CHAPTER 8 — THE HIDDEN DOMAIN
The next morning came with a pale, washed-out sun and thin fog hugging the rooftops. Riven didn't leave the town immediately. He couldn't afford to. His ribs still ached with every breath, and the creature's wound—although healing—was far from recovered.
He needed movement, but not alone.
He needed cover.
Lucky for him, a small caravan of wandering merchants was preparing to leave through the town's eastern gate.
Riven approached them quietly, hood drawn low.
The creature padded closely by his side, its shadowy coat dimmed into near indistinguishability beneath the tattered cloak Riven had thrown over it.
A plump merchant glanced at him, eyes narrowing.
"You look like someone escaping trouble."
"Just traveling," Riven answered calmly. "Heading east."
"Hmph." The merchant snorted. "A lot of people heading east lately. Trouble's spilling from the north again."
Riven's gaze sharpened. "What kind of trouble?"
The merchant raised a brow.
"You've been living under a rock, boy? Three villages burned near the Blackthorn Ridge. Rumors of cultists. Assassinations. Disappearances."
Riven kept his breathing steady.
But inside, a cold weight settled in his stomach.
Cultists.
Dark gods.
Assassins.
His world was bigger and worse than he imagined—and he was already caught in one of its darkest threads.
Another merchant—a thin woman with sharp eyes—leaned toward him.
"You heading east alone? Dangerous choice. Bandits, beasts… and that strange fog spreading deeper every day."
"Fog?" Riven frowned.
"Mm." She nodded. "A strange place. Travelers say the forest there feels… wrong. Animals avoid it. Even the wind avoids it."
Riven's heartbeat quickened—
not from fear, but anticipation.
Wrong places were safe places for someone being hunted.
After some hesitation, he asked quietly, "Can I walk with your group? At least for a while?"
The woman shrugged. "You can walk. But if trouble follows you, don't expect us to share it."
Riven nodded. "Fair enough."
The caravan moved out, wheels creaking, donkeys huffing. Riven walked alongside one of the carts, listening to the merchants chatter.
They spoke of:
— A kingdom in the west preparing for war
— A sect in the south opening its gates only to prodigies
— Strange storms near the mountains
— Rumors of "awakening beasts"
— And whispers of a boy with a crescent mark causing chaos
Riven kept his head low.
It seemed his existence was already spreading like wildfire.
The creature nudged his hand from beneath the cloak, sensing his rising anxiety.
"I'm fine," he whispered.
He wasn't.
But pretending helped him breathe.
---
THE FIRST SIGN
Three hours passed peacefully.
Too peacefully.
When the caravan stopped beside a stream for water, the creature suddenly stiffened. Its ears lowered. Its eyes sharpened.
Riven froze.
That strange pressure in the air—the one only he and the creature felt—returned.
Stronger now.
Closer.
He looked toward the forest, where the fog was thicker.
"…They found us again," he murmured.
The creature growled softly, the sound vibrating against his leg.
Riven swallowed.
"Not here. Not near them."
The merchants noticed him standing motionless.
"Something wrong, boy?" one asked.
Riven shook his head quickly.
"Thank you for the company. I'll… take another path."
The woman frowned. "In the middle of nowhere?"
"It's safer."
For you, he didn't add.
He turned sharply, slipping into the treeline before the merchants could question further.
The creature darted beside him, movement silent as night itself.
The moment they were out of sight, Riven sprinted.
Branches whipped past him.
Pain stabbed through his ribs.
His cloak snagged twice on thorns.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
The pressure behind him grew heavier—like invisible hands brushing his mark from miles away.
"They're tracking me again," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Dammit… how do they keep doing this?"
The creature answered with a low, mournful rumble.
Riven didn't slow.
---
THE WILDERNESS
He ran until his legs screamed and the forest thickened into ancient woods untouched by travelers.
The air grew colder.
The mist thicker.
The trees impossibly tall and twisted.
Birds stopped singing.
The world went quiet.
Too quiet.
Riven stopped, panting, leaning against a dead trunk.
The creature pressed close to him, alert—almost trembling.
Riven grabbed his chest.
The crescent mark wasn't just pulsing anymore.
It was reacting.
The air itself felt alive.
"…Where the hell are we?" he whispered.
