Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Grass

Riven's hiding spot was a fair distance from the center of the battlefield. He had chosen a high ridge covered in chest-high grass, about a hundred meters from the outer defenses of the Belmore Kingdom. The fortress looked decrepit: a structure of greying stone, most of its walls cracked, nearly crumbling. Like a war veteran forced to stand long after his strength had left him.

The fortress stood between open plains and a stretch of low hills. Normally, sentries would be stationed at the watchtowers, keeping an eye on the surrounding lands. But this morning, all attention was drawn to the thunderous explosions shaking the horizon. The guards stood frozen on the ramparts, staring at the distant destruction with tense faces and rigid posture.

Riven could have observed everything safely from within the walls. But that wasn't why he came.

He wasn't here to watch a war from behind stone.

He came to find something: an artifact, a weapon, information. Anything he could sell or use to survive with Mira. His position among the tall grass gave him a perfect vantage point without the risk of being spotted by either side.

The leaves and stalks concealed him completely. The cold morning wind bit into his skin, but he didn't shiver. He had long since learned to ignore the cold, hunger, and fear. They were no longer threats, just background noise to a life already full of worse.

He had thought this place was safe. He believed no one would notice the small shape lying motionless among the grass.

Until he heard footsteps.

Soft, swift, almost soundless.

He froze. His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he turned his head.

From the western side of the fortress, ten figures emerged one by one. Their movements were fluid, blending seamlessly with their surroundings. They wore dark leather armor that absorbed the morning light. Their footsteps were light and measured. No battle cries, no clinking steel. They moved like shadows sent to kill without a trace.

With just a glance, Riven knew who they were.

Infiltrators from the Kingdom of Arkham.

"Are they going to sneak into the fortress?" he thought, unable to voice it aloud.

But he quickly shook his head. That wasn't his concern. He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't even a citizen with loyalty to a flag. He was just someone trying to stay alive in a world constantly trying to kill him.

When danger approached, he knew only one rule: run, or play dead.

Riven lowered himself deeper into the grass. He held his breath. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out the wind. His left hand clenched the dirt, while his right crept slowly toward the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip.

The group drew closer. At the front walked a broad-shouldered man in finer leather than the others, clearly their leader. Beside him strode a blond youth with sharp eyes, alert like a hunting predator.

They spoke in low voices, but close enough for Riven to hear every word from where he lay just meters away.

"I swear by the gods, that woman's no human," hissed one of the soldiers. His voice trembled, lined with trauma. "She wiped out an entire battalion with a single spell. I saw it, my friend melted into blood before he could even scream."

"She's a demon," said another. "Even her own people call her the Mad Queen."

"She's not a queen," muttered a third, his tone cold with loathing. "She's destruction given form."

"If I ever get the chance," growled a fourth, "I'll carve her up. I want to see her head roll, her blood at our feet."

Their captain didn't laugh. He gave a single nod.

"That's why this mission cannot fail. We must repay the disgrace she dealt us. We'll show Arkham doesn't bow to madness."

Then he turned to the blond man beside him.

"Do you sense anything?"

The man scanned the area, then fixed his gaze in the direction of Riven's hiding spot. Riven's heart stopped. His body went stiff.

"…Nothing," the blond finally replied, his voice flat. "We're clear."

"Good," the captain said. "Move out."

Their footsteps faded. The whispers of hate and revenge were carried away by the rustling grass.

Riven waited.

Ten seconds. Twenty. A full minute.

Only then did he draw a long, shuddering breath. His chest rose and fell. His limbs sagged with the weight of fear. He nearly passed out from holding himself so still.

But just as he was about to sit up, a hand grabbed him by the throat from behind.

He didn't have time to scream.

He was slammed to the ground. Air burst from his lungs. He writhed—kicking, clawing, punching—but the hand didn't budge. Fingers gripped his neck with just enough force to block his breathing without snapping it outright.

"Who are you?" came a voice behind him. Cold. Unhurried. "A spy? A Belmore soldier?"

Riven opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just gasps and silent panic. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Answer, or I snap your neck."

The grip eased slightly. Just enough for Riven to suck in a short, painful breath.

"I—I'm just a street rat," he choked. "I've got a little sister. I'm just scavenging for broken weapons… to sell… I'm not a soldier… not a spy…"

Silence.

The man behind him studied his face, gaze piercing as if he could peel back Riven's thoughts.

"You know that's illegal. Punishable by death," he said evenly.

"I know… but I didn't have a choice," Riven whispered. "I need to live. I have to take care of her. I don't want to die…"

No reply.

Then, slowly, the grip was released.

Riven collapsed, coughing violently, his lungs starving for air. His vision blurred. His chest throbbed.

And then the man asked,

"Do you believe in gods?"

Riven turned his head, eyes still wet. He nodded faintly.

But in his heart, he cursed.

Of course not. The gods were bastards.

As if hearing his thoughts, the man stared deeper, then said,

"Listen closely." His voice was sharp as a blade. "Swear you never saw us. Never were here. If a single word leaves your mouth… I'll find you."

He leaned in. Their faces were inches apart. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, one that held no warmth at all.

"And I'll kill you. Slowly. So slowly you'll remember it even after you're dead."

Without waiting for a reply, the man stood and vanished into the grass.

Silence.

Riven sat in place, trembling. Sweat soaked his clothes. He looked again at the battlefield still exploding with magic and flame. But the curiosity he'd once felt was gone, replaced only by nausea.

He no longer wanted answers.

He just wanted to go home.

With weak limbs, Riven crawled away from his hiding place. His steps were unsteady, but his resolve was clear.

He didn't need a sword.

He didn't need an artifact.

He needed only one thing: to survive.