Chapter 65: The Elf

Chapter 65: Chapter 65: The Elf

"Danger gleams like sunshine to a brave man’s eyes." — Euripides

The wind howling through the upper fissures of Sector 4 tasted of ash and dead iron.

Riven walked alone.

Every step felt heavier than it should have.

The space beneath the outer ring was already far behind him. Abandoned. Cold. Empty.

He had spent years there.

Training.

Bleeding.

Planning.

Listening to Garreth’s voice echo through the stone corridors.

Now there was nothing.

No bitter broth tossed across a crate after a particularly brutal training session.

No gravelly voice criticizing his stance.

No old man telling him that his breathing was too loud.

No one telling him to get back up.

Riven tightened the strap of his pack.

Riven lowered his hand.

He had stayed in the frontier city long enough to settle his debts, collect the last of his earnings, and erase as many of his tracks as possible.

There was nothing else for him there.

The city had once been a place of survival.

Now it was a cage full of ghosts.

Every street reminded him of someone.

Every corner carried a memory.

The training grounds reminded him of Garreth.

The Guild reminded him of the years he had spent climbing through the ranks.

Even the small taverns reminded him of conversations he no longer had anyone to finish.

Riven pulled his obsidian half mask tighter over his face.

The familiar pressure of the mask settled against his skin.

He adjusted the heavy scabbard across his back.

Garreth’s sword rested inside it.

He looked toward the northern trail.

For now, he needed distance.

Distance from the city.

Distance from the memories.

Distance from everything.

Riven turned and began walking.

The trail carried him into the badlands.

Jagged canyon walls rose on either side of him, their surfaces bleached pale beneath the brutal sunlight.

The ground was a mixture of loose gravel, cracked stone, and ancient dust.

Few travelers came this far.

The underworld fixers rarely sent enforcers through these territories.

There was little reason to.

The bandits did most of the work for them.

Anyone weak enough to travel alone through the badlands usually did not make it very far.

Riven did not care.

He continued walking.

Hours passed.

The sun began sinking toward the horizon.

Then he heard it.

Wood breaking.

Riven stopped.

A shout echoed through the canyon.

Then another.

Desperate.

Angry.

Human.

His eyes narrowed.

He immediately dropped into a crouch.

Acoustic Dampening spread through his body.

His footsteps disappeared.

His breathing slowed.

Even the subtle movement of his clothing became controlled.

Riven moved from boulder to boulder, using the canyon walls as cover.

He reached the edge of a rocky ridge and looked down.

A merchant wagon had been overturned across the trail.

The front axle was shattered.

Crates were scattered across the dirt.

Two armored guards lay face down several meters away.

Dead.

Blood had soaked into the pale dust around them.

Five men surrounded the wreckage.

Bandits.

Rough leather armor.

Mismatched weapons.

Old scars.

Poor discipline.

One of them was dragging someone from the back of the wagon.

A woman.

She struggled against him.

"Quiet down, little bird."

The bandit leader sneered as he tightened his grip.

His other hand carried a heavy iron spiked club.

"The northern syndicates will pay a fortune for clean elven collateral."

He glanced at her pointed ears.

"Especially someone with ears that long."

The other bandits laughed.

Riven’s expression did not change.

The world sharpened.

Heat signatures appeared.

Mana density became visible.

Weapon loads registered.

Five opponents.

None of them carried enough mana to pose a serious threat.

Low tier muscle.

Reckless.

Uncoordinated.

Loud.

Riven could eliminate them in seconds.

Normally, he would have kept walking.

He was traveling alone.

He had no contract involving these men.

No payment.

No obligation.

Blood for no reason was a waste of time.

His eyes returned to the woman.

Something inside his chest tightened.

For a moment, the canyon disappeared.

The broken wagon disappeared.

The bandits disappeared.

All he saw was another moment.

A massive jaw snapping shut.

Garreth stepping between him and death.

The old man’s body taking the impact meant for him.

Riven’s fingers slowly tightened.

Garreth had died because he refused to hesitate.

Because he had decided that Riven was worth protecting.

Riven looked down at the bandits again.

His expression hardened.

’No loose ends.’

His hand moved toward the sword across his back.

’No hesitation.’

His fingers closed around the hilt.

The weapon recognized him immediately.

