Riven lunged forward, but his blade sliced nothing but air.
The figure was gone. No sound. No trace.
Only the cold tremor that lingered in his bones.
Maelis.
He turned, instincts burning, and ran back up the path toward the watchpoint. The world around him blurred—trees, stone, shadow. None of it mattered.
She had gone ahead. Alone. Vulnerable.
And now her soul—her very flame—had been in that creature's hand.
Not extinguished.
Not shattered.
But taken.
Riven lunged forward, but his blade sliced nothing but air.
The figure was gone. No sound. No trace.
Only the cold tremor that lingered in his bones.
Maelis.
He turned, instincts flaring, and sprinted up the path toward the watchpoint. Trees blurred past. Roots tore at his boots. The world narrowed into a tunnel of fear and fury.
He broke through the treeline—and stopped.
The watchpoint lay ahead, half-collapsed, moss-eaten and forgotten by time. Stone walls cracked by roots, a rusted bell long silent.
And there—at the center—lay Maelis.
Sprawled on the stone floor.
Still breathing.
Riven dropped to one knee beside her, pressing two fingers to her throat.
A pulse. Faint, but steady.
He exhaled.
"Maelis," he said, shaking her gently. "Wake up."
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, whispering something he couldn't hear. Then her body jerked—once—and her eyes snapped open.
They weren't her eyes.
Not at first.
They glowed—just for a heartbeat—with that same cold blue as the soul flame. Then it was gone, and Maelis gasped, truly gasped, as if surfacing from deep water.
"Riven?" she croaked.
He nodded, but his grip on his blade didn't loosen.
That glow. That flicker. It wasn't just her soul being held—it had been touched.
"You saw it, didn't you?" he said quietly.
She swallowed. "The thing in the trees…"
He nodded again. "It showed me your soul. Held it like a trophy."
Maelis sat up slowly, her hand shaking as she reached toward her chest, feeling nothing but skin and cloth. "It... it took me. I wasn't here. I was somewhere else. Cold. Endless. There were voices, Riven."
Her gaze snapped to his. "They knew my name."
Riven stood, scanning the treeline. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"The Abyss is no longer sleeping.
Riven helped Maelis to her feet, but her legs barely held.
"You're not whole," he said.
"I don't feel broken." Her voice trembled. "But it's like something's missing. Like something's still watching me."
He didn't answer. Because he felt it too.
A presence. Distant, but lingering. Like a stain beneath the skin.
They had come to harvest a soul.
Instead, they had found a soul already claimed—and a threat far older than any noble bloodline.
"We need to return to the Order," Riven said. "Now."
Maelis turned to look back at the watchpoint. Her eyes widened.
"Wait—" she breathed. "The glyph. It's... cracked."
Riven followed her gaze.
Etched into the stone, barely visible under moss and dust, was a binding glyph—an ancient mark carved by the First Harvesters. A seal.
Now, it was split down the middle. Hairline thin. But definitely broken.
"Someone didn't just steal that noble's soul," Riven muttered. "They unsealed something. On purpose."
"Do you think it was... the Abyss?" Maelis asked.
Riven stared into the trees, where the figure had vanished.
"No," he said darkly. "I think it was one of us."
Maelis looked up at him, dread creeping into her voice. "One of us?"
Riven nodded, jaw tight. "Only the Order knows how to break a seal like that. And only a Harvester can carry a soul without consuming it."
Maelis took a step back. "You think someone in the Order is working with the Abyss?"
"No. Not with it." His voice turned cold. "For it."
A sharp wind cut through the trees, carrying a low whisper—too faint to make out, but it made Maelis shiver.
She wrapped her arms around herself. "We shouldn't be here."
"We won't be much longer," Riven said, scanning the shadows. "But if there's a traitor in the Order… we can't walk in blind."
Maelis frowned. "Then what do we do?"
He turned to her, eyes hard. "We lie."
Her brows lifted. "What?"
"To them. To the Overseers. We say the soul was harvested before we arrived. Nothing else."
Maelis hesitated. "And the seal? The figure?"
"No mention. Not yet." He looked toward the path back. "Until we know who to trust, we say only what keeps us alive."
