The sun had barely crested the horizon when the training grounds stirred to life.
Set in the northern quarter beyond the palace walls, the open arena sprawled beneath the shadow of obsidian towers. The ground was packed dark earth, etched with old runes that pulsed faintly as combat spells discharged and echoed off the walls.
Riven stood at the edge of the training field, his arms folded as he watched two Shadow Knights spar in silence—blades gleaming, footwork precise, neither giving ground. Around them, more knights moved through drills under the supervision of instructors, both living and undead.
But it wasn't the knights that held his focus.
Beyond the ring, twenty figures stood in perfect formation.
His undead.
The ones he had personally raised.
