Chapter 5 :Horrors of the dark
Raven's eyes flew open in confusion.
"How is this possible…?" he whispered. "There shouldn't be any ruins here."
As he stared at the newly uncovered chamber, pain suddenly surged through his body. His sides burned as if set ablaze. When he looked down, he saw blood seeping out in every direction, soaking his clothes.
He pressed a trembling hand against the wound, his fingers instantly slick with blood. Letting out a low, strained sigh, Riven forced himself to move. Inch by inch, through sheer will and agony, he pushed himself upright.
After a long moment—and far too much pain—he finally stood.
His gaze returned to the four doors, each carved with intricate designs and kneeling human figures above them.
"I'm not doing that today," he muttered.
Inside the sealed chamber, there were only two ways out: through one of the doors… or up the wall.
Climbing was possible—but in his condition, he didn't know if he would survive it. Even if he did, exhaustion and blood loss would leave him vulnerable, and that would only draw more monsters from the surrounding forest.
But staying wasn't an option either.
Who knew what kind of abominations lurked here—especially behind those four dark, ominous doors? No. He couldn't risk it. The sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
He had to move.
Turning away from the doors, Riven limped toward the wall. It looked ancient—older than memory itself. Thick green vines clung to the surface, growing out of deep cracks in the stone. The rock was pitch-black, though it wasn't obsidian. He tilted his head upward. Nearly twenty meters.
Pain tore through his side as he reached up and began to climb.
Every second was hell.
A burning sensation spread from his wound with each movement. His breathing grew ragged, each breath a struggle. His blood-slick hands nearly slipped every time he grasped the stone, yet somehow—somehow—he kept going.
The light faded quickly.
The sun sank below the horizon, dragging darkness down with it.
At the top, his fingers clawed into the edge. With one final, desperate effort, Riven hauled himself up and collapsed onto the ground above.
It had taken him half an hour.
Climbing twenty meters of uneven stone while severely wounded was impressive—terrifyingly so. For someone his age, it was nearly impossible.
No one would have guessed he was only fourteen.
He rolled onto his side, chest heaving, staring up at the sky. The sun had nearly vanished, while the moon had already begun its ascent. Seeing them both at once made his expression harden.
Night was coming.
And this forest was not meant to be faced in darkness.
Riven staggered to his feet and limped forward as fast as he could. After some time, he reached the clearing where he had set his Aeskarmi trap. He bent down to retrieve the backpack he had hidden there—
—and a screech tore through the forest.
The sound made his spine shudder.
Fear gripped his mind and soul. He grabbed his belongings and ran, forcing his body to move faster than it wanted to. His left hand clutched his wounded side as blood poured freely, leaving a dark trail behind him.
The forest felt alive.
Watching.
As if thousands of unseen eyes were fixed on him.
Darkness fully swallowed the land. Cold air lashed against his skin. The situation was hopeless.
The creature that had screamed was following him.
Riven could hear its footsteps.
Close.
Too close.
Yet it didn't attack.
It followed him slowly, deliberately—as if mocking him for his weakness.
A low, bitter laugh escaped Riven's lips.
"How ironic," he thought. "I'll die… while being mocked."
He ran.
And ran.
His legs trembled, threatening to give out at any moment. Though he knew this mountain and forest better than anyone—
He was lost.
Completely.
But then
There was light.
Not too far away, yet not close either.
Riven felt nothing stir inside him. Hope had abandoned him long ago, just as he had learned to abandon it in return. Still, he moved toward the glow without thinking. Even if it meant nothing, at least there would be light—something to cut through the cold, suffocating darkness.
As he drew closer, the light grew brighter, larger.
A vague silhouette emerged.
Riven squinted, convinced his eyes were lying to him.
But they weren't.
It was a human.
His heart lurched.
A human could help him.
He didn't allow himself to cling to that thought. Even among humans, a nameless was treated worse than a monster. To them, he was filth—something more despicable than the abominations that prowled the forest.
Still… humans could be reasoned with.
He could trade. Work. Bleed.
And no ordinary person would be sitting in the middle of this mountain forest at night. Whoever this man was, he had to be a fighter—maybe even a hunter.
The man sat calmly by a campfire, perched atop a fallen tree trunk as if it were a chair. The fire crackled softly, warm and steady.
Riven raised his trembling hand.
"Help!" he shouted. "Please help me!"
The words burned.
It was humiliating.
All his life, he had sworn to rely on no one. Strength meant survival. Weakness meant death. He had learned that lesson young—too young.
To beg a stranger for help hurt more than the wound in his side.
But pride wouldn't save him.
So he swallowed it.
The man by the fire turned.
Crimson eyes gleamed like fresh blood. His hair was white, medium-length, and unnaturally clean. His skin was pale—too pale—almost doll-like.
He stood.
And in the blink of an eye
He vanished.
Riven's mind froze.
"I'm hallucinating," he thought weakly. "I have to be."
But the fire was still there.
'What about the campfire?'
Then
A body hit the ground behind him.
Before Riven could even turn his head, a whisper slid into his left ear, cold and intimate.
"What about it?"
The world went blank.
Riven woke with a sharp jolt, his hands bound tightly behind his back. Pain flared through his body as he tried to move. The smell of fire and cooked meat filled the air, and across from him a man crouched beside a campfire, calmly tending to something roasting over the flames. Beside him lay the corpse of an abomination, its body split cleanly, unmistakably dead. Riven swallowed.
The man glanced over his shoulder and slowly stood, a curved dagger resting in his hand. The blade was tinted red, catching the firelight as he turned fully toward Riven, a charming smile on his face. "Who are you, kid," he asked lightly, "and how do you have that mark?"
"What mark?" Riven replied, confusion tightening his voice.
"The mark on your hand," the man said calmly.
Riven lifted his head, eyes locking onto the stranger's crimson gaze. He hesitated. _Does he know what it does?_ "Yes," Riven said carefully. "What about it? It's just a birthmark."
The man laughed softly. "You're funny, boy. I know that mark."
Riven's expression hardened, wariness and curiosity mixing together. "How do you know about it?"
Without answering, the man pulled back his sleeve. Carved into the underside of his wrist was the same symbol—the letter **S**. Riven's breath caught. "Because I have it too," the man said. "You bare the mark. You were cursed."
Riven frowned. "Cursed? What do you mean?"
"Enough questions," the man replied, his eyes turning cold. "Start praying, kid. This will be your last night."
Fear seeped into Riven's bones. The man before him moved with impossible speed, something far beyond human, and he carried the same mark. Riven had always known the symbol was special, but now he understood something far worse—it was dangerous. He shuffled backward, feet scraping uselessly against the ground, a pathetic attempt to escape.
Then the man vanished, gone as if he had never been there. Riven froze. The last time he had seen that happen, the abomination chasing him had died in less than a second. His heart pounded as he counted the seconds. One. Two—
A dagger fell from above like thunder.