The Ones Who Came Before

Riven clenched his fists, his mind racing. This shouldn't be possible. His shadows were his to command—no one else's. Yet here they were, standing before him, twisting everything he thought he knew.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice low but edged with defiance. "There were no others before me."

The leader chuckled softly, their shadow pulsing like a living thing. "That's what they wanted you to believe."

Riven stiffened. Who? Who buried the truth? And why?

The rogue figure raised a hand, and the ground beneath Riven shifted. His own shadow stretched unnaturally, warping, twisting—forming whispers of faces. At first, they were unrecognizable, a writhing mass of distorted figures. But as the moments passed, the outlines became clearer.

Flickering forms of warriors long gone, their expressions frozen in time—some in agony, others in rage, and some… simply watching. Silent, waiting.

A cold shiver ran down Riven's spine.

"Do you hear them, Riven?" the figure continued. "The ones trapped within your power? Their voices? Their memories?"

The whispers grew louder. A chorus of forgotten souls. It was like standing in a storm of voices, all pressing against him.

He had always ignored them—drowned them out. The murmurs at the edge of his consciousness, the fleeting emotions that did not belong to him, the echoes that brushed against his mind like unwanted intruders.

But now, they surged forward, no longer whispers. No longer ignorable.

Fear. Rage. Desperation. A longing to be free.

Riven grit his teeth. "Enough!" His aura flared as he shatters the connection, the voices fading back into silence. His shadow stabilized—but he could still feel the presence of something deeper within.

The leader tilted their head. "You're strong. But strength alone won't save you from what's coming."

Riven narrowed his eyes. "And what is coming?"

A pause. Then, in a voice that chilled him to the bone:

"The true purpose of the Shadowbound."

Riven's pulse hammered in his ears. He didn't flinch, but something inside him twisted at their words. He had spent so long trying to master his power, to sharpen it into something unstoppable, that he had never once considered—

What if the power had its own will?

What if it had never belonged to him at all?

He shoved the thought down. No. His power was his. He had torn it from the abyss, shaped it with his own hands. No one—no one—would take that from him.

He glared at the leader, his stance unwavering. "You talk in riddles. If you have something to say, then say it."

The leader exhaled, as if Riven was exhausting them. "We are not your enemy, Riven. Not yet. But you stand at a threshold you do not understand. And if you take another step forward without knowing what lies ahead…"

They raised their hand, and Riven's shadow lurched.

His breath hitched. It wasn't attacking him. It wasn't resisting him.

It was reaching for the masked figure.

A betrayal so subtle it sent ice through his veins.

For the first time in his life, his own shadow was drawn to someone else.

Riven's mind screamed at him to act, to sever the connection before it could deepen. His body moved on instinct, tearing himself free, his will slamming down like an iron gate.

His shadow snapped back.

For a moment, he could swear it hesitated—

And then, silence.

Riven exhaled sharply, his eyes locked onto the masked figure.

"What did you just do?"

The leader smiled beneath their mask. "We didn't do anything. Your power is simply remembering."

Riven took a step forward, rage simmering beneath his skin. "You're lying."

The second rogue member spoke for the first time, their voice softer but carrying an unsettling certainty. "Am I? Tell me, Riven—when you absorb the fallen, do you truly believe they are gone? Do you believe they simply cease to be?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. He had never questioned it before.

The leader nodded, as if reading his silence. "You take them in. You wield them. But they do not die, Riven. They remain. Bound. Trapped. And you grow stronger, but at what cost?"

Riven forced a breath through gritted teeth. He had always assumed the absorbed were nothing more than echoes, lingering remnants of the fallen. But the more he thought about it, the more the voices in his mind—**the whispers he had ignored for so long—**began to press against him.

They weren't fading.

They were waiting.

He clenched his fists, shoving the thought aside. "Even if that's true, what does it matter? The strong survive. The weak are forgotten. That's the way of this world."

The leader's voice turned sharp. "Is it? Or is that just what you've been told?"

A thick silence stretched between them. The rogue faction members did not move, their presence like a void in the night.

Finally, the leader sighed. "You are not ready yet. But you will be soon. The abyss does not let its own go so easily."

Riven took another step forward, but in a blink, the trio vanished. The shadows around him swallowed their presence, as if they had never been there at all.

He stood alone in the ruined battlefield, his shadow stretching long beneath the moonlight.

And for the first time, he felt it. Truly felt it.

The weight of every shadow he had ever taken.

The silent voices.

The ones who came before.