Burning From Within
The night pressed heavy against the small home, the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke from the day's fires. Ryven tossed restlessly on his bed, the straw mattress creaking beneath him. No matter how he shifted, sleep would not come.
The shard pulsed in his pocket, steady and insistent, as though it had its own heartbeat. Each thrum echoed through his chest, hotter, sharper, until it felt as though molten embers ran through his veins.
He sat up abruptly, sweat dripping down his temples. His breaths came fast, ragged.
Then it struck.
A violent surge of energy tore through him, making his body jerk like a puppet on invisible strings. His skin burned with an inner fire, veins glowing crimson beneath the pale light of the moon filtering through the window. His staff, leaning against the wall, rattled as if caught in the current.
Ryven gasped, clutching his chest. "N—not now… not—"
The words broke into a strangled cry. His back arched as the shard's energy clawed for release, every nerve in his body screaming. It felt alive, hungry, desperate to tear its way free.
The door slammed open.
"Ryven!" Nova's voice cut through the haze. She rushed in, hair unbound, eyes sharp with alarm. In two strides, she was at his side, grabbing his shoulders. Her hands recoiled instantly—his skin was searing hot.
"You're burning!" she shouted. "What's happening?"
He grit his teeth, trying to speak through the fire in his throat. "It's… the shard… won't stop… it's tearing me apart—"
The glow along his arms flared brighter, like molten cracks spreading through stone. Nova's eyes widened, but she didn't back away. Instead, she pressed her palm firmly against his chest, ignoring the heat that reddened her skin.
"Listen to me," she said, her tone fierce, commanding. "You don't let it control you. You're stubborn as a bull—you fight me half the time just for fun. Fight this too!"
Ryven's vision blurred. He could barely hear her words over the roar of blood in his ears, but something in her voice cut through the panic. Strong. Steady. Anchoring.
He focused, forcing his breaths slower. Inhale—fire surged. Exhale—he pressed it down. Again. Again.
The glow dimmed, flickering like a fading flame. His body slumped forward, collapsing against Nova's shoulder. She grunted but didn't let go, holding him steady as his trembling slowly eased.
At last, silence. Only the ragged sound of his breathing filled the room.
Nova pulled back slightly, studying him. Her hand was red and blistered from the heat, but she ignored it.
"You alive?" she asked, voice softer now.
Ryven managed a weak, breathless laugh. "Barely. Feels like… it wanted to burn straight through me."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then we can't ignore it anymore. If this thing is going to stick around, we need to figure out how to control it before it kills you—or worse."
He blinked at her, surprised. "Control it? You mean… train?"
She smirked faintly. "Do you see any Guardians around to babysit you? It's just us. And if we don't start now, the next Riftborn won't wait politely for you to figure it out."
Ryven slumped back, groaning. "You always sound so confident about things that could kill me."
Nova crossed her arms, leaning against the bedframe. "Because if you don't survive, who's going to carry my gear? Or stop me from stabbing idiots like Darrek when they run their mouths?"
Despite the ache in his chest, Ryven chuckled. It hurt to laugh, but the sound loosened something heavy inside him.
"Fine," he said, still catching his breath. "We train. But if I set your cloak on fire again, that's on you."
Her smirk widened. "Then I guess I'll just have to dodge faster."
---
The next morning, Nova woke Ryven before dawn. He groaned and tried to roll over, but she yanked his blanket off with no mercy.
"Up. If you're strong enough to glow like a lantern all night, you're strong enough to swing that staff before breakfast."
Ryven stumbled out of bed, hair a mess, eyes half-shut. "Remind me why I agreed to this?"
"Because otherwise you'll explode in your sleep and take half the village with you."
They slipped quietly past the waking village, avoiding curious stares. The fields still smelled faintly of ash, and smoke curled from the remnants of burned fences. But the forest beyond was quiet, save for the chirping of early birds.
Their training began with the basics. Nova insisted on footwork first, drilling Ryven until his legs ached and his lungs burned.
"Again," she barked as he stumbled over a root. "If you trip out here, you die. Do it right."
He glared but obeyed, planting his steps more carefully. His staff cracked against trees in wide arcs, each strike sending sparks as the shard's fire flickered through him.
But control was fleeting.
The first time, fire exploded wildly from the staff, scorching the bark and nearly setting Nova's cloak alight. She cursed and beat the flames out with her boot.
The second time, his whole body locked up mid-swing. Crimson veins glowed too brightly, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping while Nova dumped a bucket of water over his head.
The third time, rage overcame him. He screamed as the shard surged uncontrollably, his staff blazing brighter than ever. His movements turned wild, reckless, until Nova tackled him hard, pinning him to the ground with her knee pressed into his chest.
"Breathe, you idiot!" she shouted over his thrashing. "You're not fighting the beast—you're fighting yourself!"
Her voice broke through. Slowly, painfully, the fire ebbed. Ryven lay gasping, tears of frustration stinging his eyes.
Each failure cut deeper. Each collapse left him hollow, trembling, his confidence crumbling like ash.
But each time, Nova was there. Sometimes scolding, sometimes mocking, sometimes silent—but always there.
---
That evening, Ryven sat slumped against a boulder, too tired to move. His hands shook as he stared at the faint embers flickering along his staff.
"Maybe Darrek was right," he muttered bitterly. "Maybe I'm nothing but a curse."
