Chapter 5 - You think fear makes you brave

The path into Black Hollow stank of wet stone, dead leaves, and piss. Trees leaned like drunks, their bare branches scratching at each other. Riven walked ahead, Ashwake sheathed but never far from his grip. Nyra followed, keeping quiet.

She hadn't spoken much since the last fire. Since he'd snapped at her. Good. He wasn't in the mood for talking.

They were headed to the only bastard Riven still owed something to. Kerron. A smuggler, a liar, a backstabber — but once, long ago, he'd pulled Riven out of a ditch with a spear in his gut. So now, he got one visit. Just one.

Nyra broke the silence. "You trust this guy?"

Riven didn't look back. "Fuck no. But he knows where Theren is. That's all I need."

She stepped over a root, hissing as her ankle twisted slightly. She was still too thin. Still recovering. But she didn't complain.

They reached the cliff mouth by dusk. Hidden behind thick brush and moss, the cave opened like a cracked skull. Riven brushed back branches and paused.

"Step where I step. If you hear a snap, you're already fucked."

Inside, it was damp and cold. The cave dropped into blackness fast. Riven moved carefully, eyes scanning. He stopped near a jagged rock.

Tripwire.

Still here.

He disarmed it in seconds, fingers fast and sure. Nyra watched.

"Someone still lives here," she whispered.

"No shit."

They moved deeper. A fire flickered ahead, tucked behind a low wall of stone. Then a voice, rough and broken:

"You walk like a fucking ghost. Riven? That you?"

Riven stepped into the light.

Kerron sat on a crate, one leg gone below the knee, wrapped in old cloth. His face looked worse. Burn scars, one eye milky, hair missing in patches. But the grin was still the same.

"Holy hell," Kerron said. "You look like shit."

"You look like worse," Riven replied. They stared. Then laughed. Just once.

Kerron pointed a knife. "You here to kill me or collect your debt?"

"Neither. I need a name."

Kerron spit on the floor. "Course you do."

He noticed Nyra standing near the entrance. "She yours?"

"She's not anyone's."

"Shame. She's prettier than your usual company."

Riven's eyes narrowed. Kerron raised his hands. "Kidding. Fuck's sake. Sit."

They sat around a weak fire. Nyra stayed back, wrapping her cloak tighter.

"I need Theren's location," Riven said.

Kerron raised a brow. "Theren. Shit. You aiming high."

"He escorted my sister to her death."

"And you think killing him will fix that?"

Riven didn't respond.

Kerron nodded slowly. "He's moving west, escorting a transport through Blackmark Pass. Two days from now, maybe three. Few guards. Everyone thinks this land is safe."

"You know the route?"

"Down to the mile. But if you're going after him... you'll be lighting a fire you can't put out."

"Good."

Kerron sighed. "You're not the boy I knew."

"That boy died in fire. This is what crawled out."

Nyra stood. "Then help him, or shut up."

Kerron chuckled. "Fiery. Alright. I'll draw you a map. You'll need to cut him off near the bridge at Daggerbend. That's the only place narrow enough to trap a convoy."

Riven nodded. "What's he transporting?"

Kerron hesitated.

"Prisoners. Some political. Some deserters. Some just unlucky."

Riven's jaw clenched. "Then they'll see justice first."

Kerron leaned back. "Fuck. You really are gonna start a goddamn war."

Riven stood. "Maybe it deserves one."

Kerron looked at Nyra. "You sure you want to follow this path, girl? Stay with him long enough, you'll start burning too."

She met his gaze. "Then I'll burn beside him."

The fire snapped loud as hell.

Riven didn't look up. He was sharpening Ashwake like he was slicing the day's anger into pieces.

Kerron didn't back off. "You're really taking in broken dogs now, Riven?"

"Get to the point."

"She's dead weight."

Riven looked up, real slow. "You want me to test how much you weigh, old friend?"

Kerron's mouth tightened. He muttered something under his breath, backed off to the other side of the fire, and dropped down onto a broken log like it insulted him.

Nyra didn't flinch.

She was crouched by Riven's bag, wrapping cloth around a stitched gash in his shoulder. Her fingers worked fast. Silent. Efficient. Riven let her. That was the part that pissed Kerron off the most, probably.

"She's been with us two weeks," Riven said after a while. "She's earned her place."

"She's not a fighter."

"She's not dead either."

"You got a soft spot for bleeding things?"

Riven smirked, a mean one. "You want to keep talking, or you want your teeth?"

The fire crackled. Kerron stood, spat into it, and walked off.

Nyra finally spoke. "You should've let me talk."

"He's not worth it."

"Still."

Riven looked over. Her face was calm. Focused. But her hands were shaking just slightly.

"First time being hated?" he asked.

"No. Just first time someone stood for me."

They moved at dawn.

Riven led. Kerron followed at distance, still grumbling. Nyra stayed close behind, wrapped in a thick cloak that still didn't hide the scars on her legs.

