The morning light was soft, but it wasn't the sun that surprised Riven—it was the lack of ache in his back.

  For the first time as far back as he could remember, he hadn't spent the night braced against cold stone or damp earth. He woke up slowly, wrapped in a heavy warmth that wasn't being sucked away by the freezing stone floor of a cell.

  He sat up, his joints popping as he gave his whole body a long, slow stretch.

  'So this is what a bed feels like,' he thought, his hand pressing into the mattress. 'It’s incredible. And this pillow... feathers. I love it.'

  A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips. He let himself fall back, burying his face in the plush softness of the pillow, savoring a luxury he’d only ever seen through shop windows.

  It was a perfect moment, right up until he rolled over and felt the sharp protest of his bruised cheekbone against the fabric.

  He reached up, his fingertips tentatively brushing the swollen, tender skin of his right cheekbone. A deep bruise had formed there from Ulric’s punch the night before. He gave it a deliberate poke, testing the pain.

  'Ouch,' he muttered, pulling his hand away with a grimace. 'Yeah. It still hurts.'

  The dormitory was small, but it had a warmth he wasn't used to. It was a dense, cluttered space, filled with enough decorations and fabrics to make the stone walls feel like a home rather than a cell.

  Riven lay still on the bottom bunk, listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of Lya sleeping just above him.

  On the other side of the cramped room, Ulric and Kellen were already awake. They had occupied the other set of bunks, and the sight of them brought a sharp, cynical thought to Riven's mind.

  'I wonder how that block of muscle even managed to fit into the frame,' he mocked silently.

  A grim satisfaction settled in his chest at the thought of the two elites being forced to sleep in the same cramped conditions as he was.

  He could almost feel Ulric’s irritation at the tight space, the lack of luxury, and the indignity of it all.

  'I bet it kills them to sleep in the same kind of bed as me,' he thought, a dark smirk ghosting over his bruised face.

  He couldn't help it—a short, dry chuckle escaped him like a quiet and mocking sound.

  Ulric’s head snapped toward him the moment the quiet chuckle left Riven's lips. His eyes narrowed, immediately erasing any trace of morning grogginess.

  "You’re awake, kid," Ulric grunted, his voice heavy and commanding. "Good timing. I’m starving. Go fetch us some breakfast."

  Kellen chimed in, his high-pitched voice sounding even more grating in the small room. He practically peeked from behind Ulric’s massive shoulder, looking like a nervous child hiding behind his father.

  "Big plates," Kellen added eagerly. "Bread, meat, fruit, cakes... actually, just bring everything they have."

  Riven didn't say a word. He didn't protest or glare; he simply slid out of his bunk, his joints still a bit stiff, and walked toward the door.

  As he stepped out into the hallway and the heavy door clicked shut behind him, he let out a long, irritated breath.

  'Why stop there?' he thought bitterly, his mind already picturing the long walk to the kitchens. 'Why don't I just drag the whole buffet back here while I'm at it?'

  He drifted through the corridors, having no idea where he was actually going. A few students stopped to stare, their eyes lingering on his bruise or his clothes, but most were too caught up in their own worlds.

  Their voices echoed sharply against the stone, creating a constant, low-frequency hum that filled the vast space.

  Riven took a moment to look up, struck by the sheer wealth of the place.

  The floors were polished marble, the trimmings were worked gold, and the walls glowed with warm, inviting colors. Massive pillars reached toward the sky, supporting vaulted ceilings so high they seemed to disappear into the shadows.

  Everyone’s talking about the Ascension, he noted, watching the clusters of students. They're already busy forming the biggest groups they can.

  The desperate idea of escaping, which had flickered in his mind since they arrived, finally evaporated.

  There were guards at every major intersection and too many eyes in the hallways for him to even attempt a move. Besides, with his current attire, even a blind man could have picked him out as a slave.

  He eventually reached a major intersection and decided to follow the flow, trailing behind the largest groups of students who all seemed to be heading in the same direction.

  A massive slab of polished marble rose from the floor like a monument, with the words Dining Hall carved deep into its surface and filled with gold leaf.

  'I guess this is it,' he thought.

  He passed under a towering stone archway and stopped dead.The main hall was framed by endless rows of fluted white marble pillars that looked like they belonged in a temple for ancient gods. The ceiling soared dozens of meters above, peaking in a majestic vault covered in intricate frescoes—vivid paintings of heroes and legends that looked like they belonged in a royal basilica.

  "Magnificent..." he whispered, his neck straining as his eyes traced the artwork on the ceiling.

