distant and cold, as if nothing in the world mattered to her.

"Who are you?" Her voice was calm, but heavy. "Why did you save me?"

Her fingers eased slightly, enough for him to breathe.

But Riven didn't answer.

He couldn't.

His breath caught again, though this time it wasn't fear, it was the nearness of her. Her eyes seemed to pull at him. Her hair brushed his cheek and made something flutter deep in his chest. That scent filled his nose. Sweet, fresh, and strangely alluring. Like a black rose in bloom.

Ashtoria narrowed her eyes.

"I asked you," she repeated, "why did you save me?"

Riven swallowed. His voice came out before his thoughts could stop it.

"…Because you're beautiful."

Ashtoria froze.

For a long moment, her expression faltered. Not anger, something else. Confusion. As if she didn't know how to process the words.

"What…?" she whispered.

No one had ever said that to her without fear. No one had called her beautiful without something hidden behind it. Yet this stranger had said it with no hesitation, no calculation.

Riven suddenly realized what he had said. His eyes widened, and he turned away in panic.

"I-I didn't mean that. I mean—I did, but—not like that—I just—"

He reached for his sword, still lying beside him, as if it could shield him from the embarrassment burning on his face. But it was useless. Even she could hear how fast his heart was racing.

Ashtoria frowned.

"Beautiful?" she muttered. Her tone was dry, almost mocking. "You're delusional."

Riven turned back toward her, still on the ground. His face was flushed, but his voice was sharper now.

"You really don't believe that?"

She blinked.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, then sat fully upright, his voice growing firmer.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your hair, your eyes, your voice. do you really not see it? Don't you own a mirror?"

A subtle redness touched her cheeks.

Each compliment chipped away at her icy front, just a little. She didn't understand what she was feeling. It was… uncomfortable. Not weakness, exactly. Just unfamiliar.

She rose from him slowly and sat back on her knees, watching him with a puzzled look.

"Are you blind?" she asked. Her voice was sharp, but her expression betrayed a sliver of uncertainty.

Riven sat up as well, still red in the face, but his reply was quick.

"You're the one who's blind. Have you ever really looked at yourself?"

The silence between them thickened.

Ashtoria stared at him. This time, not with suspicion, but confusion. And Riven, even while flushed, met her gaze without faltering.

He was still catching his breath, lying on the ground. She knelt beside him, a faint blush lingering on her cheeks. He didn't know what emotion was behind her eyes. Neither did she.

Riven sighed and raised an eyebrow. "Is this how you treat someone who saved your life?"

His voice was caught between irritation and humor, clearly trying to act composed, even though he still looked flustered.

Ashtoria's expression darkened.

"I didn't ask to be saved," she muttered. "And I don't need to be rescued by someone who throws empty compliments at me."

"Empty?" Riven leaned back on one hand, confused. "What are you talking about?"

She scoffed at him like he'd just said something absurd.

"I'm not someone people admire. I'm terrifying."

That made Riven roll his eyes and stand. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked straight at her.

"You know what? I've seen a lot of women. But none of them ever made me want to say 'you're beautiful' without a second thought, until I met you."

"Stop talking." Her voice dropped. There was a sharp edge to it now.

"I can't," Riven said with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Because the more you deny it, the more I want to prove I'm right."

He looked at her clearly.

"Your eyes aren't frightening. They're striking. Your hair burns like a living flame. And your voice, even when you're yelling at me, has weight. It leaves an impression."

"Enough."

"Even when you were choking me just now," he added, "I still thought, 'Wow. She's the most beautiful person who's ever tried to kill me.'"

Ashtoria's eyes widened. Her face turned scarlet.

Riven, inwardly horrified at himself, mentally facepalmed. What am I even saying? Am I possessed? But the words just kept coming, as if he'd lost control.

"I said stop!"

And finally, she grabbed him by the neck and knocked him out cold.