If you'd asked Riven how his day was going, he'd probably give you a single, blunt word: shitty! And honestly? That would be an understatement. It was one of those days where every little thing seemed to pile up just to mess with him:like the universe has decided to test his patience, surprisingly, it's fucking working!
The morning had started with the first two classes, and instead of the usual teachings about their gifts, all he got was a never-ending lecture on rules and regulations.
Rules about the camp, rules about the dorms, rules about not sneaking out at night—it was about a hundred rules, maybe more, all drilled into him like some kind of camp manual he'd never asked to read. And the worst part? They expected him to memorize all of them.
Like that was going to stop him from sneaking out or doing whatever the hell he wanted.
And now, it's time for his training with Vaelorian.
Riven had barely contained his breathing and beating heart when Vaelorian's voice sliced through the air like a sword.
"Nice of you to finally join me,Riven." he said, his tone smooth but with a scolding edge.
Riven lifted his head to see him standing there, dressed in combat boots, tactical pants, gloves, and—oh, joy—a pair of long, gleaming swords in his hands. The guy was shirtless? Was it necessary to train without his shirt? Vaelorian is a picture of perfection. It was almost unfair. Gosh, he just had to have it all doesn't he?: perfect face, chiseled abs, manners that could charm a snake, and the kind of body that made Riven want to punch a wall.
He made Riven look like a fucking loser!
"Hello!....earth to Riven?" Vaelorian's voice snapped him out of his daydream.
"Huh?" Riven blinked, suddenly aware that he'd been staring.
"What do you mean, huh? You're fifteen minutes late?" Vaelorian said, raising an eyebrow, the hint of annoyance playing on his lips.
"Yeah, so?" Riven shot back, crossing his arms.
"It's bad manners to keep someone waiting," Vaelorian replied, tone light but with that underlying edge of authority that Riven found frustrating.
See what I mean? Riven thought, rolling his eyes. The guy was always so perfect—like he'd been carved out of marble and designed for combat. Meanwhile, Riven just felt like a constant disappointment in comparison.
"It's not my fault that it took me a while to find this place! You couldn't have told me this morning that we were meeting here? I can't believe you left me a note!" Riven muttered, voice dripping with sass as he gestured vaguely around the room.
Vaelorian chuckled softly, shrugging. "You were sleeping when I left the room this morning."
Oh, yeah. That made sense. Riven might've been grateful that Vaelorian was considerate enough not to wake him—if only he'd been considerate enough to tell him where to find the damn place instead of making him wander around the camp like some lost puppy.
"So, what's this place?" Riven asked, glancing around with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
"This is the old training room. We'll use it for your training," Vaelorian said, dropping his swords onto a nearby rack before slipping off his gloves.
Riven pointed at the swords with a skeptical look. "We're not going to use that?"
Vaelorian raised an amused brow. "A bit too much for our first lesson, don't you think? Let's learn to walk before we run, yeah?"
Riven sighed dramatically, but a grin tugged at his lips. "I hate you, you know that, right?"
Vaelorian just smirked. "Good. It means you're getting used to me."
"Alright, so what are we starting with?" Riven asked, stretching, trying to shake off the frustration.
"Hand-to-hand combat," Vaelorian replied, his voice calm but confident.
Riven cracked his knuckles, eager to prove himself.
"Okay, I can do that. Where do you want me?"
He threw himself into a relaxed stance, muscles tense and ready. But as soon as he did, Vaelorian's eyes flicked with something that Riven couldn't quite read—amusement, maybe? Or something else entirely.
"Your Highness?" Riven called out, waving his hand in front of Vaelorian's face, joking to lighten the mood.
Vaelorian's face snapped back to focus, and he smacked Riven's hand away gently but firmly.
"Don't call me that!" he warned, voice low and serious.
Riven just chuckled and stepped back, all playful defiance. "Alright, Your Highness."
Vaelorian took a fighting stance, eyes sharp. "Your first lesson is to knock me off my feet."
Riven smirked, ready for action. He'd been fighting all his life—using tricks, sneaky moves, anything to stay standing. This was going to be a walk in the park.
He charged forward with a grin, fists clenched, confidence high. But in a blink, everything changed.
Bam!
Riven was flat on the floor.
Ugh!!! That fucking hurt! How the hell did Vaelorian move so fast? One second he was rushing in, and the next, he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling, surprised and a little pissed.
"This is worse than I thought," Vaelorian said, offering him a hand as he loomed over him, eyes cool but with a hint of something else—maybe amusement. "Have you ever fought anyone before?"
Riven dusted himself off, glaring but trying not to show it. "It's not my fault you're too fast. I've fought plenty. I was just warming up," he shot back, trying to sound confident.
Riven was dead wrong, though. No amount of street fighting or warm-ups could prepare him for this—no matter how many fights he'd been in or tricks he'd learned. He's currently having his ass handed to him, painfully!
Vaelorian shook his head, clearly entertained, looking at Riven as he struggled to stand up from the floor.
"Come on, now! You're making me feel bad." he said, but that didn't stop him from slamming Riven on the floor again for the hundredth time.
Riven groaned, voice muffled into the mat.
"This is fucking bullshit."
Did he come here to learn how to fall, or how to fight? He was supposed to be beating Vaelorian at his own game, damnit!
Riven has to do something about this and fast! Because he wasn't about to let some fucking perfect prince whoop his ass and get away with it.
Not today, not ever!