Riven's hand rose briefly to his chest as he walked.
Two fingers brushed the ring hanging beneath his collar, a subtle habit he hadn't noticed forming. A thread of soul force slipped into it—light, careful. Not to retrieve anything. Just to check.
Everything was where he'd left it.
Everything except the beast cores.
Riven let his hand fall.
He'd used them on the way.
There hadn't been any reason to wait.
Together, they had increased his bloodline coverage by barely one percent.
Much different from before.
He'd noticed it last time when his coverage had passed ten percent.
He hadn't gained a full percent anymore.
This time it was even more drastic.
Both cores granted him half a percent each.
Riven exhaled slowly through his nose as he walked beneath the canopy, almost reaching the city gates.
Eleven point two percent.
He didn't know exactly why this happened or what to do.
And the only he knew who might known was Vaern... and he wasn't able to talk anymore.
He looked a bit downcast.
Better quality cores, maybe.
That was his best guess.
Riven shook his head.
Verdance waited ahead, lantern-light filtering through branches, the quiet hum of civilization bleeding into the forest air.
That was a topic for another time.
Riven adjusted his pace as the path widened, worn smooth by countless footsteps. The trees thinned just enough for the gate to come into view—a shaped arch of living wood and woven vine, grown rather than built. Two guards stood beneath it, robes marked with deep green thread.
He slowed as he approached.
One of the guards glanced up, eyes sweeping over him in a practiced, bored motion—then paused, recognition reflecting in his eyes.
"…Green Lotus?" the man said, squinting slightly.
Riven stopped a few paces away and inclined his head. "Yes."
It was the same guard from he'd first entered the place alongside fellow sect members.
"Huh," the guard muttered. "You may enter."
He didn't ask for a badge.
Didn't call for verification.
Just nodded once, satisfied.
"Welcome back to Verdance."
Riven passed beneath the arch without incident.
The guard's casual recognition lingered with him as he stepped fully into the city. Not comfort—but awareness. He was back in society.
The sounds closed in quickly—soft conversation, footsteps on wooden walkways, the distant chime of hanging lanterns swaying gently overhead. Life continued, layered and indifferent, moving at a pace that had nothing to do with trials or feral beasts.
Riven kept walking.
He didn't make it far before the change in atmosphere caught up to him.
Voices drifted past on every side—idle conversation, merchants calling out prices, the low rhythm of a city that never fully stopped moving. Footsteps crossed his path without hesitation. People brushed past him and kept going, eyes already on their next destination.
No one looked twice.
No one cared.
And yet, that was exactly when he became aware of what he was wearing.
Out in the hills, it hadn't mattered. There had been no one to see, no reason to think about it. Clothes were just protection—fabric and function, nothing more.
Here was different.
The tunic fit well. Too well, maybe. The lines were clean, the fabric shaped to move instead of hang. At a glance, it passed easily as travel wear.
But he knew the truth.
They were the Knight Order girl's clothes.
Riven rolled his shoulder once as he walked, the fabric shifting smoothly with the motion.
Functional. Effective.
Still.
He exhaled quietly and adjusted his path, angling toward one of the larger shopping trees rising from the forest floor like a living tower. Wooden platforms spiraled around its trunk, stalls carved directly into the bark, awnings stretched between branches.
He felt like changing.
A little up the tree, he found a simple clothing store.
It wasn't flashy. No dramatic displays—just folded stacks of fabric and a few simple mannequins carved directly from the bark, posed in practical stances.
A girl looked up as he approached.
She was a little taller than him, maybe sixteen or so, with her dark hair tied back in a loose knot and sleeves rolled to her elbows. She took him in with a quick, practiced glance—posture, build, movement.
Then her eyes flicked to his outfit.
Just for a heartbeat.
A faint, amused glint passed through them.
She didn't comment.
"What are you looking for?" she asked instead, tone easy.
"Training clothes." Riven replied.
She nodded once and gestured him toward a section farther in.
Riven checked the options and eventually picked a simple set.
Undyed fabric, reinforced seams, no markings beyond a stitched maker's symbol hidden inside the collar. Plain. Breathable. Cheap enough to replace without regret.
