Riven didn't sleep well.
He dreamed of nothing. Just darkness. And that empty space in his head where his name should be. It ached.
He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder.
Elara. Her face was close to his. Too close.
"Wake up," she whispered. "Orientation starts soon."
He blinked. His eyes felt dry. His mouth tasted like incense.
"What time is it?"
"Early. You need to get up."
"Why?"
"Because if you're late, they send a Warden."
He remembered the Wardens from the book. Statues that moved when you weren't looking. They enforced the rules. No one knew how they worked. No one wanted to find out.
He got up.
His body felt wrong. Still not his. Too thin. Too soft. He looked at his hands again. Pale fingers. Long nails. Useless.
I need to get stronger, he thought. Fast.
Elara handed him a piece of bread. Stale. He ate it anyway.
"What's orientation like?" he asked.
She shrugged. "They explain the rules. They show you the Dream Gate. They tell you you're going to die."
"Charming."
"It's honest."
Same thing the bored woman said last night. Honest. Maybe that was Blackspire's thing. Not cruel. Just honest about being cruel.
They walked together through the corridors. Up the narrow stairs. Past the hall from last night. Into a bigger room.
The room was packed with students. Dozens of them. All young. All wearing the same black sleeping clothes. All looking tired and scared.
Riven found a spot near the back. Elara stood next to him.
"Don't make eye contact with anyone," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because they'll think you're challenging them."
"Challenging them to what?"
"To a fight. For status. For food. For nothing."
Great. High school with death.
He kept his eyes forward.
A door opened at the front. A man walked in. Tall. Old. White hair. He wore a black robe with more silver than anyone else. His face was wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
He stood behind the podium. Looked at the students.
"Welcome," he said. His voice was quiet. But everyone heard it. "You are now part of Blackspire. You will sleep here. You will eat here. You will die here."
No one laughed. No one coughed. No one moved.
"You will enter Dream Trials. You will find fragments of your Hidden Name. Each fragment will give you power. Each fragment will take something from you."
He paused.
"Some of you will become strong. Some of you will become Hollows. Most of you will become neither. Most of you will just die."
Riven felt Elara's hand shake next to him.
"The first trial is in three days. You will be sorted into groups. You will enter the Dream of Aethel, the God of Contracts. If you survive, you will gain your first fragment."
He looked at the students. One by one. His eyes stopped on Riven.
Riven didn't look away.
The old man smiled. Just a little.
"You," he said. "Stay after."
Then he walked out.
The room erupted in whispers. Students looked at Riven. Some curious. Some scared. Some angry.
Elara grabbed his arm. "What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"You looked at him."
"Everyone looked at him."
"Not like that."
She was scared. For him. That was weird. He didn't know her. She didn't know him.
"I'll be fine," he said.
"People who stay after don't come back."
"I'll come back."
She didn't believe him. He could see it on her face.
But she let go of his arm.
The other students filed out. Riven stayed. Elara hesitated at the door. Then she left.
The room was empty now. Just him. And the silence.
The old man came back through a side door.
"You're the one with no name," he said.
"I have a name. They call me Riven."
"I don't care what they call you. What is your name?"
Riven opened his mouth. Nothing.
The old man nodded. "Good. You're not lying."
"Why would I lie about something like that?"
"Because some students pretend. They think it makes them mysterious. You're not pretending. You actually don't know."
He stepped closer. His eyes were pale blue. Not cold. Just old.
"I've been here a long time," he said. "I've seen many students. Most of them are afraid. Some of them are brave. A few are stupid. But you're different."
"How?"
"You're not afraid. You're not brave. You're just... calculating. Like you're playing a game."
Riven said nothing.
"That's dangerous," the old man said. "This place isn't a game. The dreams aren't a game. If you treat them like one, you'll lose."
"I've read the book," Riven said.
The old man's eyes widened. Just a fraction.
"What book?"
"The one about this place. The webnovel. I read it before I woke up here."
Silence.
Then the old man laughed. A dry, rough sound.
"So you're a transmigrator," he said. "Like Theron."
"I'm not like Theron."
"No. You're not. He came here knowing everything. He used that knowledge to become powerful. You came here knowing everything. And you're still weak."
Riven felt his jaw tighten.
"I'm not weak."
"You're in a body that's never fought. You have no fragments. You have no allies. You have no name. You are weak."
The old man turned away.
"But weakness can be useful. It makes you invisible. Theron is strong. Everyone watches him. No one watches you."
He looked over his shoulder.
"Use that. Survive the first trial. Then come find me."
"Why would I come find you?"
"Because I know things. About the dreams. About the gods. About Theron. And about people who lose their names."
He walked to the side door.
"What's your name?" Riven asked.
The old man stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Call me the Archivist."
Then he was gone.
Riven stood there for a long time.
His heart was beating fast again. He didn't like that.
The Archivist knows something, he thought. About me. About my name. About why I don't remember.
He wanted to follow. To ask more questions.
But Elara was waiting. And the first trial was in three days.
He needed to survive that first.
He walked out of the room.
The corridor was empty. Elara was gone.
But someone else was there.
Theron.
Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. That perfect smile.
"Nice speech," Theron said. "The no-name kid who read the book. Very dramatic."
Riven's stomach dropped.
"You heard that?"
"The Archivist is old. He forgets that walls have ears."
Theron pushed off the wall. Walked closer.
"So you know who I am," he said. "What I am."
"Yes."
"And you think you can beat me."
"I think I can try."
Theron laughed. It was a nice laugh. Warm. Fake.
"That's cute," he said. "But here's the thing. I've been here three years. I've done dozens of trials. I have fragments you can't imagine. And you? You have nothing."
He leaned in. Close. His breath smelled like mint.
"Stay out of my way," he whispered. "Or I'll make sure you don't survive your first trial."
Then he walked away.
Riven watched him go.
His hands were shaking again.
He hated that.
But he also felt something else. Cold. Sharp.
Determination.
You think you're safe, he thought. You think you've already won.
You have no idea what I'm willing to do.
He went to find Elara.
He had three days to prepare. Three days to lie. Three days to survive.
And then the real game would begin.