The streets of Shadewood were empty, but the city had never felt so alive. There was power in the silence, an ominous hum in the air that vibrated through the cobblestone beneath his boots. Riven moved like a shadow, unnoticed, his presence a whispered secret in a city that had long lost its soul.
Tonight, the soul he sought would not slip away easily.
The target was a merchant—wealthy, influential, and a man of dubious reputation. His name had been spoken too many times in the wrong circles. He had made deals that had cost lives, stolen from the wrong people, and betrayed those who trusted him. A man like that deserved to be harvested.
Riven stood in the dark alley, eyes narrowed, waiting. He had done this countless times before, but there was always a hunger gnawing at him. He needed to feel the rush of power, the way it surged through him like a violent storm after the first soul was consumed.
The city's moon hung low, casting long shadows over the walls, as though even the night was reluctant to witness what was about to happen.
He caught the faintest movement—a figure in a long coat, walking toward the alley. The merchant.
Riven stepped forward, silent as death. The merchant didn't see him coming, but by the time he heard the whisper of a blade cutting the air, it was too late. Riven's hands were already around his throat.
Fear gripped the merchant's face, but Riven didn't hesitate. The fear only made the soul sweeter. He'd learned long ago that hesitation was the death of those who hunted. He twisted his grip, and the merchant's body went limp.
The moment of death was always the same. The world held its breath, and for the briefest instant, Riven could feel it—the tether that connected him to the soul. He could taste its power, raw and primal, ready to be consumed.
His body trembled in anticipation. Void Consumption.
He tore the soul from the merchant's body with a single, practiced motion. It slipped into him like liquid fire, coursing through his veins, filling him with energy and strength. His senses sharpened—his hearing, his sight, his reflexes—all heightened as the soul settled deep inside him.
But as always, there was a price.
Riven felt it—the cold whisper in his mind, like an old friend beckoning him into darkness. The soul had given him more than just strength. It had given him something darker. A hunger that clawed at his soul, a desire to consume more, to grow stronger, to tear down everything that had made him weak.
He shook his head, pushing the darkness back. Not yet.
The merchant's soul was already fading inside him, lost in the void, but Riven could feel it still—feel the hunger that would never fully be sated. With each soul he devoured, it grew worse. The power was intoxicating, but the toll it took on him was becoming harder to ignore. The changes were subtle at first, like the way his reflection seemed just a little less human in the mirror. But he could feel it—something inside him was shifting.
The Order had told him this would happen. They had warned him that the more souls he consumed, the more he risked losing himself to the darkness. But they also told him this was the price of vengeance.
And vengeance was all he had left.
Riven's eyes narrowed as he looked at the lifeless body before him. A single soul had been harvested. But it wouldn't be enough.
The Grand Harvester had said that if Riven wanted to rise in the ranks, he would need to harvest more. Much more. And tonight, Riven had tasted only the beginning of his hunger.
Riven wiped the blood from his hands, his fingers trembling as the residual energy of the soul buzzed within him. It was almost too much—too tempting. He could feel the power thrumming in his chest, an insatiable force that begged him to consume more, to take more, to become more.
But he had a purpose. A singular, unyielding purpose.
The city of Shadewood had never been kind to him, but it was here that his vengeance would be realized. Every step he took, every soul he harvested, brought him closer to the one who had destroyed his family. And in that pursuit, he would do anything.
Riven stepped over the merchant's body, leaving it to be swallowed by the shadows. No one would miss him. No one would mourn him. Souls were commodities in this city—nothing more, nothing less. The stronger he became, the more valuable he was to the Order. They cared not for his past, only for his skill in the hunt and the power he could bring.
His footsteps echoed in the silence of the alley as he walked deeper into the night. The city was a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, and Riven had spent years learning its every hidden corner. He knew the streets where the dead walked, the places where souls were whispered about like forbidden treasures.
But tonight, there was a new sensation in the air—a subtle shift, like a crack in the foundation of everything he had known. As he moved through the darkness, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, an instinctive reaction that warned him something was wrong.
Riven paused.
It was faint at first, a flicker in the edge of his vision—a wisp of dark smoke swirling like a forgotten memory. It didn't belong. Not here. Not in Shadewood.
The Order had taught him many things, but there was one lesson that had stuck with him above all others: trust nothing. Especially not your own senses.
The smoke lingered, dissipating slowly as if drawn to something unseen. It wasn't natural. It wasn't a soul either. Riven's pulse quickened as his fingers instinctively brushed the hilt of his blade.
And then he saw it.
A figure standing at the end of the alley—a silhouette in the fog. It was tall, cloaked in dark robes, with a hood that obscured its face. It seemed to blend into the night itself, as though it was part of the shadows.
