Rising Tension

Riven barely had time to steady his breath before the battlefield erupted into chaos. The Veilborn Order's elites descended like specters, their movements swift and precise. Blades of void energy sliced through the air, cutting down warriors in their path.

The Iron Maw soldiers fought back, their brute strength and elemental abilities clashing against the dark warriors, but it was clear who held the advantage. The Veilborn were executing a purge.

Riven knew he had to move. Staying meant certain death. But as he turned to escape, something held him in place. His shadow twitched—alive. It stretched unnaturally, resisting his command.

A voice echoed in his mind. "You cannot run from what you are."

Panic surged through him, but he gritted his teeth. No. Not here. Not now.

A Veilborn scout spotted him, but instead of attacking, they observed him with curiosity. Unlike the assassins leading the charge, this one seemed lower-ranked—perhaps a recruit.

"Strange… I feel something from you," they murmured.

Riven didn't reply. He took a step back, preparing to retreat. Before he could move, a nearby explosion sent a shockwave across the battlefield. A massive figure emerged from the dust—General Varik of the Veilborn Order. His presence alone sent a shiver down Riven's spine.

Varik's armor was unlike the others'. Darker, more imposing, almost as if the shadows themselves clung to it. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the battlefield before locking onto Riven. A slow smirk formed on his lips.

"There you are."

Riven's breath hitched. He didn't know why, but those words sent a deep unease through him. Did they know who he was? What he could do? His hands clenched, his fingers itching with shadow-born energy, but he fought to keep it in check.

"Sir," the scout hesitated. "He… he feels different."

Varik barely spared the soldier a glance. "That's because he is."

The general took a step forward, and Riven's shadow lurched toward him involuntarily. His entire body felt like it was being pulled into something deeper, darker.

No. I won't let this happen.

A pulse of energy surged from within him. His shadow recoiled, snapping back beneath his feet. The pressure around him lessened, but Varik's expression darkened with interest.

"Ah," the general mused. "You resist. That's good. That means you still have a choice."

Riven didn't stick around to hear what that choice was. His legs finally obeyed, and he bolted.

Blades of void energy slashed through the air behind him. The scout, momentarily frozen by uncertainty, didn't react fast enough to stop him, and Riven vanished into the battlefield's chaos.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he weaved between clashing warriors, barely avoiding stray attacks. He had to find his team. If they were even still alive.

A flicker of movement to his left—a massive Iron Maw soldier was hurled through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into the ruins with a sickening crunch. Another Veilborn warrior stalked forward, their face hidden behind a helmet of pure obsidian.

Riven kept moving, his lungs burning. The scent of blood and scorched earth filled his nose, but he couldn't focus on it. Couldn't let himself think about how close to death he was.

Then he felt it again.

The presence.

The hooded figure was still watching him.

Riven skidded to a stop behind a collapsed pillar, forcing himself to breathe quietly. He scanned the battlefield, but he couldn't see them. Still, the feeling of being observed was undeniable.

Who are you? he thought bitterly. And why do you care?

But now wasn't the time for answers. He had to survive first.

A distant roar signaled another wave of reinforcements. Riven gritted his teeth. He couldn't stay here. Not when Varik had set his sights on him. Not when the battlefield was crawling with Veilborn and Iron Maw warriors desperate to kill each other.

He had to disappear.

Riven's fingers twitched as he focused inward. The shadows around him trembled, as if sensing his intent. He had only done this once before, but it was his only option.

He let the darkness consume him.

The battlefield dissolved into nothingness, and for a split second, he felt weightless—lost in the void. Then, reality snapped back, and he reappeared deep within the ruins, gasping for air.

His entire body ached. That kind of movement—it drained him faster than he liked.

But he was alive.

He took a moment to catch his breath before pressing forward, deeper into the ruins. He had escaped the immediate battle, but he knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The Veilborn had marked him.

And somewhere in the night, the hooded figure was still watching.