Part 1: Three Weeks Later
Location: Avengers Compound, Private Training Wing Time: Morning
It had been three weeks since the first controlled flight.
Three weeks of testing, of sweat, of silence, and of control.
The days were consumed by motion: push-ups, sprints, kettlebells, sparring dummies, and repetition.
Riven trained alone most days, always quiet, always focused. His mind absorbed movement like a machine. Every martial arts tutorial uploaded to the training database, every sparring match in the archive—he watched it all, once.
And once was enough.
His body moved like memory incarnate. Boxing, taekwondo, grappling, karate—he didn't just imitate it. He perfected it. Every movement refined, every breath timed. His balance and timing outpaced even the automated trainers.
What shocked everyone wasn't his brute force.
It was how easy everything became.
His coordination reached surgical precision. He could mimic Steve's footwork from memory, match Natasha's fluidity in close-quarters forms, and even imitate the defensive forms Vision demonstrated.
His body changed too. No longer gaunt or starved from Hydra's sedation. He wasn't bulky, but every line in his arms and torso was carved like stone. Not overly muscular, but dense with power—defined, athletic, optimized.
He didn't bulk. He adapted.
Every muscle was deliberate.
Every motion was evolution.
And in all of it, he remained silent. Watching. Learning. Sharpening.