Riven sat with his back against the cool stone wall, watching the slow rise and fall of his companions' chests as they slept.

  Dark circles shadowed his eyes—evidence of a restless night split between strange, feverish sensations coursing through his body and his turn at watch after Aron. The fragment inside him still felt foreign, a warm coal nestled behind his sternum that pulsed with each heartbeat.

  They'd found this alcove after leaving the massive chamber where he'd awakened with his new power. A natural depression in the tunnel wall, hidden partially behind blood-red roots, it offered just enough space for the three of them to rest.

  His gaze drifted first to Lya. She slept curled tightly into herself, knees drawn to her chest, wrapped in her green cape like a cocoon. Her expression was peaceful, lips slightly parted and her hair spilled across her makeshift pillow of folded cloth.

  Riven shifted his attention to Aron. The massive man lay half-reclined against the opposite wall, his legs stretched awkwardly before him, unable to fit his full length in the cramped space. The sight tugged the corner of Riven's mouth into a mocking smile.

  Goldilocks didn't quite fit in the bears' cave, did he?

  Aron's clothing caught his attention. A simple, yet well crafted outfit in soft gray with silver accents, white and gold armor plates protecting his shoulders and arms. A complete combat uniform, practical but effective.

  Unlike Aron's pristine attire, Riven's own clothing told a different story. He looked down at himself, pinching a piece of his own shirt between his fingers. The fabric was stiff with dried sweat and blood, tears revealing patches of skin beneath. Once white, it had turned a mottled yellowish-gray from dirt and wear. New holes appeared after every fight—evidence of falls, claw marks, and of course, the massive tear where the knight's blade had run him through.

  The bitter thought soured his mouth. At least the giant seemed too naive or distracted to make the connection between Riven's attire and the standard uniform of slaves. A small mercy, if an accidental one.

  A thought that had been nudging at his mind for days finally pushed to the forefront.

  The parchment.

  In the chaos of these past days , he'd almost forgotten about it. Now, with nothing but time and sleeping companions, he could finally satisfy his curiosity.

  Riven reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the folded material. He pulled it out carefully, mindful not to tear the fragile edges.

  Let's see what secrets you hold.

  He settled more comfortably against the wall and unfolded the parchment with gentle motions, laying it flat across his knees. For a second, his eyes flashed brighter.

  Then, just as quickly, the light dimmed.

  Riven stared at the empty parchment, disappointment settling heavy in his gut. The surface was utterly blank—just a beige expanse of aged material, no markings, no writing, nothing to justify carrying it all this time.

  All that for nothing.

  He exhaled slowly, preparing to refold the worthless sheet. But just as his fingers touched the edge, something changed. A slight movement caught his eye, a shift in the material itself.

  A delicate thread of ink appeared at the top left corner, as if an invisible pen traced across the surface. The line moved deliberately, weaving its way across the parchment in a meandering path. Riven leaned closer, eyes wide, a small flame of excitement rekindling within him.

  More lines branched from the first, filling in details around the path. Small illustrations took shape—rock formations, corrupted hands reaching toward an unseen sky. And there, in places where the path twisted or landmarks stood, appeared small notations in a script he didn't recognize.

  It's a map. It's tracing our journey.

  Riven held the parchment closer to his face, studying it as the drawing completed itself. Not all areas were filled in—large sections remained blank where the ink-path hadn't traveled, as if those regions remained undiscovered. The main line started precisely from the top left corner, where the parchment had been cut with surgical precision. Beside the starting point, words appeared : "Plain of Corrupted Hands."

  The marked area covered most of the sheet, showing subtle changes in terrain—from arid beginnings to the deep purple plains with tall grasses they'd traversed.

  More interesting were the edges of the parchment itself. While the top and left sides were cut in perfect straight lines, the bottom and right edges were jagged, torn, as if ripped from a larger whole.

  This isn't complete. There must be other pieces out there... pieces that would connect to these torn edges.

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  Riven stood slowly, taking one last look at the map before carefully folding it and tucking it away. The ink line ended near the bottom right corner of the parchment, almost at the torn edge.

  We must be approaching the boundary of this zone, then. Whatever comes next... it won't be more of the same.

  He stretched his arms above his head, loosening stiff muscles, then smiled wickedly. With no warning, he clapped his hands together sharply—the sound cracking like a whip in the quiet alcove.

  Aron jolted awake, his massive frame jerking upright, golden eyes wide with alarm as his hand instinctively tightened around his spear. The sight sent a wave of petty satisfaction through Riven, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

  "Rise and shine," he said, voice dripping with false cheerfulness. "Time to move."

  They'd been walking for nearly two hours, their footsteps echoing dully in the endless tunnels. The passages remained much the same—walls veined with blood-red roots that pulsed with unsettling life, the viscous scarlet liquid seeping from fissures to pool along the edges of their path. Golden buds sprouted at irregular intervals, casting enough light to navigate.

  Riven led the way, sword still drawn, eyes constantly scanning ahead despite the relative quiet that had followed them since leaving their resting place.

