The morning after the celebration dawned soft and grey, the skies veiled with mist that clung to the spires of the obsidian palace. The streets of the Shadow Kingdom stirred slowly, as though even the undead had been lulled by the warmth of the night before.
Riven stood in the war chamber, eyes distant as he gazed at the updated projections of his kingdom's growth—mana lines pulsing faintly over black stone, trade routes etched with light, farmland slowly overtaken by his abyss-touched soil.
But his mind wasn't on roads or crops.
It was on his mana heart.
"I'll be beginning my ascent to the Fourth Mana Circle today," Riven said at last, his gaze sweeping over the room, settling on each of his generals. "The next phase of the kingdom's growth is going to demand far more mana than I currently possess. I need to advance—quickly."
Mal's eyes widened slightly. "You're already that close to a breakthrough?"