Nova, sharpening her blade nearby, looked up sharply. "Don't you dare start sounding like him. You're not a curse, Ryven. You're just stubborn and stupid enough to think you can fight the Rift. That's not a curse. That's exactly what this galaxy needs."
He glanced at her, startled by the heat in her words.
She shrugged, resuming her work. "You're not allowed to quit. Not while I'm stuck babysitting you."
Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the doubt—a faint smile tugged at Ryven's lips.
For the first time, the shard's pulse didn't feel like a chain dragging him down. It felt like a challenge.
A fire waiting to be mastered.
---
Whispers of the Rift
The forest echoed with the sound of exertion.
Ryven's staff cracked against the trunk of an oak, the force reverberating up his arms until his shoulders ached. His palms were raw, splinters digging into blistered skin, but he refused to stop. He pivoted, swung again, and sparks burst where the weapon struck.
Nova leaned against a tree nearby, arms crossed. Her breathing was steady, her eyes sharp, though a faint smile tugged at her lips as she watched him struggle.
"You're not half bad when you're not setting everything on fire," she called.
"Don't jinx it," he muttered, teeth gritted as he swung again.
But the fire still surged unpredictably. Sometimes it sputtered uselessly, leaving his staff dark. Other times it exploded, searing arcs of flame too wild to control. Each failure weighed heavier on him, dragging at his resolve.
Nova didn't let him wallow. Every time he faltered, her voice cut through like steel.
"Again."
"Keep your feet under you."
"Don't fight the flame—shape it."
Her words stuck in his head long after his muscles begged him to stop.
---
That evening, after days of grueling practice, Ryven found himself standing before a massive boulder deep in the woods. The stone loomed tall, half-buried in the earth, weathered by centuries of wind and rain.
Nova dropped her blade into the dirt and gestured at it. "Hit it."
Ryven blinked. "That thing? You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
He sighed, lifting his staff. His whole body screamed in protest—bruised, blistered, drenched in sweat—but he forced himself to focus. The shard pulsed inside him, hot and restless.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's try this again."
He swung.
Fire erupted, wild and uncontrolled, slamming against the rock in a useless burst of sparks. His staff nearly slipped from his grip.
Nova shook her head. "Stop trying to burn it down. You're not a torch. You're a blade. Focus it."
Her words echoed in his chest. Focus it.
Ryven closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. Inhale—the shard surged. Exhale—he pressed it down, shaping it. Again. Again. Until the fire no longer roared, but whispered. Until it no longer fought him, but waited.
He opened his eyes. The boulder loomed before him. He gripped his staff, every muscle trembling, and swung.
This time, the fire didn't explode outward. It coiled tightly along the staff, condensing into a sharp, blazing arc.
The strike landed with a deafening crack.
Stone split.
Dust billowed as the boulder split neatly in half, each piece tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud.
Ryven stood frozen, staff still raised, breathless. His hands shook—not from failure this time, but from triumph.
He had done it.
He had shaped the fire.
Nova let out a low whistle, her smirk widening. "Well, look at you. Finally figured out how not to blow yourself up."
Ryven laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. Relief flooded through him, mingled with exhilaration. For the first time, the shard's pulse didn't feel like a curse. It felt like potential.
He lowered his staff, grinning despite the exhaustion pulling at every bone. "Guess I'm not completely hopeless after all."
Nova clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "Took you long enough. Now we just have to make sure you can do that on purpose next time."
Ryven groaned. "You're not going to let me rest, are you?"
Her grin turned sly. "Not a chance."
---
The fragile victory carried them through the next days. Training remained brutal, but different now—less despair, more determination. Ryven stumbled, failed, collapsed more times than he could count, but he also succeeded. Little by little, the shard bent to his will instead of breaking him.
The villagers noticed too. Though suspicion still lingered in their eyes, it was tempered by a wary respect. Mothers still pulled their children close when he passed, but they no longer whispered curses. Farmers still muttered about danger, but some left offerings of food near his door. Even little Joren, the boy who had once called him cursed, now followed at a distance during training, eyes wide with awe.
Ryven didn't know if he deserved their trust. But for the first time, he believed he might earn it.
---
One night, as the moon hung low and pale, Ryven and Nova trained near the forest's edge. The air was cool, the silence broken only by the steady rhythm of staff against blade.
Then the ground trembled.
Both froze.
At first it was faint, a low vibration underfoot. Then came the sound—a guttural rumble that rolled through the trees, deeper than thunder, heavier than any storm.
Ryven's grip tightened on his staff. "That wasn't wind."
Nova's blades gleamed faintly in the moonlight as she shifted into a ready stance. "No. That was something big."
From the treeline, a faint glow appeared. Cracks of crimson light shimmered in the darkness, weaving like veins across the forest floor. The same glow as the shard.
Ryven's chest clenched. The shard in his pocket pulsed violently, as though answering a call.
His heart pounded, but not with fear. Not entirely. For the first time, anticipation stirred within him.
"They're coming," he whispered.
Nova glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "And?"
He lifted his staff, fire flickering faintly along its length. His voice was steady, certain. "And this time, I'll be ready."
A smirk tugged at her lips, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry. "Then I guess I'll just have to make sure you don't get yourself killed trying."
Together, they stood beneath the fractured sky, two shadows braced against the storm to come.
And high above, the rift widened further, its crimson light bleeding across the heavens.
The war had only just begun.