Riven remained seated, unmoving. The fire-dense island roared around him, heat pressing against his skin like a living entity. But amid all that infernal energy, he could feel it—a flicker of cold, a presence that did not belong.
A silhouette crouched behind the jagged obsidian rock formations, their form almost indistinguishable from the waves of heat radiating around them.
Almost.
Riven's eyes narrowed.
His fingers drummed against the Staff of Ignis, the artifact still pulsing with raw energy. How long had they been here? Watching? Waiting?
And who sent them?
The king wouldn't risk sending an assassin before the royal summons—that was a political game that required patience. The academy wouldn't be foolish enough to eliminate him outright. That left one person left who hated him enough to want to kill him.
Riven chuckled under his breath and with one slow motion, he raised his right hand.
And snapped his fingers.
BOOM.
