The Glitched Mage-Chapter 90: Think it over

As they ascended the spiraling stone steps, the weight of what Riven had just seen pressed against his thoughts. The Codex of the Fallen—Velmorian's personal grimoire—sealed within a temple that unknowingly worshipped his own legacy. The irony was almost laughable.

Almost.

He kept his expression neutral as Elara led him deeper into the temple's halls, their path winding through dimly lit corridors lined with more towering bookshelves and shadowy figures whispering over ancient tomes. The magic here was alive, thrumming beneath his skin like a second pulse.

Elara glanced at him. "I imagine this is a lot to take in."

Riven offered a half-smirk. "Oh, you have no idea."

Nyx, still lingering in his shadow, was less composed. 'I swear to all the abyssal gods, if you don't go back and take that book—'

'Not now.' Riven's tone was firm.

Elara stopped in front of a carved archway, pressing a hand against the dark stone. The runes embedded in it pulsed once before shifting apart, revealing yet another chamber beyond.

This one was smaller, less of a grand hall and more of a private study. Darkwood furniture was arranged in careful order—polished desks, shelves packed with aged scrolls, a large circular table in the center with an assortment of neatly stacked notes. The only light came from several floating lanterns, casting the space in a flickering violet glow.

Riven's gaze flicked to the far wall, where a familiar symbol had been carved into the stone.

The sigil of the Shadow Kingdom.

Intact.

Untouched.

He said nothing, but his fingers twitched slightly at his side.

Elara stepped forward, crossing the study with an air of casual authority. She leaned against one of the polished desks, her violet gaze flicking to him as she motioned toward the chair across from her.

"Sit," she said smoothly. "We should talk."

Riven hesitated for only a moment before settling into the chair, his movements unhurried, almost languid. He had no intention of being commanded, but he was more than willing to listen—especially when the person speaking had no idea just how much she was revealing.

Elara studied him for a beat, then reached into the folds of her robe, pulling out a small chain of silver. The silver obsidian-like pendant hanging from it gleamed faintly under the lantern light.

Riven's brow arched. "The pendant."

Elara smirked. "You haven't asked how they work yet."

Riven leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "You told me they conceal my aura."

"Not just your aura, but your dark mana." Elara confirmed. "While you wear it, even the most attuned mages won't be able to sense your magic. The pendant masks your presence, making it appear as though your mana is no different from any other Academy student's."

Riven hummed in thought, he had noticed the effect. The usual hum of abyssal energy that clung to him like a second skin had been dulled, suppressed into something barely noticeable.

Clever.

Elara tilted her head. "But that's not its only function."

"Oh?"

"It's also a key," she said.

His hand went up to the pendant automatically. "A key to what?"

"To this temple," Elara answered. "There's a teleportation gate hidden in my office at the Academy. As long as you have that pendant, you can access it. Place it on the activation rune, and it will bring you directly here."

Riven twirled the pendant between his fingers, his thoughts shifting. A direct passage between the Academy and the Shadow Temple. Convenient.

And more importantly—dangerous.

For them.

He looked up at her, his smirk curling at the edges. "If I had this key, why did we bother taking the carriage through the capital?"

Elara's smirk widened, her violet eyes glinting with amusement. "Because I wanted to see your reactions."

Riven arched a brow. "Reactions?"

She shrugged, crossing her arms as she leaned against the desk. "Most necromancers who visit this place for the first time struggle with the realization that the Shadow Temple—one of the last sanctuaries of their kind—is hidden in the heart of the capital itself."

She watched him closely, as if measuring his response. "I expected you to be surprised, to be unsettled by how close you were to enemy territory this entire time."

Riven chuckled, low and smooth. "And yet, you were disappointed."

Elara exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile. "Let's just say you're… difficult to read."

Nyx snorted. 'That's one way to put it.'

Riven ignored her. He traced a thumb over the pendant's surface, gaze flicking briefly to the Shadow Kingdom sigil etched into the far wall.

"Your security here is solid," he remarked. "But you're trusting me with a direct path into your most guarded sanctuary. Bold of you."

Elara lifted a brow. "I never said I trusted you. I said I was giving you an opportunity."

Riven met her gaze, his smirk never wavering. "And what happens if I decide to betray that opportunity?"

Elara's smile didn't fade. "Then I'll make sure you regret it."

There was no arrogance in her tone—only confidence.

Riven chuckled, letting the pendant dangle from his fingers once more. 'She doesn't even realize the real danger isn't me turning against her—it's me turning this place into something she never expected.'

Still, he had to admit… the convenience of the teleportation gate would be useful.

Very useful.

He leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow against the armrest of the chair. "I assume there are restrictions to when and how I can use it?"

Elara nodded. "For now, I ask that you only use it during designated training hours or when absolutely necessary. I have an illusion ward over the gate in my office, so no one will question its existence, but I'd rather not risk drawing suspicion."

Riven hummed, tilting his head. "And if I decide I want to train outside of those hours?"

Elara smirked. "Then I expect you to at least be discreet."