Riven vanished.

A single Shadow Leap carried him from the ridge into the darkness behind the lead bandit.

He appeared directly behind him.

The man never noticed.

The sword slid free.

No sound.

The enchantments swallowed the noise completely.

The blade passed through the man’s armor.

His eyes widened.

He never even had time to scream.

Riven withdrew the sword.

The bandit collapsed into the dirt.

"Oi."

One of the others turned.

"Kren?"

He stared at the empty space where his leader had been standing.

Then his eyes dropped.

Kren was dead.

"What the..."

Riven moved.

A flick of his fingers sent a pulse of Shadow mana into the ground.

Disturb Magic.

The technique did not simply attack magic.

It interfered with the structure supporting it.

Riven had learned to apply that principle to more than spells.

The bandit’s footing suddenly shifted.

His balance disappeared.

He stumbled forward.

Riven stepped into the opening.

One clean cut.

The man collapsed.

The remaining three finally understood that something was wrong.

They drew their swords.

"Who’s there?!"

"Show yourself!"

Riven did not answer.

One of them swung wildly toward the darkness.

Nothing.

Another spun around.

Nothing.

Then Riven stepped out of the shadow.

The harsh desert sunlight caught the edge of his obsidian mask.

His eyes remained completely calm.

The bandit froze.

Riven disappeared again.

Phantom Step.

His body shifted forward with such speed and precision that a dense shadow afterimage remained where he had been standing.

The first bandit’s sword struck the afterimage.

The condensed Shadow mana absorbed the impact.

The image shattered.

Riven was already behind him.

One strike.

Another body hit the ground.

The final two panicked.

One turned and ran.

The other swung his sword at empty air.

Riven stepped around the attack.

His blade moved once.

The bandit fell.

The last man saw the bodies.

He saw Riven.

Then he ran.

Riven watched him disappear between the canyon walls.

He could pursue him.

But there was no reason.

Not yet.

Riven lowered his sword.

The entire fight had taken less than thirty seconds.

The canyon fell silent again.

Only the wind remained.

Riven exhaled slowly.

His core settled.

He slid Garreth’s blade back into its scabbard.

There was no metallic click.

Not even a whisper.

He turned toward the overturned wagon.

The woman was still there.

She had stopped struggling.

Instead, she was staring at him.

She was young.

She could not have been much older than Riven.

Silver blonde hair spilled across her shoulders, catching the last rays of sunlight.

Her features were almost unnaturally delicate.

Porcelain skin.

Sharp, elegant eyes.

Long pointed ears.

High elf.

But there was something else.

Her clothes were far too refined for an ordinary traveler.

Even torn and covered in dust, the quality was obvious.

Nobility.

Riven studied her for another moment.

She was not crying.

She was not trembling.

She was simply watching him.

Curious.

Very curious.

Riven sighed quietly.

Of course.

He had just saved someone who looked like trouble.

A soft trill came from behind him.

Riven glanced over his shoulder.

The heavy canvas of his pack shifted.

A small black head poked through.

Nyx blinked her luminous violet eyes.

The young wyvern stared at the elf.

The elf stared back.

Nyx tilted her head.

The elf did the same.

Nyx clicked her tongue.

The elf’s eyes widened slightly.

Riven looked between them.

"Don’t start."

Nyx ignored him.

She climbed farther out of the pack and settled against his shoulder.

Her midnight black scales absorbed the surrounding light while her small wings folded against her body.

The elf looked fascinated.

Riven ignored the reaction.

He stepped toward her.

A small bone handled dagger appeared in his hand.

The ropes around her wrists snapped.

The woman rubbed her wrists.

Riven turned away.

"The road’s clear."

His voice was flat.

"Move fast before the scavengers come back for the scraps."

He began gathering his things.

Three steps.

Then a voice stopped him.

"Are you just going to leave me here?"

Riven stopped.

He looked over his shoulder.

The elf had climbed out of the wreckage.

She dusted the dirt from her clothes.

She was already following him.

Riven stared.

"You have got to be kidding me."

She smiled faintly.

"My name is Lyra."

"I didn’t ask."

"I know."

She continued walking.

Riven increased his pace.

Lyra matched it.

He increased it again.

She kept up.

Riven glanced sideways.

She looked completely unbothered.

"You should find another caravan."