  As he looked back down, the sheer scale of the room hit him. Long, common tables stretched across the floor, draped in heavy, patterned tablecloths. In more secluded corners, the furniture became even more offensive in its luxury: deep, plush sofas upholstered in crimson silk, their wooden frames glittering with gold filigree.

  But what finally anchored Riven’s attention was the buffet. He hadn't known it was possible for so much food to exist in one place. It was a mountain of copper platters and silver trays, piled high with every dish, fruit, and pastry imaginable.

  The steam rising from the hot plates created a fragrant mist that made his stomach growl with a fierce intensity.

  After a final moment of admiration, Riven shook himself out of his trance and approached a long service counter where several members of the staff stood in sharp, clean uniforms.

  "Excuse me," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Where are the trays? I need to take some meals back to the rooms."

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  The two servers looked him up and down, their brows furrowing as they took in his appearance and the bruise on his face. Then, they exchanged a glance and burst into a short, mocking laugh.

  "Listen, kid," one of them said, leaning over the counter with a condescending smirk. "This isn't a canteen. Tell your masters that they either eat here, or they don't eat at all."

  Riven stared at them for a second, the weight of his situation settling back onto his shoulders. He didn't argue; he knew exactly where he stood in their eyes. He simply turned away, his mind already racing with how Ulric would react to the news.

  'Right. I should have seen that coming,'

  The trip back was short, and the explanation even shorter. Ulric’s reaction was a mix of a snarl and a curse, but the hunger won out over his laziness.

  Minutes later, Riven found himself walking the same marble corridors again, but this time he wasn't alone. He trailed behind the massive frame of Ulric and a still-groggy Kellen, with Lya walking quietly beside him.

  They took their seats at the end of one of the long, grand tables. Ulric and Kellen didn't miss a beat, immediately striking up loud conversations with other climbers nearby as if they were regulars in a familiar pub.

  Riven didn't waste a second on them. He hadn't had a real meal in days, and the hollow ache in his stomach had turned into a sharp, demanding pain.

  He approached the buffet, his head spinning from the sheer variety of choices. There were meats, fruits, cakes, and refined dishes he didn't even have names for. Small labels sat in front of each platter, but most of the terms were foreign to him.

  He grabbed a large silver tray and began to stack it, determined to cover every single millimeter of the metal surface.

  He started with a generous slice of Redhal Pie. At a glance, it looked like a standard apple tart, but the crust hid a filling of fruit as deep and visceral as blood-red. Beside it, he settled a braised rib of Broadback Ox, a massive, dark slab of meat that sat heavy on the tray, dripping with a rich, savory glaze.

  He added a few Hollow-eyed Ape thighs—they looked like oversized chicken legs, though the texture of the skin suggested a much leaner, wilder flavor.

  Then, something at the far end of the spread caught his eye and pulled him in. He reached for several lateral slices of Crown Horn Leviathan. The meat was unlike anything he’d ever seen—it had a faint, translucent blue tint that seemed to catch the light from the vaulted ceiling.

  To finish his mountain of food, he grabbed a handful of random fruits and vegetables—some spiky, some glowing with vibrant colors—just for the chance to taste something new. His tray was now a chaotic, towering landscape of luxury, so heavy his forearms tensed just to keep it level as he walked back to the table.

  As Riven stood there, his mind focused on the weight of the tray and the smell of the meat, he felt a hand settle delicately on his right shoulder.

  The contact was light, but it made him stiffen instantly. He turned his head sharply to the right, his defensive instincts flaring, only to find himself looking at a girl.

  She had long, shimmering sheets of silver hair, and eyes the color of glacial ice. She didn't look like the other students—she possessed an effortless, quiet elegance, her posture graceful and poised as she moved to serve herself from a nearby platter.

  She met Riven’s gaze with those piercing blue eyes. She didn’t say a word, but she tilted her head slightly to the side—a silent, curious gesture that felt like a question.

  Damn…not the right person.

  Flustered and feeling a wave of sudden discomfort, Riven looked away, snapping his head toward his left to escape her gaze.

  Standing right there was Lya. She was watching him, a playful, warm smile tugging at her lips as she looked down at the mountain of food he was balancing.

  "Are you planning on feeding an army with all that?" she teased softly.

  "I feel like there's an army’s worth of space in my stomach right now," he admitted, his voice low “Besides, half of this is probably going to end up on Ulric’s plate anyway.”

  Riven sat down and finally took his first bite of the Leviathan meat. The flavor was explosive—sweet, salty, and carrying a faint tingle of energy that seemed to wake up his very soul.

