The Glitched Mage

Following Elara's unexpected declaration, Riven and Nyx made their way back to his dorm in silence. The weight of what had been said still lingered—like the final toll of a distant bell echoing through the corridors of the Academy.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

The halls of the second-year dormitory were quieter than usual, the usual chatter dulled by the events of the previous day. Riven's presence now drew stares—some reverent, some wary—but none dared approach. Not after what they had seen. Not after watching him bring down the Academy's golden son with fire that devoured light itself.

As they passed the teleportation gate, a flash of red caught Riven's eye—vivid against the gray stone walls.

Flaming curls. Pacing back and forth.

Ember.

She hadn't seen him yet. Her movements were anxious, jerky, like a bird too long caged. She wrung her hands, her crimson brows knit in worry, her gaze flicking from passing students to the gate—as if willing someone to appear.

When her eyes finally landed on Riven, she froze. Just for a moment.

Then—

"Riven!" she called out, relief and urgency tangling in her voice. She rushed toward him, her boots striking the stone a little too loud. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Riven didn't stop walking. His posture remained upright, but fatigue still clung to him like a second skin. His voice was flat, weary.

"What do you want?"

"I—" Ember hesitated, her gaze flicking to Nyx, who loomed like a silent sentinel beside him. "Can we… talk? Somewhere private?"

Riven exhaled slowly through his nose, debating for half a second before giving a sharp nod. Without a word, he turned toward his room. Ember followed.

Nyx didn't need to be told. She peeled away and leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, her eyes already scanning the corridor. Watching. Guarding.

Inside, Riven closed the door behind Ember with a soft click, then leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. The tension between them was immediate, humming in the air like the coiled string of a drawn bow.

"Well?" he asked, voice low. "What's so urgent you've been pacing like a ghost?"

Ember began to move again, her boots scraping softly across the floor as she paced in front of him. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her crimson cloak swirled behind her with each turn.

Riven's eyes narrowed. "If you don't stop moving, I'm going to throw something."

She halted mid-step, facing him. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"I'm with you," she said suddenly. Her voice was quiet—but the weight behind the words was not.

Silence stretched.

Riven straightened slowly, the fatigue in his limbs dulled by the surprise. His expression didn't shift much, but his eyes sharpened—watching her. Measuring her.

"Oh?" Riven said at last, tilting his head slightly. "And what made you come to that decision?"

Ember let out a long breath and sat down on the edge of his bed, the tension in her shoulders finally sagging under the weight she'd been carrying.

"Being the eldest daughter of House Drakar means I was born to bear a name… not a choice," she said, voice low. "Every hour of my life has been measured. Lessons, tutors, elemental mastery, etiquette—one performance after another, just to be seen. Just to be useful." Her gaze flicked up to meet his. "You already know the truth, Riven. In our family, if you're not valuable, you're nothing."

Her voice faltered, and her eyes glistened. "My memories of when you were born… they're hazy. I was still young. But I remember the anger in the estate. My mother's grief and fury after learning of Father's affair. I didn't understand it then. I didn't understand anything, except…" She swallowed hard. "I was happy. I thought I had another little brother."

She let out a hollow laugh, broken at the edges. "Then you disappeared. No mention, no trace. It was like you'd never existed. And for a while, I thought maybe I'd imagined it. A child's fantasy."

Riven didn't speak, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her.

Ember looked down at her hands. "I used to sneak away from my lessons. I'd wander the estate on my own—imagining I was on some grand adventure—but the truth is… I was looking for you. I didn't even know what I expected to find. Most days I found nothing."

She paused, her breath hitching.

"Until one day… I did."

Her voice grew faint, tight.

"It was during lunch. I'd wandered to a part of the estate no one used—old, abandoned, covered in dust and cobwebs. I thought it was empty. But the door was slightly open." She closed her eyes for a moment. "And you were there."

"You were so small, Riven. Fragile. Quiet. The room you were in wasn't fit for a servant, let alone a child. It was cold. Dirty. You looked like you hadn't been touched by sunlight in weeks. I didn't understand why no one was caring for you. Why you were alone."

She wiped at her face, tears beginning to spill.

"I wanted to tell Mother. I knew she had been sad when she learned about you, but I thought… maybe if she saw you, really saw you, she would understand. But I didn't. Instead, I started sneaking back to you. I'd bring food. Clean you. Read you stories—do anything to make you smile. You were just a baby… but you'd hold onto my fingers like they were everything."

She took a trembling breath. "But one day, I was caught. A maid—Candace—saw me leaving your room. She told Mother."

Riven's jaw tensed at the name, eyes narrowing slightly.

"She was furious," Ember continued, voice cracking. "Mother… punished me. And then she punished you. I heard the screams. She told me if I ever went near you again, she would hurt you more. Enough for the both of us."

Her voice broke completely.

"I believed her. So I stayed away. I thought—I told myself—it was better for you."

She stood now, stepping closer, tears slipping freely down her cheeks. "But I was wrong. You were left to suffer. Alone. And I should've done something. I should've fought harder. I should've helped."

Her hands trembled at her sides. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness. I'm not asking for it. I just want to do now what I couldn't back then. I want to stand by your side, Riven. I want to support you—no matter what you choose. I'm not here as a Drakar. I'm here as your sister."

She stopped just a breath away from him, her eyes locked to his.

"I'm with you now. And I won't walk away again."

Silence settled like a blade between them. Ember stood still, barely breathing, her hands clenched at her sides as she waited for Riven's response.

His expression gave nothing away.

And yet—behind his eyes, something stirred. Not emotion. Not memory. But fragments. Echoes left behind by the one whose body he now used. A child's laughter. The feel of tiny hands grasping fingers. A flash of red curls in a sunlit corridor. But they were fractured—grainy, disjointed—like memories half-remembered from a life that wasn't quite his.

They slipped away just as quickly.

Riven's voice broke the silence, low and level. "If you choose this path… you leave behind the Drakar name. Your place. Your status. Everything."

"I know." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "I'm ready. I want to be the sister I should have been."

A pause.

Then, for the first time in what felt like years, Riven let out a quiet laugh. Not bitter. Not sharp. Just… real. His lips curled into something almost unrecognizable—a genuine smile.

Ember's breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him smile like that. Not even as a child.

But the warmth in his expression didn't last.

"There's just one thing I need," Riven said softly, stepping closer.

Ember nodded quickly, hope swelling in her chest. "Anything."

"I need you…" he murmured, his tone suddenly unreadable, "to die for me."

Her eyes widened—but only for a second.

The blade struck before she could scream.

It moved like a shadow—a flicker of black steel that appeared in his hand and sank deep into her chest in one seamless motion. The sound was quiet. A sharp exhale. A wet gasp.

Ember stumbled backward, blood rising in her throat. Her hand reached toward him, not in anger… but in confusion. Betrayal. Hurt. She collapsed to her knees, and then to the floor, breath hitching as her body began to still.

Riven stood above her, his expression once more cold. Empty. Detached.

"I'm sorry, sister," he said quietly, almost as if the words were an afterthought. "But you're only of use to me if I can fully control you."

With a wave of his hand, flames licked across the blade, cleansing it of blood before he returned it to his inventory. Then he stepped over her body and extended his palm above her still form.

"Awaken."

A dark red magic circle bloomed into existence, its edges inscribed with ancient glyphs pulsing in rhythm with his mana.

The shadows responded.

The air grew cold.

[[ Activating Puppeteer of the Dead ]]