Chapter 3: The Road to Riverend

Cold wind bit into Alex's skin as he emerged from the cavern, sharp but real. Unlike the suffocating, unnatural chill of the abyss, this was something familiar—something that carried weight and presence, something that whispered of life rather than emptiness. The sudden contrast between the oppressive void he had escaped and the vast, open world before him sent a jolt through his body. His lungs ached as he took in gulps of fresh air, the crisp scent of earth and grass filling his senses. He hadn't realized how heavy the cavern's air had been until now.

His vision swam for a moment, his eyes struggling to adjust to the glaring sunlight. After so long in absolute darkness, the brightness carved into him like a blade, forcing him to squint against the pain. He took slow, measured breaths, grounding himself as his senses tried to keep up. His limbs were sluggish, his body still thrumming with exhaustion, but he was standing.

More importantly, he was out.

The cave behind him yawned like an open wound, its jagged mouth leading back into a place where reality had twisted and something vast had seen him. Though the whispers of the abyss had faded, they had not disappeared. They lingered, nestled in the corners of his thoughts, distant but patient. Watching. Waiting. He did not look back. He refused to.

Instead, he let his gaze move forward, finally taking in the landscape that stretched out beyond the cliffs. Rolling plains of golden grass swayed gently in the wind, their endless motion both mesmerizing and strangely fragile. Clusters of trees broke the monotony, their leaves a deep green, and winding dirt paths snaked through the fields, leading toward distant settlements. The air was different here—lighter, full of the scent of damp earth and something faintly floral. It should have been peaceful.

But peace no longer belonged to him.

His eyes followed the terrain until they landed on something that sent a pulse of recognition through him.

A city.

Nestled between two rivers, its stone walls rose high, weathered but sturdy, an old sentinel standing watch over the land. Within, buildings pressed together in uneven rows, their rooftops an erratic patchwork of wood and slate. Chimneys exhaled plumes of smoke into the sky, and even from this distance, Alex could make out the movement of people—tiny figures moving through streets, unaware of the abyss standing at the cliffs above.

A name surfaced in his mind unbidden.

Riverend.

He had never been here before.

And yet, he knew it.

Just as he had known the Nightfangs. Just as he had known how to kill them. Just as he had known what would happen when he touched that creature in the dark.

The knowledge was not his.

But it was there.

A heavy unease settled in his stomach. He did not know where these fragments of understanding came from, did not know if they were pieces of something long buried or something newly given. The uncertainty clawed at him, a slow-growing dread that curled at the edges of his thoughts. But dwelling on it would accomplish nothing. He clenched his jaw, forcing his focus onto what mattered.

Riverend was his only option.

If he wanted answers, if he wanted anything, he would have to go there.

His legs still ached, but he pushed forward, starting the slow descent from the cliffs. The ground was uneven beneath his bare feet, rough patches of stone giving way to dirt and brittle grass. He stumbled more than once, his balance still off, but he kept moving. The sun was high overhead, its warmth unfamiliar against his skin. He had spent too long in the cold, too long in the dark.

His thoughts remained tangled. The memory of what had happened in the cave gnawed at him—the abyss's voice, the power that had surged through him, the way reality itself had bent at his touch. He had erased that creature. Not just killed. Erased.

What did that make him?

The thought was too vast, too tangled to unravel. He shoved it aside.

One step at a time.

That was all that mattered.

As he neared the city, the land became more cultivated. The wild fields gave way to farmland, wooden fences marking the edges of fields where golden wheat swayed in the wind. A modest farmhouse stood at the edge of the nearest plot, its chimney releasing a thin trail of smoke. Nearby, a woman strung freshly washed linens on a clothesline, her movements easy and practiced. A young boy ran through the field, chasing a stray dog, his laughter bright and uninhibited.

Normal.

Something tightened in Alex's chest.

How long had it been since he had seen something like this? Since he had seen people simply living?

It felt wrong.

Like he was an intruder in a world that no longer belonged to him.

His fingers twitched at his side, brushing against the skin where the abyss's power had once burned through him. The remnants of it still pulsed there, faint but undeniable.

He kept walking.

The closer he got to Riverend, the more people he saw. Farmers tending their crops, traders leading carts laden with goods toward the city gates. Snippets of conversation drifted through the air, fragments of lives that had nothing to do with him.

"…bandits on the western road…"

"…taxes are rising again…"

"…another war brewing in the Free Cities…"

A world in motion. A world that had existed before him and would continue long after he was gone.

And yet, he was part of it now.

The city gates loomed ahead—heavy iron set into thick stone, flanked by two guards in leather armor. They carried spears, their expressions bored but alert. A line of travelers and merchants waited to enter, carts creaking under the weight of trade goods.

Alex hesitated.

He had no money. No identity. No place.

Would they let him in?

He glanced down at himself. He was barefoot, his clothes torn, his skin streaked with dirt and dried blood. He looked like a vagrant at best. A threat at worst.

Taking a steady breath, he stepped into line.

The travelers ahead of him passed through with little resistance, the guards barely glancing at them.

Then it was his turn.

One of the guards raised an eyebrow. "You look like hell, boy."

Alex remained silent.

The second guard frowned. "You from one of the outlying villages? You don't look like a local."

He should lie.

He needed to lie.

But before he could think of an answer, the first guard waved a hand dismissively. "He's probably another runaway. Farmlands are getting hit hard—bandits, warlords, all that mess. As long as he doesn't cause trouble, let him through."

The second guard hesitated, then grunted. "Fine. But if you start anything, you're getting tossed right back out."

Alex stepped forward.

The scent of smoke, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies hit him the moment he passed the gates. Vendors shouted from their stalls, children darted between carts, mercenaries laughed over tankards of ale. The city was alive, chaos layered over routine, movement over history.

And Alex had no idea what to do.

For the first time, the weight of his situation truly settled over him.

No plan. No direction.

Just survival.

Food. Shelter. Information.

Everything else could wait.

As he moved deeper into the city, the abyss whispered—soft, almost amused.

"You are no longer nothing."

Alex ignored it.

For now.