Riyan's POV...
Riyan was in his room, surrounded by the soft, amber glow of evening light filtering through the curtains.
The subtle hum of the evening city buzzed outside, a backdrop to his thoughts as he contemplated the upcoming vacation.
Riyan sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I should check out System's Store and prepare something, because I am NOT the illegitimate son of author or the twisted offspring of destiny," he muttered, a sharp edge to his voice. "Seriously, who writes this crap?"
He paced the room, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. "I mean, come on. I'm not some protagonist in a cheesy novel where, just as I'm about to bite the dust, some ancient, powerful old man or a drop-dead gorgeous woman just happens to be passing by to save my sorry ass."