The world reset.
Riven exhaled sharply as the battlefield reformed around him, the cracked obsidian ground pulsing with abyssal veins beneath his feet. The golden light of Cassiel's divine presence returned, suffocating, oppressive—an unyielding force pressing down on him like a celestial hammer.
But this time, Riven didn't immediately charge.
He stood still, his grip tightening around his sword, feeling the lingering ache in his limbs. The pain wasn't real—this was the Created Space—but his mind and body had experienced every brutal impact, every searing cut. He had lost count of how many times he had fallen, how many resets he had endured.
And yet, he was still here.
Cassiel watched him, his stance relaxed, yet poised. His golden eyes gleamed beneath the shifting glow of divine energy. "You're learning," he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly. "But it's still not enough."
Riven smirked, "I'm not the one who just took a hit."
