The night was thick with silence as Riven sat cross-legged in his dorm room, the dim glow of abyssal fire flickering faintly around his skin. His breathing was slow, controlled, as his consciousness stretched outward, reaching across the vast distance between him and his kingdom.
His bonded necromancers were his eyes in the Shadow Kingdom, their presence flickering through his mana like distant embers. Riven cast his awareness through the connections, skimming their perspectives with practiced ease.
The eastern ridge stood strong, fortified under Damon's oversight, while Alric ensured the outer defenses expanded swiftly.
Near the barracks, Varian and Haleth guided new recruits, their training in dark mana already showing results.
The Abyss-Touched Fields flourished under Benedict's and Mal's careful cultivation, with new herbs taking root—unstable, yet brimming with potential.
Everything was proceeding as expected.
