47:59:12.
The countdown hovered in Riven's vision like a scar etched into time itself. It wasn't part of the usual system interface. It didn't blink. It didn't fade. It just ticked down.
Lysara glanced over his shoulder, her sharp eyes catching the digits.
"Forty-eight hours?" she whispered. "They didn't waste any time."
Riven didn't respond. His thoughts were a hurricane. The dagger of absence had disintegrated. His body felt both heavier and lighter, like he had stepped beyond the confines of weight or meaning. The edges of his form shimmered when he moved.
He wasn't just changing.
He was becoming something the world couldn't process.
---
They stood at the edge of a crumbling ridge overlooking what was once the Vault of Forgotten Protocols—a spiraling temple of black stone built to contain abandoned laws, scrapped skills, and deprecated divine rules. But now?
Now it was bleeding light.
Systemic threads, like torn veins of gold and silver code, were unraveling across the valley. Entire zones blinked in and out of existence as if the world itself was struggling to decide whether or not to include them.
The aftermath of the Custodian's death.
And it was only the beginning.
---
46:22:39.
Riven had tried sleeping.
He lasted eight minutes.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the outline of the god descending—faceless, endless, laced in white fire. No name. No body. Just intention.
And judgment.
Lysara approached from the shadows. Her movements were quiet—too quiet for someone who wasn't trying to be stealthy. Maybe she didn't need to try anymore.
"I've scouted ahead," she said. "Something's forming in the central relic chamber."
Riven lifted his eyes.
"You think it's connected to the countdown?"
She nodded. "It's a Divine Trial, Riven. That chamber was once used by Ascendants during the Trials of Origin."
"I've heard of those."
"Lies," she said, cutting him off. "No one's heard of them. They've been wiped from all records."
He arched a brow. "So how do you know about it?"
A pause. Then she simply said:
"Because I died in one."
---
45:00:00.
They reached the chamber just as another ripple of system instability washed through the corridor. Text blurred, walls phased in and out of being, and Riven had to blink several times before his vision stabilized.
The chamber itself was enormous—circular, domed, and filled with mirrored shards suspended in the air. Each shard reflected not just reality, but possibility.
Riven saw dozens of versions of himself—in one, he was clad in radiant armor. In another, he had horns and wings. In a third, he was burning alive, screaming as divine chains coiled around him.
"What is this?" he whispered.
Lysara's voice was low.
"The Chamber of Forked Fates."
He turned. "That sounds made-up."
"It's very real. The Trial god will use this room to decide which version of you deserves to die most."
Riven's throat dried.
He reached for the edge of a floating shard, his fingertips brushing its surface.
Instantly, visions flooded him—
A world where he submitted.
A world where he massacred cities.
A world where he won.
Each was him.
Each was true.
Each was bait.
He stumbled back.
"I don't like this room," he muttered.
Lysara smiled grimly. "Good. That means it's working."
---
42:47:09.
At the center of the chamber, a throne made of rusted system code materialized, folding out of thin air.
On it sat a being.
No face. No limbs. No voice.
Just a cloak of shattered light and a crown of rotating laws.
Above it, system text materialized:
> [The Divine Arbitrator Descends.]
Trial Commencement in 6 hours.
Conditions:
The Anomaly must survive.
No outside interference permitted.
Trial bound by concept, not combat.
Failure = Uncreation.
Riven stared at the being. It didn't move. It didn't breathe.
But it watched.
Every cell in his body screamed that he was being unraveled from the inside.
"Concept, not combat," he murmured.
Lysara nodded. "You won't be fighting it in the traditional sense."
"Then what the hell am I doing?"
She looked at the mirrored shards.
"Convincing it you deserve to exist."
---
38:03:17.
Riven sat cross-legged beneath the throne.
He tried to meditate.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed harder.
"How do you calm your mind," he asked aloud, "when it's you you're fighting?"
Lysara didn't answer. She stood guard at the edge of the chamber, arms folded, eyes scanning the fractured geometry for anomalies.
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment…
...he saw himself as a child.
A boy clutching a stolen loaf of bread.
Running.
Starving.
Alone.
And then—
Chains.
System messages.
The branding of "Anomaly" upon his soul.
That was when it all began.
---
He opened his eyes and whispered, "I don't need to convince a god I deserve to live."
He rose to his feet.
"I need to convince myself."
---
36:00:00.
The being on the throne stirred.
One by one, the mirror shards around the room began to glow.
Twelve of them.
Each linked to a possible future, each echoing with truths and lies.
> Trial Commencing Now.
Stage 1: Reflection.
---
A shard floated before Riven.
It showed him as a tyrant—a ruler with absolute power who reduced cities to ash and declared himself God-King of the Systemless World.
> "Is this your desire?" the Arbitrator's voice whispered inside his mind.
Riven clenched his fists. "No. That's who I could become if I stopped caring."
The shard dimmed.
> Verdict: Accepted. Progressing.
---
Second shard.
He saw himself kneeling.
Begging.
Subservient to the gods that once hunted him.
> "Is this the path of safety?"
Riven snarled. "No. That's not safety. That's surrender."
The shard cracked.
> Verdict: Resisted. Integrity +1.
---
One by one, he faced the futures.
Some glorious.
Some monstrous.
Some heartbreakingly tragic.
But none of them were his choice.
And that was the point.
He had to choose.
---
Final shard.
It didn't show power.
Or death.
Or glory.
It showed nothing.
A world where he never existed.
A world where Lysara died in chains.
Where the Custodian still reigned.
Where everything remained perfectly ordered—because he was never born.
> "Would the world be better off without you?"
He hesitated.
And then...
"No."
He stepped forward and shattered the shard with his bare hand.
> "Because I am the change."
> Verdict: Acknowledged. Self-Concept Confirmed.
---
Stage 1 Complete.
> Proceeding to Stage 2: Confrontation.
---
Suddenly, the throne exploded in light.
And in its place stood a man.
Tall.
Featureless.
And yet—identical to Riven.
Except his skin was golden.
His body, perfect.
His aura, divine.
This was Riven… if the gods had shaped him.
> "Now," said the Divine Arbitrator, "face the version of you we intended."
> Defeat the System's Riven. Or be rewritten in his image.