Chapter 95: Unraveling

Chapter 95: Chapter 95: Unraveling

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places." — Ernest Hemingway

Time died in the abyss.

There were no mornings. No evenings. No sunrise to mark the beginning of another day or sunset to signal that it was finally safe to rest.

There was only darkness.

Endless, suffocating darkness.

By the third month, the constant silence had become a kind of static inside Riven’s mind. It gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, slowly wearing away everything that separated memory from reality.

Riven sat curled inside a narrow crawlspace beneath an overhang of jagged basalt.

His knees were drawn tightly against his chest, his back pressed against the cold stone.

His dark eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring into the darkness without blinking.

His new armor covered his battered body like a second skin. The enchanted void-drake hide had automatically repaired a shallow claw wound across his shoulder from two nights earlier, leaving only a faint scar behind.

The armor continued to protect him.

His body continued to heal.

His mind was not so fortunate.

A quiet metallic sound echoed through the cavern.

Clink.

Riven’s entire body tensed.

His hand immediately flew to the hilt of his sword.

His breathing stopped.

The sound came again.

Clink.

His fingers tightened around the grip.

He wasn’t hearing dripping water anymore.

He was hearing chains.

Iron chains dragging across stone.

The image came without warning.

A dark mining camp.

A freezing floor.

Iron bars.

The smell of sweat and blood.

Then came the voices.

"Get up, brat!"

Riven’s pupils contracted.

A harsh, gravelly voice echoed through his mind.

"Hold the pick or starve!"

Riven pressed his palms against his temples.

"Shut up."

His voice was barely audible.

The phantom voice continued.

"Move!"

"Shut up."

His breathing became uneven.

The sound of a whip cracking against the ground echoed through the darkness.

Crack.

Riven flinched violently.

"Shut up..."

He dug his fingernails into his scalp.

The pain was real.

The memories weren’t.

He knew that.

At least, he thought he knew that.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The mining camp disappeared.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then another voice reached him.

"Riven."

His eyes snapped open.

The voice was soft.

Familiar.

Impossible.

He slowly lifted his head.

Someone stood in the darkness several feet away.

Riven froze.

Silver-blonde hair shimmered faintly in the darkness, almost glowing against the black cavern walls.

A familiar face.

Violet eyes.

Lyra.

Riven’s breath caught in his throat.

She stood perfectly still, staring down at him.

But something was wrong.

Her expression was cold.

Disappointed.

Almost distant.

"Look at you," phantom Lyra whispered.

Her voice echoed strangely through the cavern, coming from everywhere at once.

"You wanted a challenge."

Riven stared at her.

His lips trembled.

"And now you’re dying in the dirt like a wild beast."

"No."

His voice cracked.

Lyra continued.

"Forgotten."

"No..."

Riven pushed himself upright.

His legs nearly collapsed beneath him.

"Lyra..."

He took a step forward.

She didn’t move.

"You wanted to prove how strong you were."

Another step.

"You wanted to become powerful."

"Stop."

"And now look at what you’ve become."

Riven’s breathing became ragged.

"Stop."

He stumbled forward.

"I’m surviving."

His voice cracked.

"I’m still surviving."

Lyra’s expression didn’t change.

"I kept my promise."

Riven reached toward her.

"I kept it."

His fingers passed through the fabric of her skirt.

There was nothing there.

The image shattered.

Lyra dissolved into a swarm of pale, blind cave moths.

They scattered silently into the darkness.

Riven stood frozen.

His hand remained extended.

He stared at the empty space.

Nothing.

There was no one there.

There had never been anyone there.

His arm slowly fell.

Riven dropped to his knees.

His forehead pressed against the freezing stone.

A ragged sob escaped his chest.

But no tears came.

His body didn’t have enough water left to produce them.

He stayed there for a long time.

Perhaps minutes.

Perhaps hours.

Time no longer mattered.

By the fourth month, the last remnants of Riven’s civilized self had begun to disappear.

He stopped counting the days.

He stopped speaking aloud.

Eventually, he stopped thinking in words.

There was no longer any reason to.

Thoughts were slow.

Words were unnecessary.

The abyss rewarded instinct.

It rewarded silence.

It rewarded violence.

Riven adapted.

He moved through the subterranean ecosystem like an apex predator.

He no longer walked unless necessary.

He crouched.

He crawled.

He waited.

He listened.

He killed.

Every movement was economical.

Every breath was controlled.

Every sound carried meaning.

A stone falling somewhere in the distance meant nothing.

A stone falling twice meant something was moving.

A faint scrape against basalt meant claws.

A change in the air meant something large was approaching.

The lessons came naturally now.

Not because he remembered learning them.

Because his body had learned them for him.

A Gloom-Stalker dropped from a ledge above.

Its twelve-foot body twisted through the air, scythe-like forelimbs extending toward Riven’s throat.

Riven didn’t think.

He moved.

Phantom Step.

His body vanished sideways.

The creature’s claws sliced through empty air.

Riven appeared beneath it.

His sword drove upward.

SHNK.

The blade punched through the monster’s eye socket and deep into its skull.

The Gloom Stalker convulsed.

Riven twisted the blade.

The creature collapsed.

He pulled the sword free.

There was no satisfaction.

No relief.

No fear.

Only silence.

Riven crouched beside the corpse.

His blood covered fingers tore into the creature’s chest.

He ripped out the core.

For several seconds, he simply stared at it.

Then he bit into the raw, bitter flesh.

The taste was horrible.

He didn’t care.

He ate.

The blood ran down his chin.

His dark eyes remained completely empty.

When he finished, he dropped the remains onto the stone.

Riven stood.

He looked into the darkness.

Nothing moved.

He waited.

Then he disappeared into the shadows.

The abyss had changed him.

He no longer hid from the darkness.

He belonged to it.

His posture had become lower, almost predatory. His movements were no longer those of a trained swordsman consciously executing techniques.

They were instinctive.

Jagged.

Efficient.

Lethal.

He had become something that hunted the things that hunted him.

A monster hunting monsters.

Yet somewhere beneath those instincts, something remained.

Something small.

Something fragile.

Something human.

The journal.

Riven no longer read it.

He couldn’t.

The words blurred together whenever he opened the book. The diagrams no longer made sense. The carefully written instructions might as well have been written in another language.

Riven sat alone in the darkness, his back against the cold stone.

His hand rested against the journal beneath his armor.

His eyes stared into the endless abyss.

He had forgotten the sunlight.

He had forgotten the sound of ordinary conversation.

He had forgotten what it felt like to sleep without expecting something to kill him.

But somewhere, buried beneath the instincts, the hunger, and the madness, a single thought remained.

Survive.

Not because he wanted power.

Not because he wanted revenge.

Not even because he wanted to escape.

Just survive.

Because as long as he was alive, there was still something left to save.

Riven closed his eyes.

The darkness swallowed him.

And somewhere deep inside that darkness, the last piece of the boy he had once been refused to die.

He was a monster hunting monsters in a world without light.

And he was waiting for the final collapse.