The Hunter and the Hunted

The air was too still. Too thick with silence, as if the night itself were holding its breath.

Lira pulled her cloak tighter, her steps light but deliberate as she moved through the dimly lit streets. The city had always been alive at this hour—whispers of the night market still lingering, the occasional clatter of a distant cart—but tonight, everything felt wrong.

Because she wasn't alone.

She could feel it.

A slow prickle down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck rising with the certainty that unseen eyes were fixed on her every move.

She had noticed it the moment she left Riven's hideout, the weight of something lurking just beyond her vision. At first, she convinced herself it was paranoia. The truth she had uncovered—the ritual, the sacrifices, her place in it—was enough to shake anyone.

But paranoia didn't make shadows shift against the light.

Paranoia didn't make the air grow heavy with something unnatural.

She turned a corner, forcing herself to breathe. If she was being followed, she needed to get out of the open. She could reach the tavern three streets over, where at least the presence of other people would keep an attacker at bay.

She never made it that far.

A flicker of movement—not ahead, but from behind.

Too fast. Too close.

Lira whirled, dagger flashing from its sheath—

A force slammed into her before she could react.

Pain exploded through her back as she was shoved against the stone wall of the alley, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. A cold grip tightened around her throat—not enough to strangle her, but enough to hold her still.

The figure before her was wreathed in shadows, an unnatural darkness shifting around him like smoke.

A hollow whisper brushed against her skin. "Found you."

Lira's pulse thundered.

She drove her dagger toward his ribs, but he moved before the blade could strike.

Not dodging—anticipating.

A shiver ran down her spine. Not human.

The shadows around him thickened, curling toward her like reaching fingers. Lira struggled, trying to twist free, but the darkness wrapped around her wrist, forcing her blade down.

Magic. Veil magic.

The realization made her blood run cold.

Whoever he was, he wasn't just after her. He was part of them.

And he wasn't here to warn her.

He was here to take her.

The shadows began to press inward, suffocating. Lira gritted her teeth, forcing down panic. If she didn't break free now, she wasn't getting another chance.

Her free hand shot to her belt, fingers curling around the small vial she always carried—glass, fragile, filled with a mixture meant to burn through magic like acid.

She slammed it against the attacker's chest.

A sharp hiss filled the air, followed by a snarl of pain. The grip on her throat loosened just enough.

Lira didn't hesitate.

She twisted, wrenching free, and drove her knee into his ribs before stumbling back, gasping for air. The figure reeled, smoke rising from where the vial had shattered, the shadows around him flickering—

A blur of silver. A flash of steel.

A sword sliced through the air, aimed straight for the attacker's head.

Riven.

He moved like death itself, his golden eyes burning with a lethal sharpness. The moment the attacker regained his footing, Riven was already there, blade clashing against his opponent's with a force that sent a ringing shock through the alley.

Lira barely had time to process before the fight became a blur of motion—

Riven's sword cut through shadows, his movements quick and ruthless, forcing the attacker back step by step. The figure retaliated with magic, the darkness twisting into jagged spikes meant to impale—

Riven dodged, slamming his blade down in a counterstrike that would have killed an ordinary man.

But this wasn't an ordinary man.

With unnatural speed, the figure twisted away, his body vanishing into the thickest part of the alley's darkness—

And then he was gone.

The night fell silent again.

Lira's breaths came hard and fast. She pressed a hand to her throat, where bruises were already forming. That had been too close.

Riven lowered his sword slowly, scanning the shadows. "Coward," he muttered.

Lira forced herself to straighten. "What the hell was that?"

Riven turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "A hunter."

She swallowed. "One of them?"

His jaw tightened. "They must have realized you're close to uncovering the truth. They're not going to wait for the ritual anymore." His gaze flicked to her bruised throat—his eyes darkening. "They're going to try to take you by force."

Lira exhaled sharply, gripping the dagger in her hand.

This changed everything.

It wasn't just a matter of outrunning the ritual anymore. They weren't going to wait.

And they wouldn't stop.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay steady. To ignore the tremble in her hands. She refused to be their prey.

Her gaze met Riven's, and something inside her hardened. "Then we stop running." Her voice was cold now. Unwavering. "We hunt them back."

For a long moment, Riven didn't speak. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk—not the amused, arrogant one she had come to know, but something darker.

He wiped the blood from the edge of his sword, the flickering torchlight catching the gleam of steel. "Now you're thinking like me."

Lira turned her gaze to the dark alley ahead, her fingers tightening around her dagger. Her breath still came fast, her lungs still ached from the fight—but a fire had ignited in her chest, cold and vengeful.

The game had changed.

And she was done playing defense.

She took one last deep breath, then stepped forward into the night, her pulse steady despite the chaos still buzzing in her veins. Somewhere in the city, more hunters lurked, waiting for another chance to strike. But she would not give them one. Not this time.

This time, she would be the one hunting them