  The weight of the parchment in his pocket had been nagging at him, demanding to be shared.

  Riven pulled out the parchment and showed them the map that had appeared on its surface—a record of their journey through 'The Plain of Corrupted Hands.' Lya's excitement bubbled over at the torn edges suggesting missing pieces, while Aron offered knowledge about different types of relic maps.

  They continued walking, conversation fading into comfortable silence punctuated by Lya's soft humming. The melody was unfamiliar to Riven, sometimes wandering into discordant notes before finding its way back to a recognizable tune. It should have been annoying, but somehow it wasn't—it filled the emptiness of the tunnel with something other than dread.

  Riven's thoughts turned inward, toward the warm pulse behind his sternum.

  I might as well use this time to practice.

  He closed his eyes briefly as he walked, focusing on the sensation he'd discovered in the chamber. He needed to find that same spatial sense, to feel the space around him without relying on his sight.

  The connection came more easily this time—a sudden expansion of his senses, as if a curtain had been pulled aside. He could feel the tunnel walls, the uneven ground, Lya's presence slightly behind and to his left, Aron's larger form to his right.

  When he opened his eyes, nothing looked different to ordinary sight, but he could perceive a a thin violet border defining his field of awareness—a line only he could see.

  Good. Now for the hard part.

  He focused on that border, attempting to pull and reshape it with his mind. The effort was immediate and substantial—like trying to bend metal with his bare hands. The violet edge trembled, stretching a few inches before snapping back like a rubber band.

  The more he pushed, the more the field resisted, snapping back to its natural spherical shape around him.

  Riven drew a deep breath, trying again with greater intensity. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple.

  Slowly, he found the balance point between force and finesse. He stopped forcing it and instead guided it carefully, like bending a willow branch instead of breaking oak.

  The violet boundary responded to his touch, bending where it had previously snapped back, flowing like water finding the path of least resistance as it followed the contours of his intent.

  The field changed shape, stretching forward while contracting behind him.

  The effort cost far more than he'd anticipated. It wasn't just the concentration required—which was substantial, especially while navigating the uneven tunnel floor—but the constant drain on his Koras. He could feel the energy flowing from that warm core behind his sternum, feeding the field. It was a muscle he’d never used before—and it was already exhausting itself with this new demand.

  He adapted the field to match the tunnel's confines—pulling it in tight to the walls, extending it further ahead.

  With practice, he found he could sense about seven meters forward, but sacrificed awareness behind him to do so. Pushing further drained his Koras rapidly, forcing him to find an equilibrium between distance and density that wouldn't leave him completely depleted.

  Through this enhanced perception, he became aware of Lya watching him intently, her gaze fixed on his face even as they walked.

  "It's really impressive," she said suddenly, breaking her humming. "Your eyes glow more intensely when you're using your power, Riven. Like little violet flames."

  She tilted her head back, looking thoughtfully toward the tunnel ceiling. "Have you given your ability a name?"

  Riven maintained his concentration, unwilling to lose the field he'd worked so hard to shape. "A name? No. What for?"

  "Everyone names their abilities," Lya replied with absolute certainty. She turned toward Aron on Riven's other side. "Right?"

  Aron simply nodded, his expression serious but agreeable.

  Lya's face brightened with a satisfied smile. "What about 'Omniscient Eyes'? That sounds powerful!"

  From the corner of his eye, Riven saw Aron give an enthusiastic thumbs-up, apparently approving of the suggestion. The gesture seemed oddly childish coming from such a massive warrior.

  Riven turned his head slightly toward Lya, giving her a deadpan look even as he maintained his field. "Why not 'Almighty Sovereign Eyes' while you're at it?"

  Lya's smile didn't falter. "Okay, okay, I get it." She placed a finger against her chin in exaggerated thought. "What about 'Spatial Eyes'? It's more understated but still sounds good."

  Spatial Eyes? Not bad, actually. It does capture what the ability does.

  "Yeah. I like it," Riven admitted, surprised to find he meant it.

  Lya's expression brightened even further, clearly pleased with herself. Even Aron seemed to approve, nodding with that same solemn dignity that somehow made Riven want to roll his eyes and smile at the same time. He caught their reactions through his peripheral vision, keeping his main focus straight ahead where his field extended.

  The effort of maintaining the shaped field was beginning to wear on him, the drain on his Koras becoming uncomfortable. He let it collapse back to its natural shape, then released it entirely. The violet border faded from his perception, leaving only his normal senses. The relief was immediate—like setting down a heavy weight he'd been carrying too long.

  As they continued walking, the tunnel suddenly took a sharp turn, veering ninety degrees to the right.

  Riven slowed his pace as they approached the corner, sword ready, caution overriding curiosity. He felt Aron's solid presence beside him, the larger man instinctively moving into position at his right flank.

  He stepped through the threshold, and his sword arm fell to his side.

  "Well," he said, the word falling softly into the quiet space, " this is different."