The mark on his forearm never stopped pulsing, like an external object. Even after they left the dead grove and the whispering sapling, Riven could still feel it.
The Ashen Rune had inscribed itself into his forearm, always warm—never really hot—but it pulsed softly, just enough to remind him it was still there.
He didn't know whether it was feeding on him or fueling him, or maybe both.
Veyla didn't say anything for a long time until they reached the ruins of what looked like it once resembled a bell tower, now crooked and split in half by some long-forgotten battle.
They made a camp beneath it to rest for a while.
"You haven't said much," she whispered.
Riven turned to her, but didn't say anything.
"Exactly," she muttered. "Is there something bothering you?"
He hadn't noticed his hands had stopped trembling, his wounds stopped aching, the soreness in his limbs from walking for days without rest was gone. He was too busy thinking to notice any of it.
It all started after the sapling did something to him. The strength should have felt like a blessing—but it didn't, it felt more like a replacement.
Like something had slid into his skin and started pumping energy into him.
But he didn't dwell on it much. He just wanted to close his eyes, finally.
He stared at Veyla, then laid down on the make-shift bed made of dead grass and moss.
"Goodnight," he said before he closed his eyes.
■■■■■■■■■■■■■
At dusk, the sounds of birds chirping and rodents scattering woke them up .
"What's happening?" Riven asked, jolting upright as they both heard footsteps of something heavy coming.
The sounds drew closer. The sounds of chains clinking—heavy and dragging.
A figure staggered through the trees. It didn't look human. It wore armor, heavy and blackened, with red-hot seams that still glowed from deep within. The front of its helmet was split, revealing a snout of broken metal that leaked smoke through the cracks.
Around his wrists, iron rings dragged like twin chains, the links studded with shards of glass and bone. And where its eyes should have been, two faint white pinpricks blinked like dying stars.
Veyla hissed softly. "A flame-bound warden," she muttered, standing up slowly. Her voice was tight. "They're not supposed to exist anymore," her eyes widened.
"What do you mean?" Riven asked, his heart pounding slowly in his chest as he saw her reaction. If she felt fear, he was doomed, and he knew it, though he wanted to deny it.
The Warden turned its head slowly towards her, then glanced over at Riven, whose breath was stuck in his throat.
It started out slow—then started moving really fast. Too fast for something that size. Chains snapped behind it like whips.
The earth cracked under his feet as it moved. Mud blasted out from the soil with every stride.
In that moment of fear, with him being the calmer person, his body moved before his thoughts could process the action.
The mark on his arm pulsed faintly, as if responding to his movement.
He stepped forward, and in one breath, he vanished in a blur.
He didn't have time to be fascinated by his movements—right now, he only cared about saving his and Veyla's lives.
The Warden's chains lashed forward toward his face. Riven ducked low, sliding under it as sparks danced behind him. The links slammed into a boulder and cracked it in two.
He stared back at it, his eyes wide. "Was that supposed to be me?!"
He quickly moved and twisted behind the beast. He drew his blade and slashed with one clean, deep cut.
The black armor groaned, then something like ash burst from the wound like steam.
The Warden didn't feel affected—it spun quickly, catching him with the back of its armored elbow.
The blow hit like a landslide, and Riven flew back, hit a stone wall, and collapsed.
"F*ck!" he cursed, clutching his stomach.
The rune pulsed again. The pain started disappearing slowly.
"What?!" He didn't have time to think about it. He immediately stood up with absolutely no pain surging through his body.
His ribs had snapped—he was sure of it—but now they felt whole again, or probably numb enough to ignore.
The Warden didn't wait. It came again, both chains flying as it ran.
Riven reached out and caught one. It should have crushed his fingers—but it didn't. His lack of surprise was understandable at this point.
Instead, his grip locked it mid-swing, and with a loud roar, he yanked the Warden forward, dragging the massive thing off balance.
Veyla noticed the opening and immediately went for it. Her blade flashed once, in an arc of silver light, slicing it clean across its knees.
Riven took advantage of it and moved in for the kill, the Rune still pulsing.
He drove his dagger into the thing's chest—not through flesh, but through the mark he noticed beneath the armor.
It didn't react. It just froze—and the chains went still.
Remnants poured from its mouth and eyes like water from a broken jar.
Riven heaved heavily. "That was close," he said, stepping back.
Then, something erupted from the Warden and passed into him. It felt like energy, and something else.
Memory. Fragments of someone else's memories.
Cracks of broken thoughts. A burning tower, as someone reached out for a little girl who was burning, screams in the distance—then it stopped.
He gasped, his hands steady and calm. Way too calm for someone who almost lost their life in a high-risk battle.
Veyla walked up to him. "Riven?"
He turned toward her, his expression saddening.
She looked different from where he stood, or maybe it was him. Maybe he just felt that way.
He didn't feel victorious. He didn't feel relief, either. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything.
"The rune…" Veyla said softly, looking at his arm.
It had morphed. The spiral had extended.
The thorns twisted around the edges. Small trails of red-orange now shimmered beneath the black, like cooling coals.
"You absorbed it," she said, staring at him. "The Warden's power."
He still stood there, staring at the warden's armor. "And something else."
"What was that?" she said, her brow furrowing.
"I don't actually know. I don't remember what it was," he answered, the wind bristling softly.
He felt a surge of emotions earlier. A song. A memory of someone humming—it was a soft voice, but it's gone.
He pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was beating fast, but steadily.
The rune didn't seem to react, but he knew it absorbed whatever came out of the Warden.
He now understood what the rune was. Every kill would feed it. Every kill would cost something dear to whoever he killed.
His grip tightened on the dagger. "How much will you take?" he asked, his voice low.
Veyla heard it but didn't answer his question, and the Rune didn't seem to react to the question either.
But the silence that stood said more than enough—this was just the beginning.