The creature sniffed the ground… then froze.
Its fur stood on end.
Its body lowered.
Every instinct it had was screaming.
Riven tightened his grip on his cloak.
"Someone strong is nearby," he muttered.
Not a beast.
Not a traveler.
Something else.
Something ancient.
A presence he couldn't see, couldn't place, but felt in the marrow of his bones.
The creature whimpered softly—a rare sound that made Riven's stomach twist.
He looked around.
Nothing moved.
No wind.
No rustling.
No distant footsteps.
Just stillness.
But Riven's instincts were screaming too:
Move. Slowly. Carefully. Do not turn your back. Do not speak loudly. Do not run.
He had entered a place where rules were different.
He could feel it.
---
THE HUNTERS LOSE HIM
Miles away…
The trackers halted.
Isha knelt on one knee, palm pressed against the soil.
Her eyes widened.
"The trail… broke."
Her subordinates exchanged startled looks.
"Commander? Did he mask his presence?"
"No."
Isha's voice trembled—just slightly.
"He walked into something."
She stared at the forest ahead.
"Something that devours all signals. All traces."
The ground beneath her fingers was dead silent.
The crescent pulse vanished.
As if Riven had stepped off the world itself.
A tracker whispered, fear thick in his voice:
"A… a domain?"
Isha didn't answer immediately.
She stood, cloak rustling faintly.
"Retreat ten miles back."
"What? But—"
"Do it."
Her eyes remained fixed on the shifting mist ahead.
"Nobody enters that place without dying. That forest belongs to someone… or something… far above our league."
The trackers obeyed quickly, fear pushing their feet.
But Isha stayed one heartbeat longer.
"…Boy," she murmured to the silent forest,
"You may have escaped us tonight—but you walked into a grave."
Then she turned away.
---
BACK IN THE DOMAIN
Riven felt the trackers disappear.
Not physically.
But spiritually.
It was as if the invisible strings tying them to him snapped—cleanly, instantly.
His chest loosened.
"…They're gone?" he whispered.
The creature lifted its head, confused but relieved.
Riven should've felt joy.
He didn't.
Because something colder, heavier, older replaced the hunters' presence.
A pressure so massive he could barely breathe at first.
The only mercy was that it wasn't directed at him.
Not yet.
Riven steadied himself.
He spoke in the softest whisper possible:
"Stay close. Don't make noise."
The creature nodded.
They moved further.
Each step felt like crossing into forbidden territory.
The mist curled around his ankles.
The trees seemed to lean closer.
The air thickened.
The world… watched him.
Riven stopped again.
"Something is watching," he whispered.
The creature pressed its head against his knee, urging him forward.
Riven nodded and continued.
But the deeper he walked, the more the air felt wrong.
Not dangerous—
but immense.
Like stepping into the remnants of a storm so powerful the world never healed from it.
His heartbeat echoed in his ears.
The crescent mark throbbed softly, almost nervous.
Finally, after nearly an hour of cautious movement, the forest opened slightly into a clearing covered in pale mist.
The atmosphere here was different.
Heavy. Sacred. Untouched.
Riven's voice cracked when he whispered:
"…What is this place?"
The creature didn't answer.
Couldn't.
It only stared ahead—frozen—not from fear…
but from awe.
Riven felt it too.
A presence.
Close.
Silent.
Enormously powerful.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Just… waiting.
Watching.
His breath trembled.
"Who's there?" he whispered—barely audible.
Nothing answered.
But something shifted.
A pulse.
Not from the ground.
Not from the sky.
Not from the trees.
From everywhere.
A presence that dwarfed everything he had ever felt.
Riven's knees weakened.
The creature lowered itself, trembling in submission—its instincts overwhelmed.
Riven swallowed hard.
"…Someone's here," he whispered.
A pause.
A long one.
Then a faint breeze blew through the clearing—
the first wind since he entered this place.
Soft.
Calm.
Almost… welcoming.
Or warning.
Riven shivered.
He looked deeper into the mist.
Something awaited him there.
Something beyond the reach of trackers, assassins, or mortals.
And his instincts whispered one thing:
Step forward.
He tightened his cloak.
Looked once at the creature.
Then stepped into the deeper mist—
And vanished from the ordinary world.
---
Chapter 8 — END
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