RIVEN
“You want me to be cold?”I growl, raising my sword. “Fine. But don’t mistake it for weakness.”
“There it is,” my father sneers. “The ice beneath the rage. The callous monster you pretend you aren’t.”
I launch an attack, but he controls the battlefield with sheer precision, moving as if the laws of motion bend to his will. Frost swirls around him, shards of ice forming and melting at his command.
“I know every move you’ll make,” he taunts, sending a wave of frost that catches me off guard, throwing me against the barrier.
Shards of ice crack against my back, scraping through my shirt and biting into my skin.
“I created you,” he continues. “Iforgedyou.”
I force myself upright, my vision blurring with pain. Blood drips from a cut above my eye, freezing on my skin.
The crowd’s silence has given way to murmurs, no doubt already speculating on the outcome of this increasingly one-sided battle.
But I won’t let myself fall. I won’t let him win.
“You forged nothing.” I unleash a torrent of ice daggers, followed by a wave of frost.
My attack connects, slicing into his side and forcing him back a step. A rush of triumph flares in my chest—until he straightens, his eyes hollow and cruel, merciless in their intent.
“No,” he agrees. “I failed.Youfailed. And because of that, you arenothingto me.”
The arena floor cracks beneath us, groaning as ice spikes erupt from every surface, cutting off my escape routes. I try to counter, my magic surging as I attempt to neutralize his, but it’s like trying to stop an avalanche already in motion.
He hurtles forward with his blade again, every blow landing with crushing force against mine, driving me backward.
Eventually, a particularly vicious strike knocks my sword from my hand.
The weapon skids across the ice, coming to rest far beyond my reach.
Frostbite,I think the sword’s name that I gave it in childhood. One whispered in secret, a name I shared only with Ghost. It’s a name I haven’t thought about in years. Now, it tugs at something deep in me, making me yearn for the innocence I lost long ago, when swords were toys and enemies were shadows.
My father’s next attack knocks the air from my lungs, sending me to my knees.
Blood spatters the ice. The crowd takes a collective intake of breath, and Sapphire’s terror rushes through our bond.
My father stands over me, victorious, frost swirling around him.
His blade rests at my throat, the edge sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood without him applying any pressure at all.
“You never deserved to be my son,” he says through clenched teeth. “I gave you every chance to harness your power. Everylesson and scar were for your own good. And yet you remain soft. Weak.” He lifts his chin. “I deserved someone ruthless. Someone who understood that power is all that matters. Someone who would defend our court with an iron fist and never flinch from necessary cruelty. Someone who would savor the taste of blood on his lips and smile when his enemies begged for mercy. Someone who took what he wanted and owned it instead of opening his heart andlovingit.”
I swallow past the blade at my throat, already well-aware of how my father wants me to be. Cruel and cold, caring for nothing but power, matching the chaotic madness that consumes him.
“Yield,” he commands, pressing the blade closer. “Admit your weakness and beg for the mercy you don’t deserve.”
Blood drips from a half-healed cut on my cheek as I lift my head to meet his gaze.
I could surrender. I could avoid becoming the Lonely King, consumed by ice, sitting on a throne I never wanted.
But… I don’t. Becausehervoice cuts through the silence, clear and steady.
“You don’t have to be like him,” Sapphire calls across the arena, and I don’t dare to look at her—not with my father’s blade at my throat. “You don’t have to fight the way he wants you to fight and win the way he wants you to win.”
My father’s eyes narrow. “This Trial is between father and son alone,” he says, and then he’s creating a spear of ice in his hand and hurling it at her heart.
