Riven
The kitchen was bathed in a gentle morning light as I sat across from my dad, the warmth of the sun filtering through the narrow window. The table, worn from years of use, was set with slices of bread, a small bowl of fruit, and a pitcher of milk. My father moved with his usual precision, spreading jam on a piece of bread. He had a lean build with short, silver hair and now, I was about his height.
"Morning, Riven," he said, his voice softened by the quiet of early dawn. He slid a plate of bread and fruit toward me, the routine comforting in its normalcy.
"Morning," I replied, taking a bite of the bread. The sweet jam and soft texture were familiar, but they did little to ease the emptiness I felt. The two empty seats next to us were a constant ache, one that neither of us mentioned but that lingered in the spaces between our words.
I considered telling him of my nightmare, but decided against it. There was no reason to worry him more.
My father's emerald eyes flickered onto me, and for a second, his eyes showed a flash of concern before he masked it with his usual stern expression. His silences had carried more weight recently.
"How's the training going?" he asked, breaking the silence. His question was routine, a way to connect despite the unspoken gaps in our lives.
"It's been great," I said, though my voice lacked enthusiasm. "We're working on movement exercises today. The athleticists keep pushing me to improve my speed."
My father nodded, his eyes momentarily focusing on my frame. "You've always had natural strength, Riven. It's one of your advantages. But remember, strength alone will never be enough. Balance it with precision."
I nodded, swallowing a mouthful of bread. My strength had always set me apart, giving me an edge in training and daily tasks. I could lift more, run faster, and push myself harder than most.
"It's hard," I admitted quietly. "Training still feels different. It still feels like everything's fallen apart."
My father's expression tightened, a shadow passing over his face. "It is hard," he whispered, his voice softer than usual.
I looked down at my plate, the ordinary breakfast seeming almost too mundane compared to the heaviness of our reality. My father's words were meant to comfort me, but they felt heavy.
Everybody around us always said we shouldn't get too frustrated with our lives. According to them, our population had only survived because of thousands of years of the same lifestyle.
After finishing my meal, I stood, grabbing my plate from the table. My father's gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us.
***
"That right hook is phenomenal, Riven," the athleticist panted from the ground, rubbing his side after the knockdown, sweat dripping off his brown hair. Athleticists were the ones who dedicated their time to preparing us for our Assignments, helping us hone our abilities until we could face whatever opponent was thrown at us.
Abilities were everywhere around here and new ones seemed to show up every day. Nobody knew exactly how an ability worked or why someone had a specific one.
Mine seemed to be a kind of strength enhancement that increases my muscle density. Physical abilities like mine are the most common, with strength enhancing and speed being the key parts of our fighting style.
The rarer abilities were the perception ones. They were the kind that let people see through walls or read minds. I'd never met anyone with powers like that, but I would assume they'd be at the top of the training ground ranks, no matter what physical abilities they had.
"Are you up for one more?" The athleticist asked as he staggered back to his feet, shaking off the hit. It was almost like I was the one training him.
I raised an eyebrow. "Can you survive one more?" I liked training with this guy. He was much older than me and didn't have any abilities, yet he kept up with the rest of us through years of experience and sheer determination.
He raised his arms, fists up near his head, and began bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. His eyes locked onto mine with renewed focus, a silent challenge.
I accepted it. My fighting style was a little different from others. While others favored punches, I found that using kicks gave me an edge. My right leg especially always seemed to slip through defenses.
I shifted my weight, studying his stance. He was favoring his left. That meant he was still feeling the impact of our last exchange. I feinted right, making him shift, then snapped my leg up in a blur of speed and power, aiming for his ribs.
He barely blocked with his forearms and stumbled a step backward. His grin widened. "I swear, you're part machine."
I smirked.
He lunged forward, aiming a quick jab toward my side, but I twisted, dodging at the last second. My body reacted before my mind could keep up. I swept my leg under his feet, and he hit the ground hard, groaning.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, lying there for a second. "You win."
I reached down, offering him a hand. "Always happens, but you keep coming back."
He took my hand with a chuckle. "I like a challenge."
Before I could say anything else, the sound of a bell ripped through the air, a low chime that sent a ripple of tension through the training grounds. Conversations quieted and fighters lowered their stances.
Another Assignment.
I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. The athleticist's face clouded as he turned toward the high bulletin board on the edge of the training area. People were already pressing toward it, nudging forward for a glimpse at the names posted there.
"Let's go see who gets to fight," he said gruffly, wiping sweat from his brow.
I followed, my stomach twisting slightly. The Assignments were normal. Necessary. Everybody said so. But that didn't mean I had to like them.
***
The training grounds hushed as the crowd pressed toward the bulletin board. Whispers passed between fighters, some at ease, others tense. I pushed through the mass of bodies until I had a clear view of the list.
Then, I saw it.
Riven and Rynin.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers twitching at my sides. Rynin. A Double, meaning he seemed to have two abilities. He was strong, fast, and worst of all, cocky. I'd seen him fight before. He liked to drag things out and humiliate his opponents before finishing them off. From what I'd heard, both of his abilities are combat-related.
"Riven," the athleticist muttered beside me, following my gaze. "You alright?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
But my gut told me otherwise.
Across the field, Rynin had already found our names. He was well-built and had his black hair in a bun. He turned, his eyes locking onto mine with an amused smirk like he knew how this would go.
For the first time, something in me stirred, what felt like the press of some unseen weight against the sides of my mind. A flicker of motion, just out of my line of sight.
I shook my head, pushing it away. Whatever it was, I didn't have time to think of distractions now.
Because in less than an hour, I would be inside the arena.
The crowd parted, murmurs of opinion on the match-ups were still heard as they dispersed back to training or quiet conversation. I was still, my head turning over the weight of my name on that board.
Then, I felt something. A shift in the air. A presence at my back, one that hadn't been there a second ago.
I spun sharply.
Standing before me was a figure draped in sleek, form-fitting armor, with no skin exposed and no features visible. The plating was smooth, dark, and unnervingly silent. Something about it twisted my stomach. A flicker of recognition danced at the edge of my memory, faint and frustratingly out of reach.
The figure said nothing. It only extended a gloved hand, holding a slim black envelope.
I hesitated. I had seen these before, many times. But something about this felt different. I reached out, and the instant my fingers brushed the paper, some odd feeling shot up my arm and down my spine.
I squeezed my eyes tight, forcing it down.
The figure was completely still while I tugged the envelope out of its hand. Then, as noiselessly as it had come, it pivoted and walked away.
I exhaled long and slow. My athleticist was standing a little bit away, his arms crossed and his face unreadable.
I looked down at the envelope in my hands, my name written on the front.
Inside was confirmation of what I already knew.
I was fighting a Double, and for the first time in years, I wasn't sure if I could win my Assignment.
Around me, the training grounds had mostly returned to normal. People were back in their drills, voices were rising and falling in casual conversation. But beneath it all, there was an edge.
They all knew.
Assignments always drew attention, but this one was different. A fight against a Double wasn't just a challenge, it was a spectacle. The kind of fight people talked about for weeks.
I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. I needed to focus.
"You gonna stand there all day?" The athleticist's voice cut through my thoughts. He was watching me carefully, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced with something more serious.
I exhaled. "Guess not."
Together, we stepped away from the board, a feeling of being watched had clinged to me, but I refused to turn my head.