The moon hung like a silver coin in the sky, casting pale light over the city of Blackreach. In the alley below, Riven crouched over the body, his fingers slick with blood that wasn't his own. The man's soul hovered just above his corpse, flickering like a candle in the wind—fear, anger, regret. A cocktail of human frailty.
Riven exhaled. He could still walk away. Still leave the soul intact. But that was a lie he told himself every time.
With a slow breath, he reached out.
The soul twisted, resisting. They always did.
Then it sank into his grasp like smoke, threading through his fingers and into his chest.
Pain. Then power. It surged through his veins like fire, setting every nerve alight. His senses sharpened. His body thrummed with energy. But beneath it all, the hunger grew.
Too many, and you'll become the very thing you hunt.
Riven shoved the thought aside. He had work to do.
A voice drifted from the shadows. "That makes three this week."
Maelis stepped into the alleyway, the hood of her cloak pushed back just enough for her silver eyes to catch the moonlight. She didn't look afraid. She never did.
Riven wiped his hand on the dead man
Riven's jaw tightened. Maelis always questioned him, always watched him like she was waiting for something—like she was measuring how much of him was still human.
He pushed past her, stepping out of the alley. "If you have a problem, take it up with the Order."
She followed. "The Order wants marked souls. Not every wretch who looks at you wrong."
Riven exhaled sharply. "You think I do this for sport?"
"Do you?"
He stopped walking. Turned. Maelis didn't flinch.
The street was quiet, the city asleep, but shadows stretched unnaturally in the gaslight glow. The weight of the consumed soul still pulsed beneath Riven's skin, a thrumming power begging to be used.
His fingers curled into fists. "I don't have time for this."
Maelis studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed. "The Order's watching you, Riven."
"They always are."
"More than usual."
That gave him pause. He'd known they would keep tabs on him—he was too powerful for them not to—but if Maelis was warning him, it meant they were waiting for a reason to act.
He glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers. He still felt the soul's remnants, its lingering emotions tangling with his own. It was getting harder to tell where they ended and he began.
Maelis' voice softened. "How much longer can you keep this up?"
Riven smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "As long as it takes."
He turned and walked away before she could ask the question they were both afraid of:
And when there's nothing left of you—who will you be?
The night swallowed Riven as he moved deeper into Blackreach, his mind a storm of thoughts he refused to entertain. The Order watching him wasn't new, but Maelis' warning carried weight. If they were waiting for him to slip, it meant they saw him as a threat.
Good. They should.
But he wasn't ready to face them—not yet. Not until he found the one who had marked his path in blood and shadows.
He cut through the side streets, the echoes of his footsteps swallowed by the city's silence. Blackreach never truly slept, but there were parts of it that knew better than to stir at this hour. The alleyways belonged to the unseen—the forgotten souls and those who fed on them.
Riven was both.
A sharp whisper brushed against his senses. Not a voice, but something older, deeper. The remnants of the soul he'd consumed. He could almost hear its final thoughts, feel its dying fear curling around the edges of his own mind.
Then—movement.
A flicker of shadow at the edge of his vision.
He didn't react, didn't change his pace, but his hand drifted toward the knife at his belt. His sword was strapped to his back, but he wouldn't need it—not yet.
The presence followed. Stalking. Testing.
Riven turned a corner and stopped.
The street ahead was empty, save for the flickering streetlamps and the faint scent of rain on stone. But he wasn't alone.
"You're getting bold," he said, his voice low.
Silence.
Then, from the darkness, a figure stepped forward. Their face hidden beneath a hood, but Riven didn't need to see it to know what they were.
A Harvester.
But not one of the Order.
His grip tightened on the knife. "You're far from home."
The figure tilted their head. "So are you." Their voice was smooth, almost amused. "How long before they come for you, Riven?"
His name. Spoken like a promise. Like a curse.
Riven's eyes darkened. "Let them try."
The hooded figure chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "They will. And when they do, will you fight them? Or will you run, like you always do?"
Riven's knife twitched in his hand. "You don't know me."
"Oh, but I do." The stranger took a step forward, letting the dim light catch their face. A woman—sharp features, dark eyes that glowed faintly with stolen souls. "I know what you are. What you're becoming."
His grip tightened. "And what's that?"
"A monster."
Riven moved before she could say another word. His knife flashed toward her throat, but she was already gone, shifting like smoke, reappearing behind him.
Fast. Too fast.
He spun, slashing again, but she caught his wrist with an unnatural strength.
"Careful," she murmured, leaning in close. "Use too much of that power, and you'll lose yourself even faster."
Riven wrenched free, stepping back. His pulse pounded in his ears. The soul he'd consumed still whispered inside him, begging to be used—to strike, to kill.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
She smiled. "Someone who sees the truth."
"Then tell me why you're here."
"To warn you." She tilted her head. "The Order doesn't just watch you, Riven. They're hunting you. And when they come, it won't be to bring you back. It'll be to put you down."
Riven swallowed hard, masking the flicker of unease that crawled up his spine. "Why do you care?"
Her smile faded. "Because you're not the first Harvester to walk this path." She hesitated, then whispered, "And you won't be the last."
For a moment, there was something else in her eyes. Not mockery. Not threat.
Recognition.
Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, vanishing into the night like she had never been there at all.
Riven stood in the empty street, her words hanging in the air.
