The Glitched Mage-Chapter 88: The Gilded Leaf

Morning came too soon. Riven stirred, blinking against the dim light filtering through the high windows of his dorm. His muscles ached—not from battle, but from the lingering toll of last night's mana drain. Even with the Etherbloom mana potions replenishing his reserves, the exhaustion clung to his bones like an old wound.

And then there was the other issue.

A weight against his side.

A slow, warm breath ghosting over his shoulder.

Riven's gaze flicked downward.

Nyx. Sprawled across the bed like she owned it, head thrown back at an awkward angle, limbs splayed out in all directions. She had somehow managed to take up nearly all of the space, despite being half his size.

And worst of all—he had told her explicitly to sleep on the floor.

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Yet here she was.

Without hesitation, Riven lifted a hand and shoved her.

With a startled yelp, Nyx flailed, the sheets tangling around her as she tumbled over the edge.

Thud.

Silence.

Then—

"…The fuck?"

Riven stretched lazily, utterly unbothered. "You were snoring."

A groan of pure suffering came from the floor. "And your first instinct was to throw me?"

"No, my first instinct was to stab you for drooling on me," Riven said flatly, running a hand through his hair as he swung his legs over the bed.

He stood, stretching lazily before making his way toward the adjoining bathroom.

"Be grateful all I did was throw you off."

A low, murderous grumble came from the floor as Nyx untangled herself from the mess of sheets. "You are so lucky I'm too tired to beat you up."

Riven scoffed as he splashed cold water onto his face, letting the sharp chill drive away the last remnants of exhaustion. "Lucky? I'm the one who had to suffer through your snoring. You should be apologizing."

Nyx, now sitting up and rubbing her face, scowled at him through bleary eyes. "I do not snore."

Riven arched a brow as he reached for a towel. "Oh, you do. Loud enough to make me consider suffocating you in your sleep."

She let out an offended huff, grabbing a nearby pillow and chucking it at him. Riven caught it without looking, tossing it aside. "Real mature," he muttered.

Nyx groaned, dragging herself to her feet. "I told you, I was exhausted. And the floor is uncomfortable."

"My floor is stone."

"Exactly." She stretched, cracking her neck. "And since I was gracious enough to bring you a bag full of mana beast cores last night, you should have let me take the bed."

Riven dried his face, unimpressed. "That's not how this works. I'm your king, remember?"

Nyx rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Next time, I'm taking your bed and you can sleep on the floor."

Riven shot her a dry look. "You can try."

She grinned, smug. "Oh, I will."

For a moment, Riven just stared at her, then exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. This—this constant back and forth, the casual threats, the way Nyx could throw defiance in his face without hesitation—was something entirely foreign to him.

He had never had this. Not really.

His childhood had been spent walking on eggshells, either ignored entirely or used as a target for ridicule. No playful banter, no teasing fights over space or stolen blankets. His sister from his previous life ignored him and his half brother from this life wanted to kill him.

But this?

This was different.

This was what a sibling bond was supposed to be, wasn't it? Not something laced with hatred or competition, but something comfortable—something that didn't require him to be constantly on guard.

Not that he would ever say that aloud.

Instead, Riven just clicked his tongue, adjusting his robes. "We'll see."

Nyx only smirked, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

Shaking his head, Riven finished dressing. He fastened his belt and grabbed the small silver pendant Elara had given him.

Nyx eyed it, raising a brow. "So, the great Archmage finally decided to start training you, huh?"

Riven hummed. "Apparently."

Nyx made a thoughtful noise as she adjusted her own robes. "What do you think she wants?"

Riven exhaled, slipping the pendant over his head. "To see how much she can push me."

Nyx smirked. "Sounds fun."

Riven shot her a look. "For who?"

Her grin widened. "Me."

Ignoring her, he fastened his cloak and made his way toward the door, Nyx trailing behind before she shifted in a blur of darkness and settled within his shadow. The halls of the Academy were quiet at this hour, most students still sleeping or just beginning to stir.

The Market District wasn't far. Dawn had barely broken, but the city outside was already waking. As they stepped into the crisp morning air, Riven pulled his hood up, the silver pendant pressing cool against his skin.

Time to see just what Archmage Elara had planned.