For a moment, Riven was paralyzed. Whoever this was, they were no mere mortal. The air seemed to crackle with unnatural energy.
The figure spoke, its voice a low rasp that sent a chill down Riven's spine.
"You are not the only one who hungers, Harvester."
Riven's eyes narrowed. The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone—there was something far too familiar about it. This wasn't a mere chance encounter. This was a challenge.
Riven stepped forward, his muscles coiling with tension. "I don't have time for riddles. Who are you?"
The figure didn't move, but the air grew colder, the shadows twisting around it as if alive.
"I am the one who will take what the Order has hidden," the figure said, its voice growing darker, more insistent. "And I will take you, too, Harvester. I will consume what you have become."
Riven's heart pounded in his chest, the pull of the Void whispering louder than ever. He could feel it—the hunger to tear into this unknown entity, to consume its soul, to absorb its power. His hand tightened on his blade.
But something inside him hesitated.
The figure tilted its head, as if sensing the conflict. "You fear the darkness inside you. You fear losing yourself. You fear becoming the very monster you hunt."
Riven growled, his anger rising like a storm. "Don't pretend to know me."
The figure laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "I know you, Harvester. You've already started the descent. The souls you've consumed—are they worth the price you've paid? What will you do when you are no longer the one in control?"
Riven's vision blurred for a moment, the Void gnawing at the edges of his mind. The darkness... it had always been there. Watching. Waiting.
He gritted his teeth, pushing the thoughts away. He couldn't afford weakness. Not now. Not when he was so close to vengeance.
"I'm not afraid of the darkness," Riven spat. "It's the world that should be afraid of me."
Without another word, he lunged forward, his blade cutting through the air with a deadly precision. But the figure simply vanished into the shadows, dissolving like smoke before his eyes.
Riven stopped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The street was empty again, the figure gone as though it had never existed.
He stood there for a long moment, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Had that been real? Was this just another trick of the Void? Or was something more at play here—something darker than the Order itself?
Riven's hand clenched around his blade. He had come too far to turn back now. The hunger for power, for vengeance—it consumed him. And he would see this through, no matter the cost.
The shadows whispered around him, as if the city itself was alive with secrets waiting to be uncovered. He could feel them, closing in. The darkness was always there, watching him, waiting for him to slip. But Riven knew one thing for certain: The more he consumed, the more powerful he became. The more he would have to lose.
A Flicker in the shadows
Elsewhere in Shadewood, beneath the veiled streets and towering spires of the grand citadel, a different part of the Order moved in the shadows.
Maelis was not yet a full Harvester. She was an Initiate—young, hungry, and brimming with the promise of power. Yet, even as she knelt in the cold, candlelit chamber beneath the citadel, she felt the weight of uncertainty press down on her shoulders like a boulder.
The Order had taught her many things. They had taught her how to fight, how to harvest souls with precision, and how to obey without question. But there were things they had not prepared her for.
Like the silence.
For every Initiate, there was a trial—an unspoken challenge that awaited beyond their training. Maelis had completed her first task weeks ago, hunting down a rogue who had dared defy the Order. Yet, despite the successful harvest, something gnawed at her.
There was a hunger that even the souls she consumed could not fill.
"Maelis."
The voice cut through the stillness of the chamber, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Master Varrin, a Soul Judge, standing in the doorway. His presence was commanding, every movement deliberate, and his eyes—cold and calculating—reminded her of the price of disobedience.
"Rise," he ordered, his tone as sharp as steel.
She obeyed, her knees creaking as she stood. "Yes, Master?"
Varrin's gaze flicked to the flickering candles around them, the shadows stretching unnaturally in the dim light. He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "You've been performing well, Initiate. The Order is pleased with your progress."
Maelis bowed her head in deference. "Thank you, Master. I will not disappoint."
Varrin's lips curled into something that might have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. But there is one thing you must understand. In the coming weeks, your true trial will begin. You will be assigned your first real mission as a Harvester. You will enter the city to collect a soul of great power."
Her heart raced at the thought. This was what she had been waiting for—the true test. Her chance to rise, to become someone of importance. To earn the power she craved.
"I will do whatever is necessary, Master," Maelis said, her voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside her.
Varrin's eyes lingered on her a moment longer. "You must understand something else, Initiate. You are not merely a tool of the Order. You are a part of something far larger. The souls you consume, the power you gain... it will change you."
"I am prepared, Master," Maelis replied, though her mind flickered with doubt. She had seen how the older Harvesters became distant, cold shadows of what they once were. She had heard the rumors of what the consumption of too many souls could do to a person.
Varrin stepped back, his expression unreadable. "We shall see."
As he turned to leave, Maelis felt the weight of his words settle into her chest. He had said nothing about her humanity. Nothing about the consequences of becoming a Harvester.
But it was too late to back out now.