Chapter 96: Fever

Chapter 96: Chapter 96: Fever

"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." — Aristotle

By the fifth month, the abyss decided to finish what its monsters could not.

It began with a single mistake.

A hesitation.

During a brutal skirmish with a razor scaled Gloom Lurker high on a basalt ridge, Riven had misjudged the creature’s reach by less than an inch.

The monster’s claw tore through his coat and ripped deep into his lower left ribcage.

He had killed it seconds later.

But by then, the damage was done.

The armor immediately began repairing themselves, the enchanted hide tightening around the wound and sealing the torn fabric.

It wasn’t enough.

The creature’s claws had been coated in a thick, corrosive digestive fluid.

Some of it had already entered his bloodstream.

Riven had continued moving.

He had continued hunting.

He had continued surviving.

Until his body finally stopped cooperating.

Now he lay curled inside a damp, narrow alcove beneath a weeping rock ceiling.

He was dying.

His body shook violently.

His teeth chattered despite the unnatural heat radiating from his skin.

The wound along his lower ribs had swollen into a mass of blackened flesh. Thin veins of discoloration spread outward from it, creeping across his abdomen like cracks in glass.

A foul smell of ozone, blood, and decay filled the cramped alcove.

But the wound wasn’t what frightened him.

His core was.

The core inside his chest had become unstable.

Without his usual concentration, the dense reservoir of mana was surging through his channels without direction.

Crack.

A jagged bolt of black energy erupted from his shoulder.

It struck the stone wall.

BOOM.

Chunks of basalt scattered across the floor.

Riven barely reacted.

Another spark crawled across his arm.

Then another.

His body was becoming a conduit for his own power.

If the core collapsed completely, the backlash would tear through his internal mana channels.

His organs wouldn’t survive it.

Riven knew that.

Somewhere inside the fevered haze of his mind, he understood exactly what was happening.

But understanding didn’t matter anymore.

He couldn’t control it.

He couldn’t even think clearly..

Sometimes he was in the abyss.

Sometimes he was back in the mining camps.

Sometimes he was sitting in a transport wagon.

The memories overlapped until he couldn’t tell which world was real.

"Cold..."

The word escaped his cracked lips.

His eyes rolled halfway open.

"So cold..."

He reached toward the darkness.

His fingers trembled violently.

For a moment, he thought he saw a small hand reaching back.

A child’s hand.

His own.

He blinked.

It disappeared.

Riven’s breathing became thin and uneven.

He tried to reach for his sword.

His fingers scraped uselessly against the stone.

His arm fell.

He couldn’t even remember why he needed it.

The abyss became quiet again.

Then.

Tap.

Riven’s eyes twitched.

Tap.

His head shifted slightly.

Tap.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Deliberate.

Someone was walking across the wet gravel outside his alcove.

Riven’s instincts reacted before his mind could.

His fingers moved toward his sword.

They stopped halfway.

He didn’t have the strength.

The footsteps grew closer.

Riven stared into the darkness.

Something was coming.

A monster.

Something that had followed the smell of his blood.

He tried to move.

Nothing happened.

His body had finally reached its limit.

For the first time in five months, Riven couldn’t fight.

He couldn’t run.

He couldn’t hide.

He simply lay there, waiting.

A shadow appeared across the entrance of the alcove.

Riven’s eyes widened slightly.

The figure stopped.

Silence.

Then came a sharp intake of breath.

"A... a boy?"

Human.

The voice was unmistakably human.

Riven stared through the fever haze.

A woman slowly stepped into view.

She wore worn traveler’s leather over a dark tunic, the clothing faded and scarred from years of use. Her long ash-brown hair was tied into a practical braid, several loose strands hanging around her face.

A steel arming sword rested against her hip.

It was beautifully maintained despite the battered condition of everything else she carried.

The grip was worn smooth from years of use.

Her eyes widened as she looked down at him.

Then her expression changed.

Concern.

Real concern.

"Gods above..."

She dropped to her knees beside him.

Riven’s hand twitched toward his sword again.

"Don’t."

His voice was barely more than a breath.

The woman froze.

"Easy."

She slowly raised both hands.

"I’m not here to hurt you."

Riven stared at her.

