Chapter 9 - Scars Beneath the Silk

There was a deep gash across the woman's abdomen. That was where all the blood soaking her body had come from. But that wasn't what made Riven freeze this time.

What stole his breath away was what surrounded the wound.

All around it, across her lower stomach, the sides of her waist, and the flanks of her ribs, were scars. Not fresh wounds, but old ones. Long, dark lines, some raised, others nearly faded. But under the dim light of their small bedroom, they were all visible.

Whip marks. Slashes. Burns.

Signs of torture.

The entire upper half of the woman's body was covered in them, crisscrossing like a forgotten map of pain. Her pale skin had become a canvas painted in suffering. There was even a small, round scar just below her collarbone, as if someone had pressed hot metal into her flesh.

But what made it so disturbing, so painful to look at was the contrast.

The contrast with her face, which looked as divine as a goddess. The contrast with her hair, fiery and alive. The contrast with her neck and arms, still smooth and unblemished. The parts usually visible… looked normal. As if all the pain had been reserved only for the parts meant to be hidden.

The dress she wore—a luxurious black gown, lined with delicate lace and elegant embroidery—wasn't just beautiful. It had been designed to hide all of it.

Riven swallowed. His eyes trembled.

What kind of life had this woman lived?

Was she a noble's slave? A prisoner of war? Or… a victim of some horrific ritual?

"Did you run from the people who did this to you?" he asked quietly.

His gaze dropped by accident to her chest, still covered in dark lace. He turned his head away at once.

"I can't think like that…" he muttered to himself.

He bit his lip and took a deep breath.

Now wasn't the time for thoughts. Or emotions.

This woman was still breathing. Her wounds could still be treated. As long as that remained true, then the only thing that mattered now… was saving her.

Riven picked up the cloth he had soaked in the warm saltwater. He wrung it out gently, then pressed it against her wound. Thick blood clung to the fabric. His hands moved slowly, almost like a caress. He cleaned carefully, wiping outward from the edge of the cut to avoid worsening any irritation.

The woman let out a faint groan. Barely a sound, but enough to make Riven hold his breath.

"Hang in there… it'll sting just for a while," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

He continued cleaning the gash, his every movement deliberate. When the blood was finally wiped away, he reached for a dry cloth and gently dabbed at the wound to dry it.

Then he slipped a hand behind her back and lifted her slightly to prop her up. Her body felt light, too light. Like she hadn't eaten in days.

He selected the softest cloth from the stack Mira had brought. Carefully, he wrapped it around her stomach, crossing the fabric from side to side, tight enough to stop the bleeding but not so tight it would hurt.

He tied the ends into a double knot, firm and secure. When he finally released his hands from her body, he let out a long breath.

"At last…" he murmured.

He pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed and tucked it around her up to her neck. He looked at her face again. Even in unconsciousness, her brow was faintly furrowed. Her lips were slightly parted. Her breath came slowly… but steadily.

She was alive.

Riven slowly stood and sat down on the edge of the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Then he looked up.

In the doorway, Mira stood watching. Her eyes were red but not from crying this time. From emotion. She stared at her brother with a quiet softness. Her lips curled into a small smile.

Pride.

That was what shone clearly in her little face.

Riven looked back at her, and for the first time that night, he returned the smile. It was faint, but it was real.

Then he turned to look at the woman lying in their bed.

She wasn't an ordinary woman. That much was obvious. No ordinary person had a body full of scars hidden beneath a gown like that. Even her jewelry still looked more expensive than anything Riven had ever owned.

"A noble…" he whispered. "Or… someone even higher."

And now, that secret was in their home.

Riven stood up, brushed the dust off his trousers, and looked at Mira.

"I need to step out for a bit."

Mira lifted her head. "Out? Why?"

"I left the weapons I brought outside," Riven replied.

Mira's eyes widened slightly. Worry returned to her face. "Don't take too long. I'm scared…"

Riven gave her a small smile and nodded.

"Don't worry. They're close. I just need a few minutes. I promise."

Mira bit her lip, but finally gave a slight nod.

Riven walked to the front door. Before stepping out, he glanced back toward the bedroom, making sure the woman was still asleep and Mira still on watch.

Then he opened the old wooden door and stepped into the silent night.

His footsteps across the grass were quiet, broken only by the occasional crunch of twigs beneath his boots. The night air was cold, biting, but it felt stiller than before. As if the world were holding its breath.

He had only walked a few steps when his eyes fixed on the bushes to the left of the house. That was where he had hidden the sacks of looted weapons. The bags looked untouched. Not a single thing out of place. No signs anyone had been there.

Riven quickened his pace, crouching in front of the first sack. He sighed as he lifted it, the sound of clashing metal rattling inside. A sound so familiar his ears had grown numb to it.

But just as he reached for the second sack—

Something moved in the distance.

Riven tensed immediately.

He turned toward the sound. At first, he saw nothing, only darkness and the outlines of trees swaying in the wind. But then, from beyond the shadows, lit faintly by the pale moonlight, he saw it.

Someone was walking.

Or rather… stumbling.

Their steps were uneven. Their body staggered. Head bowed low.

Riven narrowed his eyes.

The figure was covered in wounds. One arm was missing. Clothes were tattered. Hair clung to their face, matted with sweat and dried blood. Hard to recognize from afar. But something about the way they moved. The tilt of the head, the dragging of one leg as if it had been crushed…

Then the moonlight touched their face.

And Riven's world stopped.

He recognized the man.