The Order is hunting you.
He exhaled slowly, the hunger inside him stirring.
Let them come.
The city of Blackreach stretched before him, a labyrinth of secrets and shadows. Riven forced himself to move, to focus. Standing still meant thinking—meant letting her words sink in. He wasn't ready for that.
He turned down a narrow side street, heading toward the one place he could still call his own. The safe house was buried deep in the underbelly of the city, a forgotten cellar beneath a burned-out apothecary. It wasn't much, but it was hidden.
Or so he had thought.
As soon as he stepped inside, he felt it. A presence.
Not an enemy. Not yet.
"You're late," Maelis' voice cut through the dimly lit space. She sat at the wooden table in the center of the room, arms crossed, silver eyes unreadable.
Riven shut the door behind him. "Wasn't aware we had an appointment."
She exhaled sharply. "I told you the Order was watching you. Now they're moving."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"They've sent an Inquisitor."
That made him pause.
The Order had many ways of dealing with those who stepped too far out of line. But an Inquisitor—that was different. They weren't just enforcers. They were executioners.
Riven forced a smirk. "Guess I should feel honored."
Maelis didn't smile. "This isn't a joke, Riven. They only send Inquisitors for one reason."
To erase a mistake.
He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. The hunger inside him was still there, still pulsing. "Do they know where I am?"
"Not yet. But they will. And when they do, you won't be able to fight your way out of this."
Riven's jaw clenched. "Then I'll make sure they never find me."
"You don't get it." Maelis stood, stepping closer. "You can't outrun them. The only way you survive this is if you proveyou're still loyal."
"And how do I do that?"
She hesitated. Then, softly, "Give them a soul."
Silence filled the space between them.
Riven let out a slow breath. "You mean a sacrifice."
Maelis didn't look away.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So that's it? I hand them a life, and they pretend I'm not a threat?"
"You don't have a choice."
His fingers curled into fists. He could already feel the weight of the soul he'd consumed tonight. Another one, just to keep the Order off his back—how much more would it take before he truly became what they feared?
And yet… what other option did he have?
Maelis' voice was quiet. "If you don't, they'll come for you. And I won't be able to stop them."
Riven closed his eyes.
The Order was hunting him. An Inquisitor was coming. And now, the only way to survive…
Was to kill for them.
The air in the safe house felt heavier now, thick with unspoken tension. Riven paced, his mind churning.
"So who do they want?" he finally asked.
Maelis hesitated, and that told him everything.
"It's not just any soul," she admitted. "It has to be marked."
"Of course it does," Riven muttered. The Order had rules—twisted as they were. They wouldn't accept just any sacrifice. The soul had to be chosen, predetermined by their unseen hand.
"And let me guess," he said. "They already have someone in mind."
Maelis nodded. "A noble. House Draven. One of the city's ruling families."
Riven scoffed. "They want me to kill a Draven?"
"Not just any Draven," she said. "A bastard son. No political power, no real status. Just enough blood to carry the name."
"And why is he marked?"
Maelis shifted, crossing her arms. "The Order doesn't tell us why, Riven. They just issue the command."
He exhaled slowly. The hunger inside him stirred, whispering dark promises. It would be easy. One more soul. One more kill.
But this was different.
This wasn't revenge. This wasn't justice.
This was obedience.
And Riven had spent his whole life running from the chains the Order had placed on him.
"You're hesitating," Maelis observed. "That's not like you."
He turned to her. "Isn't it?"
Her silver eyes searched his face, looking for something—weakness, doubt, hesitation. "You're at the edge, Riven. You think they don't see it? The hunger. The power. You're walking a line, and if you fall the wrong way, they won't bother sending an Inquisitor next time."
Riven swallowed the frustration rising in his chest. She wasn't wrong.
But the idea of proving himself to them this way—of playing by their rules—it made his skin crawl.
"Where is he?" he asked.
Maelis didn't answer right away. Then, quietly, she said, "The Hollow Lantern."
Riven raised a brow. "The gambling house?"
She nodded. "He plays deep into the night. Drinks more than he should. He'll be easy prey."
Easy prey.
The words twisted in his mind, wrapping around the core of something he didn't want to name.
"If I do this," he said slowly, "they'll back off?"
"For now."
"That's not good enough."
Maelis sighed. "It's the only way to buy time."
Time. That was all this was. A delay. A stay of execution.
Riven ran a hand over his face. The Order had set the terms. Now he had to decide.
Kill… or be hunted.
The choice was clear.
So why did it feel like a noose tightening around his throat?
He didn't sleep that night.
The hours stretched thin, each one drawn tight with tension. Riven sat in silence, watching the shadows crawl across the walls like specters with secrets. Every breath felt heavier than the last. Every thought led him back to the same place.
The target.
A noble. A man with too much coin and too few morals. Marked by the Order for soul collection. And now, handed to Riven like a blood-soaked gift wrapped in false promises.
One kill to buy time.
He clenched his jaw. No matter how the Order dressed it up—with rituals, ranks, and robes—it was still murder.
And it wouldn't be the last.
A knock shattered the silence. Three soft raps.
Maelis.
He opened the door to find her cloaked, eyes shadowed by the hood. But he could still see the concern etched across her face. She didn't need to say anything. He knew.
"It's time," she said simply.
Riven nodded, stepping out into the night.