—x—

The Market District was already alive with movement by the time Riven arrived.

He moved through the throng of students with quiet ease, his hood pulled up, concealing his face. He wasn't in the mood to be recognized—especially not after his fight with Cole. The last thing he needed was more whispers.

Beneath his feet, Nyx's presence was a familiar weight within his shadow, silent and watchful.

Ahead, near the entrance to one of the larger trade halls, Archmage Elara stood waiting.

She was impossible to miss.

Draped in her signature violet robes embroidered with golden runes, she stood with effortless authority, her sharp violet eyes scanning the crowd. Even in a place filled with powerful students and professors, her presence carried an unmistakable weight—one that kept most from approaching too closely.

Riven adjusted his cloak and made his way toward her.

The moment he stepped into her field of vision, Elara's gaze flicked to him. Her expression remained unreadable, but something flickered behind her sharp eyes.

Anticipation.

"You're late," she said smoothly.

Riven arched a brow. "I'm on time."

Elara's lips curved ever so slightly. "And yet, I've been waiting."

Riven didn't rise to the bait, simply adjusting the pendant she had given him. The concealment enchantment was subtle but strong, suppressing his mana signature just enough to avoid unwanted attention.

Elara gave him a long, assessing look before tilting her head. "I assume you're ready?"

"For what, exactly?" Riven asked. "You were vague about today's plans."

Elara's smile deepened, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "We're leaving the Academy."

Riven's expression didn't shift, but inwardly, his thoughts moved fast.

Leaving?

First and second-year students weren't permitted to leave Academy grounds unless for sanctioned excursions—none of which had been mentioned.

His gaze flicked over her, sharp with suspicion. "Where?"

Elara turned, her robes billowing slightly as she began walking. "The capital."

Riven stared.

"The capital," he repeated flatly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Is that a problem?"

A moment of silence passed.

"What for?" he asked, his tone measured.

Elara's expression remained unreadable. "You'll see soon enough."

That was a useless answer. Riven exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "You do love your mysteries."

Elara hummed, but didn't deny it.

Riven didn't like it. Something about this felt… off.

He had anticipated rigorous training, tests to push his magic, maybe even private duels. But the capital? What reason could she possibly have for taking him there?

His gaze flickered downward—Nyx was silent in his shadow, but he could feel the slight shift in her presence.

She was thinking the same thing.

This wasn't just some simple training.

Elara was testing something.

And Riven intended to figure out what.

—x—

The carriage rumbled smoothly along the cobbled streets, the rhythmic clatter of hooves a steady backdrop to the silence inside.

Riven sat opposite Archmage Elara, arms crossed, watching as the capital of Valeria unfolded outside the window. He had seen it before during his infiltration of Duke Deveroux's estate, but this time, there was no need for secrecy. No cloaks and daggers. No slipping through the cracks in the city's defenses.

This time, he was here openly, as an Academy student—a status that granted him passage but not trust.

The city was alive with movement.

The outer merchant district bustled with activity, vendors shouting over one another, peddling enchanted trinkets, exotic spices, and shimmering mana-infused silks. The streets were packed with travelers, merchants, and adventurers from all walks of life, their attire ranging from common cloth to rich, gold-embroidered robes.

Past the markets, the noble district stretched in pristine elegance—white marble structures, cascading fountains, and sprawling mansions with gilded gates. Here, the streets were quieter, more refined, as highborns strolled arm-in-arm, their eyes brimming with self-importance.

Riven's gaze flicked over them with silent disdain.

They passed through the final stretch of the noble district and turned into a quieter street. Here, the towering estates gave way to more modest buildings, their exteriors unremarkable compared to the grandeur they had just left behind.

And then, without warning, the carriage halted.

Riven glanced out the window, brow raising slightly as he took in their destination.

An apothecary.

The Gilded Leaf was carved into a simple wooden sign hanging above the entrance, its edges slightly worn. The windows were fogged over, filled with the hazy outlines of herbs, potions, and alchemical supplies. The shop looked ordinary—too ordinary for an Archmage of the Academy to be visiting.

Riven turned back to Elara.

She was already stepping out of the carriage.