He didn’t believe her.

Trust was something from another lifetime.

The woman seemed to understand.

She didn’t move closer.

Instead, she carefully studied him.

Then her gaze dropped to the wound in his side.

Her expression tightened.

"That’s not just an injury."

Her eyes shifted toward the black sparks crawling across his body.

"Your core..."

She leaned closer.

Then immediately recoiled when another burst of mana erupted from his chest.

"You’re septic."

Riven’s vision blurred.

The woman looked around the alcove.

"How long have you been down here?"

Riven didn’t answer.

"How long?"

His lips moved.

Nothing came out.

She stared at him for several seconds.

Then realization crossed her face.

"You can’t even speak properly."

She reached for the heavy leather pack strapped across her back.

Riven’s instincts screamed at him to stop her.

His hand twitched.

His body refused to obey.

The woman pulled out a small stone mortar.

She crushed several pale blue roots inside it, grinding them into a thick paste.

The scent reached Riven.

Cold.

Bitter.

Sharp.

He didn’t recognize it.

"Frost Lily," the woman explained quietly. "It’ll help with the fever."

She mixed the crushed root with a small amount of water from her canteen.

Then she looked back at him.

"This is going to hurt."

Riven gave no response.

She pressed a cloth soaked in the mixture against his forehead.

The effect was immediate.

Cold spread across his burning skin.

Riven gasped.

His back arched violently.

The woman caught his shoulder.

"Easy."

Black lightning erupted from his chest.

The woman didn’t move away.

Instead, she placed her palm against the center of his chest.

A warm, controlled aura flowed from her body.

It wasn’t overwhelming.

It wasn’t forceful.

It simply pressed against the chaotic mana and gave it something to follow.

Riven’s breathing slowed.

The black sparks became weaker.

His eyes widened.

For the first time in months, something other than fear, hunger, or pain entered his mind.

Warmth.

Human warmth.

He stared at the woman.

She looked exhausted.

Her clothing was battered.

Her hands were covered in old scars.

There was nothing particularly extraordinary about her appearance.

But she was there.

A person.

A real person.

Not a phantom.

Not a memory.

Not a voice created by his deteriorating mind.

A person.

"You’re not dying in the dark today," she said quietly.

Her voice was firm.

Certain.

"You’ve survived this long. I’m not letting you die now."

Riven’s lips parted.

He tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

The woman carefully lifted his head and brought a small vial to his mouth.

"Drink."

The bitter medicine burned down his throat.

Riven coughed violently.

She steadied him until the coughing stopped.

"There you go."

She looked at his wound again.

"This is going to need to be cleaned."

Riven’s eyes drifted shut.

He was too tired to care.

The woman carefully cut away the damaged section of his clothes.

The enchanted armor resisted at first, but she worked around the living material rather than trying to destroy it.

When she finally exposed the wound, her expression hardened.

"How have you survived this long?"

Riven didn’t answer.

She didn’t expect one.

She cleaned the blackened flesh, applied the remaining Frost Lily mixture, and wrapped the wound tightly with fresh cloth.

Every movement was careful.

Precise.

Gentle.

Riven watched her through half-closed eyes.

Something strange happened.

He wasn’t afraid.

Not completely.

The woman continued working.

"You have a name?"

Riven stared at her.

His lips moved.

"Ri..."

The word died in his throat.

The woman waited.

"Riven."

The name finally escaped.

Barely audible.

But real.

The woman looked at him.

"Riven."

She repeated it softly.

Something inside him shifted.

He had heard that name before.

In the mines.

In the guild

In the garden.

In a voice that had become nothing but a painful ghost in the darkness.

Lyra.

His eyes began to close.

The woman noticed.

"Hey."

She gently tapped his cheek.

"Stay with me."

Riven tried.

He really did.

For five months, survival had meant forcing his body forward no matter how badly it hurt.

But now that someone else was telling him to stay alive, something inside him finally gave out.

His body relaxed.

The last thing he felt was the woman’s hand supporting the back of his head.

The last thing he heard was her voice.

"Rest, Riven."

His eyes closed.

The darkness returned.

But this time, it wasn’t empty.

For the first time in five months, Riven wasn’t alone inside it.