"I was traveling toward the Elven Forest."

"Then continue traveling."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"Because the people who were supposed to take me there are dead."

Riven looked ahead.

"And?"

"They were my guards."

Riven sighed.

Lyra smiled.

"You really are difficult to talk to."

"I’m not trying to be easy."

"I noticed."

Riven kept walking.

Lyra remained beside him.

After a few minutes, she looked toward Nyx.

"And what exactly is that?"

Riven glanced at the wyvern.

"Nyx."

"She’s beautiful."

Nyx chirped.

"She likes you."

Lyra smiled.

"She likes anything that doesn’t try to stab her."

"Then we already have something in common."

Riven looked at her.

Lyra smiled innocently.

He turned away.

This was going to be a long journey.

They stopped several hours later.

The canyon walls narrowed enough to provide shelter from the wind, forming a shallow sandstone alcove.

Riven checked the surrounding area before allowing himself to sit.

He leaned his back against the stone wall.

Nyx curled across his lap.

Her tail twitched occasionally while she slept.

Riven opened a tin of dried rations.

Across from him, Lyra sat with her knees pulled against her chest.

She had barely stopped looking at him since they left the wagon.

Riven eventually noticed.

"What?"

Lyra blinked.

"What?"

"You’ve been staring."

"I was thinking."

"Think quietly."

She smiled.

"You are strange."

"So are you."

"Why?"

"You were nearly sold to a syndicate."

"Yes."

"You were rescued by a masked stranger."

"Yes."

"You followed him into the badlands."

"Yes."

Riven stared.

Lyra smiled.

"I trust my instincts."

"Your instincts are terrible."

"Perhaps."

She looked at him again.

Then her eyes moved toward his mask.

"You never take that off, do you?"

Riven continued eating.

"Take what off?"

"The mask."

She leaned forward slightly.

"You’ve worn it all day."

Riven said nothing.

"Through the dust."

Nothing.

"The wind."

Nothing.

"Even while fighting."

Riven slowly looked up.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed with curiosity.

"Is your face horribly scarred?"

Riven’s expression remained blank.

"Or are you just trying to hide from the world?"

The atmosphere changed.

Riven’s voice dropped.

"It stays on."

Lyra continued looking at him.

Riven’s eyes hardened.

"Drop it."

She did not flinch.

Instead, she reached beneath her cloak.

Riven’s hand immediately moved toward his sword.

Lyra noticed.

She slowly pulled out a silver medallion.

The object caught the firelight.

An intricate crest was engraved across its surface.

Riven’s Appraisal Ocular activated.

Mana.

High quality enchantment.

Ancient construction.

Royal craftsmanship.

His eyes narrowed.

Lyra held the medallion between two fingers.

"My people value debts."

Her voice had become quieter.

"And you saved my life."

Riven looked at the crest.

"If you escort me safely to the Land of Elves, I can offer you something better than coin."

"I don’t care about elven coin."

"I’m aware."

"I’m not going north."

Lyra smiled.

"It’s not money."

Riven’s eyes narrowed.

She looked directly at his mask.

"That mask is fused to your skin."

Riven froze.

Lyra continued.

"Tied directly to your core."

His fingers tightened around the tin cup.

"It looks like a curse."

Riven said nothing.

"Or perhaps the result of some permanent disfigurement."

Nyx stirred on his lap.

A low hiss escaped the wyvern.

Lyra’s eyes briefly moved toward her.

Then back to Riven.

"I know what you’re thinking."

Riven’s voice was cold.

"Do you?"

"You’re wondering why I would know anything about it."

She held the medallion against her chest.

"Because the Royal Mage has dealt with things like this before."

Riven stared at her.

Lyra’s expression became completely serious.

"If you bring me home, I will take you before him."

Riven did not breathe.

"He can remove it."

The words struck harder than any weapon.

Lyra held his gaze.

"Completely."

Silence filled the alcove.

Riven’s hand slowly moved toward his face.

His fingers touched the obsidian mask.

For years, he had treated it as permanent.

Something he had to live with.

Something that had become part of him.

And now, for the first time, someone had given him a reason to question that.

Riven lowered his hand.

His eyes remained fixed on Lyra.

"You’re going to explain everything."

Lyra smiled.

"I was hoping you would say that."