The silence after the battle was deeper than before. Not just the absence of sound, it was the kind of silence that felt alive. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
Riven stood there, unmoving. Bondages on his skin. The last echoes of the Dreadspawn's death still rang through his bones. It hadn't been a clean fight. His hands were bruised, wrapped in bandages now stained through with dark red. His legs trembled beneath him, where a spike had torn flesh and left its mark.
But something had changed.
Something fundamental.
He felt it before he saw it.
A pull .....subtle, insistent. Like the world was dragging something out of him... or pressing something in.
The air thickened. Not with heat, not with cold, with pressure. It pushed against his chest, not enough to suffocate, just enough to still him.
And then — it shimmered.
Letters formed, not in ink, not in fire, but in silence itself. Shapes folding out of nothing, letters only him could see. They glowed faintly, a presence at the edge of vision long enough for him to read.
---
Name: Riven
Mask Type: Unbound Class
Mask Name: Abyssal Mirror
Abilities:
• Devourer's Pact
• Echo Vision
• Shadowform (Locked)
---
The light dimmed. The words vanished like mist chased by wind.
His thoughts churned. That display — the mask had never shown anything like it before. No names. No words. Nothing.
Riven has once had somewhere— "The world senses everything. Especially death. Especially when it's unnatural. It always… balances."
He turned slightly. The Dreadspawn's corpse still steamed nearby, its limbs twisted, the skull-face cracked wide open like a shattered urn. The battle had nearly killed him.
And now... it has given him something.
The space before him rippled , like water disturbed by unseen hands. From that ripple, an object fell with a heavy thud.
Armor.
Black. Jagged. Silent.
It didn't feel like a reward.
It lay there, hissing faintly with vapor, like it hadn't yet exhaled the breath of whatever thing it had once belonged to. Its surface shimmered like something alive... or like something that remembered being alive.
Riven knelt, his fingers hovering just above the plating. The pauldrons curled into blade-like ridges, shaped like bone. The chestpiece bore rib-like segments fused at the flanks — like a creature's corpse had been hollowed out and forged into armor.
The helmet… mouthless, smooth… was shaped like a scream frozen in silence.
More words flickered across his vision.
---
[WRAITHBONE MAIL]
Class: Relic Armor
Resonance: Partial — 13%
Soullink: Initiated
---
The letters faded like smoke caught on a breeze.
Riven didn't move.
Footsteps crunched behind him. Slow. Measured. Then came the voice — quieter than usual, touched by something close to reverence.
"I heard you killed a Dreadspawn," the Doctor said.
Riven said nothing.
"This is the world's answer."
Still, Riven kept his gaze on the armor. Something inside him pulsed with quiet understanding.
The Doctor knelt beside him,"It's how it begins," he said softly. "The world doesn't let death go unanswered. Especially when it's something that shouldn't have died."
He exhaled, thoughtful. "When a creature dies — unnaturally, I mean — the world tries to balance the scale. Whatever killed it… changes. Gains something. Not all of it. Not the full strength. Just… a fragment."
He looked at Riven, eyes sharp beneath the soot-stained lenses. "Sometimes, it's a boost to your body. Sometimes your soul. And if you're lucky…" — he gestured to the armor — "…you get one of these."
Riven's voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "What is it?"
The Doctor smiled faintly, a sad kind of grin. "No one knows who first gave them a name. Some call them relics. Others call them gifts."
He paused.
"But the right name — the old name — is Echoborne."
Riven looked down at the armor again.
It shimmered faintly, shadows folding over its surface.
And the tunnels behind him whispered like wind through the bones of the dead.
Because in this world...
every death echoes.