Riven's boots struck the gleaming basalt of the Skytrace—a leybridge of raw glyphlight stretching across the hollowed peak of Mount Caelion. Beneath his feet, glyphstreams pulsed in restless hues, stirred by the unraveling magic all around.
Above, the Council Dome's skyseal had splintered. Lightning veined through the mist, bleeding crimson arcs that scorched the clouds.
Aeris moved beside him, jaw set. "The glyphgrid's warping across half the continent."
Riven nodded grimly. "The Ouro Seraphim are trying to rewrite the root lattice."
At the far end of the Skytrace, dozens of figures stood in silence—Ouro enforcers, glyphborn turncoats, and Seraphim heralds. And at the center, waiting as if this were all some cruel performance, stood Velther.
"Come closer, Glyphborn," Velther called, voice echoing like bells struck hollow. "You've danced across death long enough. It's time to embrace purpose."
His presence radiated something ancient—no longer merely human. Riven felt Shard Step stir uneasily, edges humming with unease.
"I didn't come to dance," Riven growled. "I came to sever the rot."
Velther smiled. "Then look, Riven Kade. Look upon your inheritance."
The crowd parted, revealing a stone altar sunk deep into the chamber floor. Inscribed across it were glyphs that twitched like worms—living, shifting—and beneath it, the Vein Core.
A mass of pure glyphplasm pulsed beneath transparent stone, black veins writhing outward, connecting to the continent's ley arteries. Magic bled from it like heat from a wound.
Aeris inhaled sharply. "That's not a conduit... it's the root. If it falls—"
"—the glyphgrid fractures," Riven finished. "And the world goes dark."
Velther's arms rose, welcoming the chaos. "One world dies so another may ascend."
Then the walls ignited.
Glyphs flared across the stone, forming crystalline beasts—shards of time, memory, and twisted soul. The battle erupted instantly. Aeris shot upward on a spiral of air, twin glyphblades spinning. Riven vanished in a pulse of fractured space—Shard Stepping straight into the fray.
A clash, a blink, a cry. Constructs shattered into echoes. Seraphim mages flung corrupted sigils. Aeris deflected a bolt meant for Riven, her wind barrier cracking.
Then—he was on Velther.
Their blades met in a collision of will and light. Velther's glyphs twisted unnaturally, bending logic itself. Riven's surged, raw and precise, fueled by resolve and every moment of pain that had forged him.
"You shouldn't exist," Velther snarled. "Your glyph was born from chaos."
"And yet," Riven gritted, parrying, "I'm still here."
Each strike shook the chamber. The Vein Core behind them pulsed faster, its veins expanding, creeping up the walls like roots devouring stone.
Aeris shouted over the chaos, "Riven—the core's collapsing! If we stay—"
"I know!"
Velther grinned even as blood trickled down his chin. "You think this ends with me?"
Then it cracked.
The Vein Core split with a sound like the world exhaling. Glyphlight blasted skyward, and the mountain trembled. The leygrid across the sky spasmed—flaring white, then dimming into warped flickers.
The chamber began to fall apart.
Riven looked to Aeris—then without hesitation, flung his arm around her. "Hold on."
He called on every fragment of Shard Step.
And vanished into the shatterlight.