  For a few glorious minutes, the world around him vanished, replaced only by the bliss of a full stomach.

  Lya took her seat beside him, eating in a comfortable silence that felt like a rare sanctuary in this place.

  When Riven finally leaned back against his chair, the plates before him were polished clean. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the hollow ache in his chest was gone, replaced by a warm, heavy lethargy.

  The peace didn't last.

  The sharp clang of a heavy iron bell shattered the atmosphere of the hall, signaling the end of the meal. Ulric pushed his chair back with a jarring screech, his eyes gleaming with a newfound aggression.

  —-

  Several hours later, Riven stood on the departure platform.

  The morning’s warmth had been swallowed by a cold, persistent drizzle, turning the once-vibrant gold of the Academy into a monochrome landscape of slick grey stone.

  A heavy silence hung over the gathered crowd, broken only by the steady, rhythmic patter of the rain striking the cold stone beneath their feet. Every drop seemed to echo in the stillness, a cold reminder of the world they were about to leave behind.

  The boastful laughter that had filled the dining hall was gone, buried under the heavy, ragged breathing of a thousand terrified souls.

  Riven was surrounded by more than a thousand future climbers, all of them wearing pale and hollow-eyed expressions.

  His own gaze grew even darker, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he realized he was one of the few standing there without a shred of equipment. He was still dressed in his old, torn white shirt, now translucent and clinging to his skin from the rain.

  It was the standard treatment for slaves—they were being sent in as nothing more than sacrifices, and no one saw the point in wasting good leather and iron on those not meant to return.

  Riven’s expression shifted, hardening into a hollow death-mask.

  He looked at his trembling, bare hands and a bitter thought clawed at his mind.

  All of it… for this?

  He thought of the years spent in chains, the scars hidden beneath his wet shirt, and the countless nights of pure agony where he had crawled through the dirt, clinging to a life that offered him nothing but pain.

  He had endured the whip, the starvation, and the torture of his masters, fighting with every broken fingernail just to breathe for one more day

  But as he looked at the grand archway of the portal, the bitter truth finally settled in his gut.

  "All those years," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic patter of the rain against the stone. "All those years of clinging to life... only to be tossed into the abyss."

  He looked toward the swirling violet vortex of the portal, his eyes reflecting its cold light.

  "I'm nothing but cannon fodder to them," he muttered, his jaw tightening until it ached. "Just a piece of living meat... sacrificed for their sport and profit."

  A heavy thud suddenly echoed through the platform, cutting through his dark thoughts.

  A thousand heads turned as one toward the base of the portal.

  A small group of men stood there, positioned like pillars of iron at the edge of the vortex. They were Veterans, heavily armored, their gear notched and scarred by battles fought that no recruit could even imagine.

  A veteran stepped to the very edge of the platform, his heavy boots echoing against the wet stone. He didn’t need magic to amplify his voice—his presence alone commanded a silence that even the rain couldn't break.

  He looked out at the sea of pale faces and began, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade.

  "Some of you will die in the first minute," he stated flatly. There was no pity in his eyes. "Forget the rules of the world you’re leaving behind. There’s no such thing as ‘fair’ once you cross that threshold. The Ascension does not bargain, and it does not apologize."

  He paced slowly along the line of recruits, his gaze piercing through them like a predator's.

  "Don’t mistake recklessness for courage," he continued, his tone hardening. "Survival isn’t bravery. It’s awareness. Keep your eyes open and your instincts sharp. In the dark of the climb, the only difference between a corpse and a king is a single heartbeat."

  Then, the veteran stopped. He turned toward the swirling violet vortex of the portal, his voice dropping to a low, solemn growl that seemed to vibrate in Riven’s very marrow.

  "Remember this above all else," he warned.

  "The Ascension rejects those who walk alone."

  The veteran suddenly drew his massive, scarred blade, pointing it straight into the heart of the vortex.

  "Now go!" he roared, his voice exploding with a primal fury. "Reach into the abyss and tear your glory from the monster’s throat!"

  The effect was electric.

  The fear that had paralyzed the crowd just moments ago vanished, replaced by a desperate, fanatical hunger.

  The war cry of a thousand voices rose like a physical wall of sound, drowning out the storm. Then, the crowd broke like a failed dam. A massive wave of humanity poured forward, a tide of steel and desperate flesh surging toward the violet maw of the portal.

  Riven was swept away with them, crushed between armored shoulders and sweating bodies, his feet barely skimming the stone as the human tide surged forward.

  In an instant, the roar of the rain and the screams of the men were swallowed by a sudden, absolute silence.