Riven followed, adjusting his cloak, his gaze flicking once more to the quiet street around them. Nothing immediately stood out, but something about this felt… deliberate.

Nyx's presence shifted within his shadow, her silent watchfulness mirroring his own.

The moment they stepped inside, the scent of dried herbs, crushed petals, and aged parchment filled the air. The shelves were lined with glass vials of various colors, jars of preserved ingredients, and bundles of medicinal roots tied with twine.

Behind the counter, an old man stood hunched over, carefully grinding what smelled like mana-thistle into a fine powder. His gray beard nearly touched the wooden surface, and he barely glanced up as they entered.

Elara approached the counter smoothly.

The old man finally looked up, his sharp, weathered gaze flicking between them. His expression didn't change, but something about the way his fingers stilled against the mortar and pestle told Riven that this was no ordinary shopkeeper.

Then, in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, Elara spoke a single phrase.

"The stars that shine in the dark."

A pause.

The old man studied her for a long moment. Then, with an exhale, he reached beneath the counter.

Click.

The enchantment was subtle—a faint pulse of magic that rippled through the wooden floorboards.

Riven's instincts flared, but before he could react—

The floor beneath his feet gave way, gravity yanking him downward.

His body reacted instantly, mana surging, shadows twisting around him to cushion his fall. But before he could even attempt to counter it—

Thud.

He landed.

Not on stone, not on hard earth—on something… soft.

His boots then touched cold stone, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment, burning incense, and something older—something woven deep into the foundations of this place.

This wasn't just a hidden chamber beneath an apothecary.

This was a temple.

And it was ancient.

The towering ceiling arched high above, lost in a void of flickering sconces that cast long, wavering shadows. The walls were carved with intricate runes—sigils of power, of death, of eternity—etched into obsidian and outlined in silver. Hooded figures drifted silently through the corridors, their robes trailing like whispers, the air thick with murmured incantations and the steady pulse of necrotic mana.

This was not a place of divine worship.

It was a sanctum for those who had long abandoned the light.

Behind him, Elara landed lightly, her violet robes barely stirring. She moved forward without hesitation, navigating the temple with the ease of someone who had walked its halls before.

Riven didn't follow immediately. His gaze swept the vast chamber, absorbing every detail, every flickering rune, every silent figure that turned their cowled heads toward him in recognition—or curiosity.

This place wasn't just a hidden refuge for mages.

It was a stronghold.

A sanctum of power.

And more importantly—it was a necromancer's domain.

Nyx shifted slightly in his shadow, her presence sharpening. She saw it too. The wards woven into the pillars, the lingering echoes of death magic in the air.

Riven exhaled slowly, his smirk sharp as he finally stepped forward, following Elara deeper into the temple.

"You know," he mused, voice laced with amusement, "one of these days, I'm going to throw you into a pit and see how you like it."

Elara smiled, not even looking back. "You landed on the cushioning rune, didn't you?"

"That's not the point."

She only chuckled, moving past a line of silent acolytes who stepped aside at her presence. The deeper they walked, the more apparent it became—this wasn't just some underground network of rogue mages. This was a place of study, of ritual, of power.

And at its heart, something waited.

The hall opened into a vast inner sanctum, its architecture reminiscent of the grand temples devoted to the divine—except this one wasn't built for gods.

It was built for something darker.

At the center of the chamber, illuminated by a ring of ever-burning abyssal flame, stood six towering statues carved from obsidian.

Five of them were unmistakable.

Krux. Nyx. Aria. Mal. Damon.

Riven's generals.

And at the center, larger than the rest, was Velmorian.

The Shadow King.

The one who had come before.

His statue loomed over the chamber, his obsidian crown sharp, his long cloak carved into sweeping motion, as though the darkness itself had taken form in stone. His gaze was piercing, immortalized in polished onyx, his expression unreadable.

It was a monument.

Riven stood still for a moment, absorbing the sheer weight of it.

Elara stepped forward, turning slightly toward him, her violet eyes gleaming in the dim firelight.

"This is where those who walk the path of the abyss come to grow," she said, voice softer now. "This is where necromancers learn to control what the world fears."

Riven said nothing for a long moment.

Then, slowly, a smirk curled at his lips.

"Now this," he murmured, "this is interesting."