By mid-morning, they reached the fork in the forest. North to the ruins. East to Bastien's outer wall.

Riven stopped. Looked at the old, broken signpost. The wood was rotted, words half-burnt off. Only the direction to Bastien's hold was clear. That road was cleaner. Guarded.

He chose north.

"You sure?" Kerron asked. "Ruins mean bandits. Ghosts. Worse."

"Good," Riven said. "I'm in the mood."

They camped that night near the ruins of a temple.

The stone was cracked and moss-covered. Old statues stared with blind eyes. Nobody spoke. Riven lit a small fire. Nyra cooked roots and dry grain in a pot that smelled like death, but somehow it filled their stomachs.

Later, while Kerron snored nearby, Nyra sat next to Riven.

"You ever think about where this ends?" she asked.

"Every fucking day."

"And?"

He stared into the fire. "Ends with me dead. Or them."

She nodded. "Same."

He looked at her. "You got your own list?"

"One name."

"Who?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she took out a tiny vial from her pocket. Poured a few drops onto the blade of Ashwake.

"What's that?"

"Truthroot oil. Makes wounds burn like sin. Keeps the steel clean."

He raised an eyebrow. "You planning to coat me in it, or the sword?"

"Both, if you keep acting like a dumbass."

He chuckled — the first sound like that in weeks.

"You're dangerous," he muttered.

"Too late to back out now."

They woke to footsteps.

Soft. Wrong. Too quiet for boots. Too heavy for animals.

Riven's eyes opened in an instant.

Then came the voice: "You've got my fucking knife, bastard."

Three figures stepped out of the trees. One was tall, wrapped in a fur cloak. The second was limping. The third — a girl with knives in both hands.

Bandits.

Riven stood slowly.

"You sure it's your knife?" he asked.

"Found it on my dead brother."

"Then he wasn't good enough to keep it."

The bandit lunged.

Fucking Ashwake met steel — no damm hesitation.

Riven didn't wait.

He moved straight into the chaos like a storm, eyes locked on the bastard who'd touched Nyra. Ashwake sang as it came free from the sheath. One swing, clean, fast—cut right through the man's shoulder, down to the ribs.

Blood sprayed like water leaking from a tank. The bandit didn't even scream. He just collapsed, half his chest missing.

The others shouted, drew weapons, but they were already too fucking late.

Kerron had a hammer in both hands. Not some pretty knight weapon, but a blacksmith's tool with cracks in the handle. He slammed it into a man's face so hard the skull popped. Another tried to stab him from the side—Kerron grabbed the guy by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and threw him straight into the fire.

The camp lit up in madness.

Riven fought like he didn't have skin anymore. Like he was just bones and rage. He ducked under a blade, slammed his elbow into someone's nose, spun Ashwake around and jammed it through a gut. Blood soaked his boots. Screams tore through the trees. Horses kicked against their ropes.

Nyra had picked up a bow. Her fingers shook, but she still loosed two shots. One caught a man in the thigh. He dropped. The other arrow went wide, but it made another bandit duck.

Riven turned, blade raised.

Kerron was bleeding now—a cut down his arm. Didn't slow him. He roared like a goddamn bear and crushed another skull. The hammer broke in two.

"Fuck it!" he shouted, grabbing a sword off the ground.

Another bandit screamed, rushed at Riven with twin daggers.

Riven let him get close. Parried the first swipe. Kicked the guy in the knee—heard the pop. Dagger dropped. Riven caught it in midair, shoved it through the man's throat.

Then it was quiet.

Just the crackle of the fire. The moaning of the ones not fully dead yet.

Kerron was panting, one knee down, covered in blood. Nyra was crouched near the tree line, trying not to throw up. Riven wiped his blade, looked around.

Seven dead.

Three crawling. One ran, but he wouldn't get far.

Kerron stood. "You alright, girl?"

Nyra nodded slowly. "Y-Yeah."

Kerron looked at Riven. "That sword of yours has a temper."

Riven didn't answer. He just stared at the bodies.

One was still breathing, chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. The one who'd grabbed Nyra. His face was torn up, but he was alive.

Riven walked over. Lifted his boot. Slammed it down on the guy's hand. Bones crunched.

"You fuckers think you can touch whoever you want. Talk like the world owes you."

The bandit coughed blood.

Riven kneeled. "She yours, huh?"

The bandit didn't answer.

Riven leaned in, voice like iron. "She's not yours. She's not anyone's. She walks beside me. And if you ever breathe again, it'll be because I let you."

He shoved Ashwake into the man's chest.

Silence.

Kerron muttered, "Shit... I guess we're all wanted ass men now."

Riven didn't respond. He just looked at Nyra.

She met his eyes. Didn't flinch. Didn't look away.

She stepped closer. Put her hand on his arm. Not for comfort. Just… steady.

Riven looked down at her.

The flames made her eyes glow.

For the first time in years, he didn't feel alone.