Rain hit the iron roof of the warehouse, the patter of a thousand impatient fingers.
Riven sat on an overturned crate, his elbows propped on his knees, trying to breathe in a way that didn't sound like panic. His dripping cloak puddled rainwater onto the concrete floor, making a dark circle at his feet. Gears turned somewhere deep in the wall; machines hummed; fluorescent lights above flickered like dying fireflies.
The old man paced.
Grand Archivist Marrow—the only one on this broken side of the world to know the truth about the pendant, about the heir, about him.
Riven swallowed hard.
"You're shaking," Marrow said, not looking at him.
His voice wasn't unkind, just observant. Too observant.
Riven flexed his hands; they were shaking once more.
"I'm cold," Riven lied.
"You're not cold," Marrow replied finally, turning toward him. "You're afraid."
Riven's jaw clenched.
Afraid? No. Confused, maybe. Angry, certainly. But not afraid.
"Stop treating me like I'm a child," Riven snapped. "Just tell me what the pendant is. Tell me why the sky cracked open when I touched it."
Marrow stepped closer, the overhead lights reflecting off the lenses of his cracked glasses.
"That was no accident," said the Archivist. "The pendant reacted to your blood. Because you are the only person in this realm who can open a Rift."
Riven froze.
He felt the words like a punch to the ribs.
"Riven Kaelith," Marrow said with care, "you are the Dimensional Heir.
Riven stared, perplexed. Angry.
Then angry.
"No," he said, standing. "My father was an engineer. My mother sold scrap metal. I'm not—"
He broke off. The pendant pulsed again against his chest, a heartbeat of molten light.
Marrow did not bat an eyelash.
"You were never supposed to know."
Riven's voice cracked.
"Know what?
Finally, Marrow replied.
"That you were born in Nethyra. Not Aetheris. Not this world."
Riven took a step backward.
Born… in the Demon Realm?
"That's impossible."
But even as he said it, flashes—fragments—nightmares he'd spent years convincing himself weren't real—flooded back into his mind.
A dark tower; a red sky, screaming.
A boy's voice calling his name.
Marrow watched him closely.
"There is more," he said. "You were not alone there."
Riven looked up.
"What?"
"You had a brother."
The world tilted.
A great rush of air left Riven's lungs, as if he had been punched in the chest.
A brother.
He tried to speak, but words tumbled and tangled.
"That can't be real. I would remember—"
Marrow cut him off.
"No. Your memories were sealed. Erased. For your protection. Because your brother…
Riven waited.
Marrow completed the sentence slowly, painfully.
"...was chosen by the demons to rule."
Riven flinched, his heart pounding in his throat.
Chosen.
Not born, but chosen. "His name is Jake Kaelith," Marrow said. "And he's been opening Rifts. Destroying borders. Searching for you." Riven's blood ran cold. "Why would he be looking for me?" Marrow stared at the pendant glowing against Riven's chest, warm and angry and alive. "Because the pendant you wear is but one half," Marrow whispered. "And your brother has the other."