Nyx let out a low whistle. 'Wow. She really just handed you access to an underground necromancer network with a please be responsible attached to it.'

Riven resisted the urge to laugh.

Elara pushed off the desk, her expression turning more serious. "You have potential, Riven. And I do believe this place could benefit you. But it's up to you to decide how much you're willing to invest."

She gestured toward the door leading back to the main halls. "For now, I'll take you back to the Academy. You can think about everything you've seen here and decide where you stand."

Riven stood, slipping the pendant back beneath his robes. "I already know where I stand."

Elara lifted a brow. "Oh?"

Riven smirked. "But I think I'll keep that to myself for now."

Elara huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she led him toward the teleportation gate.

Riven followed, his mind already turning over the possibilities.

—x—

Darkness.

Then light.

Then—

The scent of parchment and ink filled the air. The dim glow of enchanted candles flickered across polished wooden bookshelves. Riven's boots touched solid ground as the spell finished, depositing them back into Elara's office within the Academy.

The transition was seamless.

Too seamless.

If Elara had truly constructed a ward that allowed her to transport people in and out of the capital without anyone noticing, then she was far more dangerous than she let on. The amount of control required to mask that level of teleportation…

She's not someone to underestimate.

He turned slightly, taking in the familiar sight of her office. The books, the scrolls, the faint scent of old magic lingering in the air. His gaze flicked toward the far wall—toward the hidden rune that activated the teleportation gate.

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So this was his entrance. His direct path between the Academy and the temple.

Convenient.

Very convenient.

Elara exhaled. "You should get some rest for the rest of the day and think things over," she said. "You've had a long morning."

Riven smirked, adjusting the pendant beneath his robes. "I appreciate your concern."

"It's not concern," she countered smoothly, moving toward her desk. "It's practicality. You may be talented, but exhaustion dulls even the sharpest blade."

Riven tilted his head, considering her for a moment. "And what about you?"

Elara raised a brow. "What about me?"

"You run a hidden necromancer sanctuary, play politics at the Academy, and maintain a teleportation network in the capital," he said, crossing his arms. "Do you ever actually sleep?"

Elara smirked. "I'll sleep when necromancers no longer have to hide."

Nyx let out an amused hum in his shadow. 'Oh, she's dramatic. I like her.'

Riven chuckled, shaking his head. "Well then, I'll leave you to your noble cause."

Elara simply waved a hand toward the door. "Try not to get into too much trouble, Riven."

He smirked as he stepped toward the exit. "No promises."

As he slipped into the Academy halls, the pendant warm against his chest, Riven exhaled slowly.

—x—

Riven didn't head straight for the dormitories. Instead, he took a detour through the quieter corridors of the Academy, moving with purpose toward one of the more secluded study alcoves near the western wing. It was a small, forgotten space—rarely used, tucked behind a spiraling staircase where the lanterns flickered dimly, barely maintained.

It would do.

The moment he stepped inside, away from prying eyes, his shadow rippled unnaturally.

Then, with the whisper of shifting darkness, Nyx stepped out from the inky void at his feet, stretching like a cat after too long in confinement.

"Finally," she muttered, rolling her shoulders. "I was getting cramped in there."

Riven smirked, leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed. "You're acting like I trapped you in a box."

Nyx shot him a flat look. "That temple was brimming with mana-sensitive necromancers. I had to suppress myself the entire time. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to sit still while people discuss your entire legacy without realizing you're literally in the room?" She waved a hand dramatically. "Do you know how hard it was not to jump out and scream when Elara started monologuing about you?"

Riven exhaled a quiet chuckle. "You survived."

"Barely," she deadpanned.

She leaned against the opposite wall, her obsidian eyes sharp as she studied him. "So? What's the plan now? You've got access to a hidden necromancer sanctuary, a teleportation gate, and—oh yeah—Velmorian's personal grimoire just sitting there waiting for you to claim it."

Riven twirled the pendant between his fingers. "Patience."

Nyx groaned. "You always say that."

"And I'm always right."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "You do realize if you told Elara who you actually were, she'd probably swear fealty on the spot."

Riven arched a brow. "And then what? Hand me the entire temple like a gift? No. It's better to let them show their worth first."

Nyx considered that before nodding slowly. "You're planning to test them."

"Of course I am," Riven said smoothly. "Right now, they're useful. But true loyalty? That has to be earned—or forced."

Nyx smirked. "There's the Shadow King I know."

He hummed in amusement, then pushed off the wall. "Come on. I still have an appearance to keep up at the Academy."

—x—

Riven strode through the Academy's Market District, weaving through the midday bustle with practiced ease. Merchants called out their wares, students bartered for rare alchemical ingredients, and the scent of roasted meat from a nearby stall mixed with the faint tinge of mana-infused parchment. It was routine, familiar.

Which made it all the more irritating when he heard a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Riven!"

He barely had time to turn before a blur of red stormed toward him. Ember's crimson cloak swayed behind her, her curls bouncing with each determined step. Her crimson eyes, so much like their father's, locked onto him with unmistakable frustration.

