The Shadow Kingdom lay quiet beneath a starless sky. No moonlight touched the blackstone spires. Only the faint violet glow of rune-lanterns lit the streets, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of the city itself.
Riven stood in his chambers within the Shadow Palace, cloak discarded, bare-chested as he washed the blood and dust off from his skin from his spar with Damon and Krux. The basin before him steamed faintly, tendrils of heat curling into the still air. In the obsidian-framed mirror across the room, the dragon tattoo across his back seemed to shift in the low light—its wings curled protectively around his shoulder blades, tail winding down his spine, the head resting near the nape of his neck.
Alive. Waiting.
His mana still buzzed from the earlier sparring session—raw and vast, like a tide just barely held at bay. He could feel his Fourth Circle humming beneath his ribs, a molten rhythm of shadow and fire.
And somewhere deep beneath it all…
The Obsidian Dragon Egg.
