Shattered mask

After Riven had taken his bath, a rare smile had tugged at the corner of his lips. He felt refreshed, like the layers of grime and blood had finally been peeled away from both body and soul. The scent that had clung to him like a curse was gone. However, his clothes were still as filthy as ever. So he slipped into the old leather armor that had been left for him. It wasn't anything fancy, just something to keep the cold off his skin and the sharp edges off his bones. Riven had always hated a full headplate on his armor. His head needed air... and his thoughts needed space.

It had been hours since the bath. Riven wasn't doing anything particularly useful—just lying back on the creaky bunk, mind adrift. He filled his imagination with scenes of what it would feel like to be rich... to lounge all day, laugh at jokes that made no sense, never fight, never run. A world where his hands didn't always ache from gripping a blade too tight. A world where masks didn't bind souls.

But fate, ever the cruel jester, had other plans.

A loud, annoying knock on his door snapped him back to reality. Riven groaned, sitting up slowly.

"Who's there?" he called.

As expected, it was the self-proclaimed Mr. Nobody. The man hadn't shown up for hours, and Riven had been suspicious of his absence. Now, here he stood—tall, annoyingly handsome, and just as smug as ever.

Mr. Nobody stared at Riven for a beat, then smiled. "Nice. You don't smell like a wild animal anymore."

It took everything Riven had not to punch him in the face. His fist twitched, his jaw clenched... but he held himself back. He was still too weak. Instead, he forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You don't look bad yourself," he said dryly.

Riven was no beauty, but he wasn't hideous either. Still, standing next to Mr. Nobody was like comparing a street urchin to a noble's portrait. Not that Riven cared. Looks were the least of his concerns.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice sharper now.

"It's time to eat. Thought I'd come get you," Mr. Nobody replied.

Riven blinked. "Oh."

He hadn't eaten since that cursed encounter with the Wraithspawn. The taste of rotting flesh still haunted his tongue. Real food—anything not tainted—sounded like heaven.

"Lead the way, Mr. Nobody," Riven said in a mocking tone.

There was no reply. Just a faint smirk before the man turned and walked away.

The journey to the dining area was quiet. No small talk, no attempts at conversation. Riven preferred it that way.

When they finally arrived, the space wasn't much. A low, open cavern where a bonefire crackled and spat golden sparks into the gloom. Around the flames, other Firstborn were gathered—sitting, talking, laughing, and drinking. Skewers of meat were roasting over the fire, sizzling and dripping fat. It wasn't the meat of some twisted abomination for once. It smelled... normal. Rich, greasy, savory.

The meat came from wild cave boars, or something close to it. Tough but filling. The kind of meat that stuck to your ribs and made you feel like you'd eaten a feast. It was seasoned with something earthy, maybe ground root or dried herbs found deep within the tunnels.

Riven sat quietly at the edge of the group, accepting a portion of meat without a word. He bit into it. It was chewy, but warm and smoky. Real food. His stomach, long hollow, finally had something to growl about. He didn't realize how hungry he was until the first bite hit.

But what truly set the scene ablaze was the alcohol. Bottles of crude, strong spirits were passed around—likely brewed from fungi or roots. The Firstborn drank with reckless abandon, laughter echoing through the dark like war cries turned joyful.

Riven didn't drink. He was only seventeen, and even if he wanted to, his body wasn't in the state to handle it. So he just sat, observing, the meat in his hands slowly disappearing as he chewed and watched.

A few Firstborn greeted him. Nothing too personal.

"How you doing, new kid?"

Riven nodded. Said little. Just sat in silence.

Thirty minutes in, something felt off. Subtle at first. His limbs grew sluggish. His head felt heavy. His vision swam slightly, as if the shadows were breathing.

He wasn't drunk. He hadn't touched a drop. But something was... wrong.

Riven's senses, usually so sharp, were dulled. It didn't make sense. Then he saw it.

The bonefire.

His eyes widened as the truth clawed its way to the surface. Monster bones burned differently. Some bones, when set aflame, released hallucinogenic properties. Others were used in dark rituals. The one in front of them? It was doing something.

Everyone was affected.

Some danced wildly around the flames, others howled laughter into the dark, collapsing in fits. They were all drunk... but not from drink.

The fire.

It was too late.

Riven was no exception. He stood up shakily, eyes wide, his voice rising.

"I can see the future!"

Everyone turned. A pause. Then laughter.

"Good one, kid!" someone shouted.

"That's hilarious," another called.

But Riven wasn't laughing.

"I'm not lying! I can prove it!"

He grabbed his mask and slammed it onto his face.

And the world changed.

---

Name: Riven

Mask Type: Unbound Class

Mask Name: Abyssal Mirror

Abilities:

• Devourer's Pact

• Echo Vision

• Shadowform (Locked)

---

Riven activated Echo Vision.

He screamed.

The sound was inhuman, raw, echoing across the cavern like the cry of something ancient and broken.

And then he collapsed.

Mr. Nobody, his face pale and serious for once, shoved his way through the crowd and knelt by Riven's side.

"Get the doctor. Now!"

When the doctor arrived, his face turned grim.

"Oh no," he murmured. "I hope he didn't activate it."

Silence fell again.

The flames crackled. Shadows danced.

And Riven... was lost in the vision.