Nyx, now visible beside him, let out a low whistle. "And here we go."

Riven smirked. "You sound excited."

"Oh, I am. This is entertainment."

Riven exhaled and turned fully to face Ember, his expression already settled into something neutral. "Ember."

She didn't waste time on pleasantries. "You fought Cole. Again."

Her voice was tight, just shy of angry—but not quite. Frustrated, maybe. Annoyed, definitely. But there was something else beneath it.

Concern.

He didn't bother hiding his smirk. "And?"

Ember's hands clenched at her sides. "And you're making this worse. Do you have any idea how much trouble you're stirring up? The professors are watching you, the noble houses are whispering—Father is furious."

"Oh no," Riven drawled, placing a hand over his chest in mock worry. "Whatever shall I do?"

Nyx snorted beside him.

Ember's eyes burned. "This isn't a joke, Riven."

"But I find it funny," he replied, voice smooth, deliberately detached.

Her jaw tightened. "You're acting like you don't care, but I know you do."

He met her gaze evenly. "No, Ember. That's where you're wrong."

A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. Barely noticeable—but he caught it. She wanted to believe he was lying. That deep down, some part of him still cared about the Drakar name, about their father's wrath, about the weight of their family's expectations.

He didn't.

And judging by the way she inhaled sharply, she was realizing that too.

Nyx tilted her head, watching the exchange with unhidden amusement. She didn't know who Ember was, not really, but she didn't need to. Just watching Riven play along with this conversation was enough.

Ember finally broke the silence, her voice quieter but no less insistent. "Just—stop drawing so much attention to yourself," she muttered. "I know you hate this family, but that doesn't mean you have to make things worse."

Riven arched a brow, his smirk turning razor-sharp. "Since when do you care what happens to me?" His voice was light, almost amused, but there was an edge beneath it—cold, cutting. "And where was this concern when your mother made my life a living hell?"

Ember flinched. It was subtle, a brief flicker in her expression, but Riven caught it.

She didn't answer immediately.

Ember's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—some excuse, some justification—but nothing came. The weight of his words settled between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, she swallowed and said, barely above a whisper, "I thought… I thought you had forgiven us."

Riven let out a slow, humorless chuckle. It wasn't loud, wasn't mocking, but it carried something far colder—something final.

"Forgiven?" He tilted his head slightly, his smirk sharpening into something cruel. "I was tortured every single day in that house, and no one did a damn thing. You all just—ignored it." His voice didn't rise, didn't waver, but the venom beneath it was unmistakable.

Ember's hands trembled at her sides. "I—I was just a child, Riven. I didn't—"

"I was also just a child," he cut in smoothly, his gaze darkening. "And yet, I was still expected to survive it."

She flinched again, but this time, she didn't look away.

Nyx, who had been silent up until now, finally let out a sharp exhale. "Wow," she muttered, crossing her arms. "This is just pathetic."

Ember blinked, startled, as if she had just now noticed the other girl's presence. She turned to Nyx, frowning. "And who exactly are you?"

Nyx smirked, tilting her head. "Someone who actually gives a damn about him."

Ember's eyes widened slightly, but before she could say anything, Riven took a step forward, drawing her attention back to him.

"Let me make this simple for you, Ember," he said, his voice low, almost gentle—dangerous. "You can either stand by my side, completely, or you can walk away and leave me the hell alone." His blue eyes bore into hers, unyielding. "But there is no middle ground."

The words hung between them, heavier than before.

Ember's lips parted slightly, hesitation flickering across her face. She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that it wasn't that simple, that things were complicated, that she had regrets—but Riven saw it for what it was. Useless words.

Finally, after a long silence, Ember exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing.

"…I need to think."

Riven let out a quiet chuckle and stepped back. "Then think fast."

With that, he turned, walking away without another glance.

Nyx lingered for a moment longer, her obsidian gaze narrowing, the weight of her presence pressing down like a silent threat. For a brief second, it seemed as if she was genuinely considering whether this girl—this source of frustration to her king—was even worth letting live.

Then, with a slow exhale, she rolled her shoulders and let the tension slip away. Not today.

With a sharp turn, she strode after Riven, her footsteps light but deliberate, leaving Ember standing alone in the marketplace's fading noise.

As they moved deeper into the Market District, Nyx glanced at him sideways. "Think she'll actually pick a side?"

Riven smirked faintly, but there was no humor in it. "I don't care."

With each new level of power, his ties to the people who called themselves his family grew weaker. Once, he had intended to play along—bleed them dry, use them until there was nothing left, and then crush them beneath his heel. But maintaining the facade was becoming more tedious. Every time he looked at them, he remembered what they had done to the Riven who once occupied this body.

His jaw tightened, fury coiling in his chest like a storm barely contained.

Nyx studied him, her amusement dimming as she caught the shift in his aura. "Where are you going?" she asked, a note of caution threading through her voice.

Riven exhaled sharply, shadows curling at his feet.

"To fight."