Chapter: Blue Embers — Riven's March South
The early morning mist curled low against the earth as the blue team assembled in silence. They stood behind Riven, who stood not at a podium or pedestal—but simply at the front. His appearance was notably different from the usual composed administrator they'd glimpsed in fragments.
Riven's gray shirt was half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled. His long cloak dragged slightly along the damp ground. No hood. No symbols. Just a quiet presence wrapped in dark tones, like a shadow taking human form. His gloves were worn at the knuckles, black pants mudstained at the knees.
His eyes were tired.
And yet no one questioned his authority.
---
Goldie hovered beside him in her smaller, floating form—light orb tail swishing, her cat ears twitching as her holographic interface blinked across her glasses.
> "You don't look well, Riven."
> "I'm fine," he replied, voice flat. "Let's move."
They traveled deeper into the southern sector of the forest, where the trees thinned and the winds changed. The land here was quieter, older. Forgotten by both human expansion and monster migration.
Then the fence appeared.
A towering mesh of twisted iron and vine, maybe once electrified or enchanted. It stretched in a semi-circle, marking the remnants of a failed settlement. There were cracked structures beyond, barely visible in the mossy overgrowth.
One of the younger recruits, a blue-haired demi-human with fin-like ears, whispered,
> "Is this... what we're supposed to rebuild?"
Another teen muttered,
> "Can a civilization even work out here?"
Riven turned slowly, his eyes half-lidded, scanning the group of twenty-seven blue-ranked initiates.
He spoke without raising his voice, yet every word cut through the chill:
> "You're here because your lives out there went nowhere. No purpose. No respect. No direction."
He gestured to the broken land ahead.
> "This place? It's no different. Forgotten. Wasted. But... it has space. It has bones. And bones can be carved into something better."
A pause.
> "You will follow the plans. You will build. And if you're waiting for a perfect moment or a clear sign of destiny... go back."
No one moved.
> "Good."
---
Goldie floated a few feet above and activated the holographic layout, projecting glowing blueprints mid-air. The map showed restructured zones: housing plots, water lines, defense wards, and signal towers. It was a rough draft, but it had shape.
> "Zone 1: Shelter Crews, go with Basil and Halder," Goldie announced.
"Zone 2: Perimeter Formation—assigned to Seraph, Yume, and their wing."
"Zone 3: Signal and Tech relay—Riven will oversee that himself."
The group scattered into their assignments, reluctantly but purposefully.
---
Later, Riven knelt beside a half-buried relay pylon, examining its interior. A pair of twins from Zone 3 hesitated nearby.
> "Sir... do you really think this'll last? The forest isn't like the cities. We don't even have proper channels here."
Riven, hands deep in wiring, didn't look up.
> "The cities are rotting. You want channels? Make them. Want security? Create it. Want structure? Be it."
He paused, then stood slowly, brushing dirt from his gloves.
> "The world doesn't owe you a safe place. But you can carve one if you bleed enough into it."
The twins were quiet. Then one nodded.
> "Understood."
---
By sunset, the blue team had made modest progress. A few tents. A pulsing core beacon powered by a salvaged capacitor. And a single firepit crackling near the edge.
Riven sat alone on a stump nearby, pulling a thermos from his belt, sipping bitter tea.
Goldie hovered behind him, tail flicking thoughtfully.
> "You gave them no speeches. No promises."
> "They don't need speeches," Riven murmured. "They need something real. Like sweat. Dirt. Blisters."
Goldie tilted her head.
> "You're building them into something else."
> "I'm giving them something the world didn't," he said flatly. "A start."
---
Somewhere beyond the trees, the quiet buzz of the Green and Red teams echoed faintly. But here, among rusted fences and broken pylons, a new beginning took root.
Not with grandeur.
Not with glory.
But with Riven, tired and silent, standing beneath a broken sky—
—and twenty-seven blue ranks beginning to build.
------
Chapter: Orange Fracture — The Unexpected Raid
The twilight air hung heavy with humidity as crickets chirped quietly through the forest's edge. Nico moved like a whisper, scouting ahead in the thinned canopy of the orange team's designated zone. The group had been delegated to basic infrastructure—firepits, material collection, and minimal defensive checks—but the tone had shifted to relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Nico's boots padded over soft grass as he approached Garrick, who was half-buried under a field generator's side panel, tools clinking around him.
> "Garrick," Nico murmured, crouching beside him. "Quick question."
> "Hit me," Garrick muttered, squinting as he adjusted a rusted conduit.
> "Why's Riven wearing that old northern-style cloak and gloves? Looks like something from a ruined museum."
Garrick blinked, pushed his goggles to his forehead, and chuckled.
> "Man's probably embracing the whole 'fantasy resistance leader' thing. I don't know. He does look like he walked out of a grim survival story."
> "It's like... deliberate," Nico murmured. "As if he's trying not to stand out, but also sending a message."
Garrick just shrugged again.
> "With Riven, sometimes that's all you get: mystery and half-rusted fashion sense."
Just as Nico was about to reply, a soft trill buzzed from his side pocket.
He pulled out his Systematic Guide.
🔔 Alert Notification
> Incoming Data: 13 new Travelers have crossed into Zone 4.
Status: ⚠️ Aggressive Entry Detected
Damage Report: Orange Zone camp breached. Shelter B & C destroyed. Supplies missing. Estimated loss: 82%.
Nico's pupils shrank. He jumped up, eyes wide.
> "What?! Garrick—camp breach. They've raided our base!"
Garrick scrambled out from under the machine, wiping his hands quickly.
> "Wait—what? Travelers did what?! I thought all sign-ins were being screened—"
> "They must've falsified the join list," Nico spat, already sprinting toward the treeline.
> "I left Fern with the southern end! Was anyone even there to guard?"
---
Minutes later, the remains of Orange Camp were a smoking mess.
Charred wood. Shredded tents. Resource crates split open, their contents pillaged. Someone had written crude slurs across the camp's central signal relay—painted in red mud and mockery.
Several orange team members stood around in shock. A few younger ones were sitting on the ground, faces blank with disbelief. One girl clutched a snapped spear in silence.
Fern arrived with two green-ranked scouts, her face tight and unreadable.
> "They were inside by the time anyone noticed," she said stiffly. "No formation. No sign of hesitation."
Nico growled, fists clenched.
> "Why would Travelers raid their own? This was a support zone, not even a leadership point."
Fern narrowed her eyes.
> "Maybe they weren't here to join. Maybe they were sent."
> "By who?"
A new voice cut through the scene. Garrick looked up as Riven arrived—flanked by a silent blue-ranked squad. His cloak fluttered slightly in the warm breeze, ash settling on the corner of his shoulder. His gaze swept over the ruins.
Then, coldly:
> "They're not Travelers. Not real ones. They're predators."
Goldie materialized beside him, face unreadable, analyzing the damage silently.
Riven didn't shout. Didn't panic.
> "We rebuild what's lost. Stronger. Smarter."
He turned to the orange team.
> "You're not children. And if you are... now's your first lesson."
> "Trust no name until proven. No signature until confirmed. No Traveler untested."
He stepped into the ruined base, boots cracking over burnt leaves and shattered plastic.
> "This is what the system can't teach you."
---
Later, that night, Nico sat near Garrick, watching the stars as a backup perimeter was hastily built.
> "That cloak," Nico muttered again, "Riven wears it like a warning. Like he's been through this already."
Garrick nodded slowly.
> "Maybe he has."
---