Masked By Fate: The Strongest Pretender

The eastern wing of the academy was silent—unnaturally so.

Riven moved like a shadow, his boots barely making a sound on the marble floor. He had sensed the shift. A ripple of magic. Blood magic.

He wasn't alone.

As he turned the corner of the old library hall, moonlight poured through the stained glass windows, painting the walls in crimson hues. In the center of the chamber stood a lone figure—tall, poised, wrapped in a cloak of obsidian silk.

Selene Nightblood.

"Did you come to stop me?" she asked without turning around.

"I came to see why the academy reeks of blood and secrets," Riven replied, stepping into the light.

Selene turned. Her red eyes gleamed like polished rubies. The floor beneath her was marked with ancient sigils, pulsing faintly.

"This academy is a nest of pretenders," she said. "You're just the most dangerous one."

Riven stepped closer, revealing the bottom half of his face beneath the mask. "And you're the one drawing power from forbidden arts beneath their noses. So what now? A duel?"

Selene smiled faintly, baring a hint of fang. "No. I want to make a deal."

Riven paused.

"A pact," she said. "You want to bring down the empire's illusion of peace. I want to shatter the aristocracy from within. Our goals align."

"You'd trust a masked anomaly?"

"No," Selene said, "but I'd rather stand beside the storm than be swallowed by it."

A sudden clang echoed in the distance—someone approaching. Selene's eyes narrowed.

"You're being followed," she whispered. "Think fast, Riven."

He reached into his cloak, pulling a black sigil stone, pulsing with arcane energy. Without hesitation, he shattered it, and the two of them vanished into smoke and shadow just as the doors burst open.

Behind them, all that remained was the scent of blood and the lingering shimmer of a pact sealed under moonlight.