The woman didn't speak.
She just walked. Gray robes dragging on stone. No sound. None. Her feet didn't make noise. Her robes didn't rustle. Nothing.
Riven followed. Not because he wanted to. Because his arm still hurt where she grabbed him. Cold. Like ice under his skin.
The corridor was dark. Torches on the walls, but the flames were blue. Not warm. Just... there. They didn't flicker. They didn't crackle.
Riven hated it.
He hated not knowing where he was. He hated not knowing his own name. He hated that his heart was still beating too fast.
Calm down, he told himself. You've read this book. You know this place.
But knowing a place from a story and being there were different. In the story, Blackspire was cool. Dangerous but cool. Now it just smelled like old incense and felt like a tomb.
The woman stopped.
They were in front of a big door. Black iron. No handle.
She didn't turn around. She just stood there. Waiting.
"For what?" Riven asked.
No answer.
"Great," he muttered. "Talking to a faceless ghost now."
He looked at the door. There was a symbol on it. A spire. Same as the one on Theron's pillow. But also something else. Cracks. Like the spire was breaking.
He reached out to touch it.
The door opened.
Not because he touched it. Just... it opened. Like it decided he was ready.
Inside was a hall. Big. Empty. Rows of stone benches. A high ceiling lost in shadow. At the far end, a podium. And behind the podium, a woman.
She wasn't like the gray one. This woman had a face. Sharp. Middle-aged. Dark hair with a streak of white. She wore a black uniform with a silver pin. Same as Theron's, but more. More silver. More pins.
She looked tired. Not old-tired. Bored-tired. Like she'd done this a thousand times.
"Name?" she said.
Riven opened his mouth.
Nothing.
Right. He didn't have one.
The woman looked up from her podium. Her eyes were dark. Not cold like Theron's. Just... empty. Like she'd seen too much.
"No name?" she said.
"I don't remember it."
"Convenient."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged. "Some students pretend to forget. They think it makes them special. It doesn't. It just makes them annoying."
Riven felt a flash of anger. Good. Anger was better than fear.
"I'm not pretending."
"Then you're stupid. Or unlucky. Either way, you're here." She picked up a quill. "I'll call you Riven."
"Why Riven?"
"Because you look like someone tore you in half and put you back wrong."
He didn't know what to say to that.
So he said nothing.
The woman wrote something on a piece of parchment. Then she looked up.
"Welcome to Blackspire, Riven. You'll sleep in the lower dormitory. You'll eat in the lower hall. You'll attend orientation tomorrow. If you survive the night, congratulations. If not, the Harvesters will collect your body."
"That's... dark."
"It's honest."
She gestured to a side door. "Go. Someone will show you where to sleep."
Riven didn't move.
"What about the Dream Trials?" he asked.
The woman's eyes flickered. First emotion he'd seen from her. Interest? Surprise?
"How do you know about Dream Trials?"
He almost said "from the book". Caught himself.
"I heard someone mention it."
"Liar." She said it flat. Not angry. Just stating a fact. "But fine. Dream Trials are where you find fragments of your Hidden Name. Each trial is a nightmare. Each fragment gives you power. Each fragment also makes you less human."
"And the cost?"
"The cost is you. Piece by piece. Until you're either strong enough to survive or empty enough to become a Hollow."
She said it like she was talking about the weather.
Riven's stomach turned. He remembered the Hollow from the book. Empty students who lost their minds. They wandered the lower levels, imitating voices.
"Can I refuse the trials?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because this isn't a school. It's a cage. And the trials are how we feed the tower."
She went back to writing. Done with him.
Riven stood there for a second. Then he walked to the side door.
His hands were shaking. He didn't like that. He put them in his pockets.
The side door led to a narrow staircase. Down. Always down. The air got colder. The incense smell got stronger.
At the bottom, a small room. Three beds. One was already taken.
A girl sat on the bed. Young. Maybe fifteen. Dark hair. Pale face. She was reading a book, but she looked up when he entered.
Her eyes were red. Like she'd been crying.
"New?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"What's your name?"
"Riven. Apparently."
She nodded. "I'm Elara."
"Why are you crying?"
She looked away. "I'm not."
"You are."
She wiped her eyes. "I watched someone die today. In a Dream Trial. He was my friend."
Riven didn't know what to say. He'd never been good at this. Comforting people. He didn't even know if he wanted to.
"That sucks," he said.
Elara laughed. A small, sad laugh.
"Yeah," she said. "It does."
She looked at him. "You're not like the others."
"What do you mean?"
"The others who come here. They're scared. Or they're pretending not to be scared. You're just... empty."
Riven thought about that.
Maybe I am empty, he thought. Maybe that's why I don't remember my name. There's nothing to remember.
But that didn't feel right either. The empty space in his head felt old. Like something used to be there. Something he'd lost.
"I'm tired," he said. "Which bed is mine?"
Elara pointed to the one in the corner.
Riven walked over. Sat down. The mattress was thin. The pillow smelled like incense.
He lay back. Stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, orientation. Tomorrow, Dream Trials. Tomorrow, more lies.
But tonight, he just needed to survive.
He closed his eyes.
The incense smell followed him into sleep.