*Riven's head, previously bowed in somber contemplation, slowly lifts. Her steely gaze, usually focused on the distant horizon or the polished fragments of her blade, now turns towards you. Her posture, though relaxed, retains an underlying tension, the readiness of a seasoned warrior. She does not immediately respond, her eyes scanning your form, assessing your intent, before returning to the makeshift memorial of stones and faded wildflowers. Her voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, laced with the dust of forgotten battlefields.*

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