He checked the stitching, ran his fingers along the seams, tested the stretch.
Good enough.
He paid without haggling.
And directly changed in one of the stores changing rooms.
When he stepped back out, the difference was immediate.
Not better.
Just… quieter.
The new clothes sat plainly on his frame—loose where they needed to be, firm where they mattered. The fabric was thinner, the weave simpler, the stitching practical rather than clever. No subtle shaping.
He gathered the clothes he'd taken off and draped them over his arm, the darker fabric folded neatly despite the way it caught the light. He nodded once to the shopkeeper and stepped away from the stall.
The girl's eyes followed him for a moment.
She saw unusual customers every day. Verdance attracted them by nature.
But a one-armed boy walking in wearing what could very likely have been his sister's clothes was still far from normal.
She smiled to herself and turned back to her work, already spinning a dozen quiet possibilities about how that situation had come to be—none of which would ever be confirmed.
Meanwhile, Riven descended the shopping tree.
The sounds dulled as he moved lower, foot traffic thinning with each level. He hadn't put the old clothes into his ring immediately—not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to.
Spatial rings were rare enough that even careless use drew attention.
So he waited.
Once the path emptied, he stepped briefly behind a thick root and a hanging curtain of moss.
A quick pulse of soul force.
The folded clothes vanished from his arm.
Riven straightened, hand empty now, and continued on without breaking stride.
Shopping Tree No. 12 lay ahead.
Bosu's small store waited there.
Riven climbed the stretch of spiraling platforms at an even pace.
Eventually an easy to spot storefront came into view.
A hand-painted sign hung slightly crooked above a narrow opening, its golden lettering chipped at the edges:
Bosu's Bargain Burrow
A faded silk curtain served as the door, swaying gently with the movement of air. From behind it came the low hum of someone off-key and entirely unconcerned about it.
Bosu.
Riven slowed just a fraction.
He reached out and pushed the curtain aside.
The bell above the frame chimed softly as Riven stepped inside.
Bosu looked up immediately, a grin forming on his face—wide, bright, automatic. The kind he wore when seeing old friends.
Even though they weren't exactly close enough for that kind of description.
Normally, seeing Bosu like this—too cheerful, too loud, an outlier among cultivators who took themselves far too seriously—would have eased something in Riven. If even a little. Bosu's enthusiasm had a way of making things feel lighter.
Today, it didn't work.
Riven stepped fully inside, the curtain falling back into place behind him. The familiar smells of dried herbs and old wood filled the cramped shop, but they didn't ground him the way they usually did.
He was going to have to say it.
Bosu seemed to notice then.
Not the absence behind Riven yet—but the lack of response. The way Riven didn't even offer the bare minimum of acknowledgement.
The smile faltered.
"…Riven?" Bosu said, lowering the magnifying glass in his hand. "You're back."
He glanced past him again, slower this time.
The grin didn't return.
Bosu set the glass down carefully on the desk, as if afraid of breaking it. When he looked back up, the brightness had been shelved—not erased, just pushed aside for later.
Something was wrong.
Riven reached into a small pouch at his side.
He'd prepared this after the incident at the clothing store, anticipating the exchange. With a careful touch of soul force, he guided an item from the ring into his hand as his fingers dipped into the pouch.
It looked like he was simply pulling something out.
A poison sac hit the desk with a dull thump.
Then another.
And another.
Bosu stared.
His eyes flicked from the pouch to the items, then back again, confusion briefly overtaking professionalism. "…That all came out of there?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Riven didn't answer.
After a moment, Bosu shook his head and dragged his gaze away, visibly shelving the question.
He didn't really care.
All that mattered was the great amount of poison sacs stacked up on his desk.
It took a moment for him to collect himself.
Then he looked back up at Riven.
"Does Yue Lin have more too?" he asked. "I'm guessing she's turning in the mission at the guild right now?"
Riven hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Then his jaw tightened. "No."
The word sat between them.
"Yue Lin... she won't be coming back."
Bosu dragged a hand down his face.
"…Damn it."
He didn't say anything else for a while.
Neither did Riven.