She bit her lip but nodded. "All right."
They began their descent, moving quickly and quietly. But Riven couldn't shake the weight in his gut. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't over.
As they reached the lower trail, Maelis stumbled, gasping.
He caught her. "What is it?"
"I—" Her eyes widened. "Riven. I can hear it."
"Hear what?"
She clutched her head. "A voice. It's saying... your name."
The wind around them stopped. Completely. As if the forest had been sucked into silence.
Then, in the space between heartbeats, a whisper echoed around them.
"Riven..."
It was her voice.
But she hadn't spoken.
Riven's blood ran cold.
Riven turned sharply, blade halfway drawn.
But there was nothing. Only trees. Stones. And that unnatural stillness—like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Maelis looked terrified now, her hand shaking as she reached for his cloak. "I didn't say your name. I swear."
"I know," Riven said, eyes locked on the shadows. "It wasn't you."
The whisper had been perfect—her tone, her breath—but it had come from outside her.
"Whatever touched your soul," he said slowly, "it left something behind."
A mark. A tether. Or worse—an opening.
Maelis dropped her gaze. "It's still inside me, isn't it?"
Riven didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew.
Suddenly, a soft glow flared to life on her skin—beneath the collarbone.
A sigil. Circular. Etched in black-blue flame.
Riven's eyes narrowed. "That's Abyssal."
She staggered back. "Get it off me!"
"It's not a curse," he murmured. "It's a brand."
His mind raced. There were ancient records—fragments in the forbidden archives. Stories of soul-bound sigils used by lost sects to mark vessels. Not for killing… but for tracking. Calling. Claiming.
And if Maelis had been marked—
A branch snapped behind them.
Riven spun.
A cloaked figure stepped out of the brush. Not the one from before—this one wore the deep violet robes of the Order, lined with silver threads.
An Overseer.
"Riven. Maelis," the figure said, voice low. "You weren't supposed to return yet."
Riven's grip on his blade didn't ease. "We finished the mission early."
"Did you?" The Overseer's hood tilted. "The soul was claimed, yes. But you left something behind."
Maelis froze. "What?"
The Overseer's hand lifted—and from his palm floated a mirror shard, blackened and cracked.
It pulsed once—and the sigil on Maelis's skin flared in response.
The Overseer's voice turned cold.
"You've been marked by the Abyss. That makes you... evidence."
And then everything exploded into motion.
Riven moved without thought.
In a blur, his blade was out, angling low—not to kill, but to block. The Overseer's spell shot forward, a burst of violet flame shaped like a spear.
Steel met magic. The air cracked with force.
Riven grunted, skidding back. Maelis fell behind him, clutching her side, the sigil still burning on her skin.
The Overseer lowered his hand, another spell forming. "You shouldn't resist, Riven. You know the law. Any Harvester tainted by the Abyss must be—"
"She's not tainted," Riven growled. "She was attacked."
"That doesn't matter."
With a twist of his wrist, the Overseer summoned three floating blades—shards of soulsteel, hovering like snakes poised to strike.
"You'll come quietly," he said. "Or I'll bring your corpses instead."
Riven didn't wait.
The Void inside him stirred, dark and hungry.
He'd sworn not to use it again unless he had no choice.
But he had made that vow before Maelis.
He reached inward. Past the edge of sanity. Past the boundary where his humanity began to rot.
Void Consumption: Partial Release.
A pulse erupted from his chest—dark, soundless, devouring light around him.
His eyes turned black. Not just the pupils—everything.
His breath fogged the air despite the warmth of the night.
And when he spoke, his voice carried two tones—one human, one not.
"You want a corpse?"
He stepped forward.
"I'll give you one."
The first floating blade darted toward him—and vanished. Devoured midair.
Riven moved fast—too fast for a normal man. Shadows twisted at his heels as he ducked under the second strike and brought his sword across the Overseer's side. Sparks flew. Flesh tore.
The Overseer screamed, stumbling back, hand crackling with unstable power.
But Maelis was already moving. Not away—but forward.
Her fingers glowed. Not with the pale soulflame of a Harvester—but with something deeper. Darker. The brand on her chest pulsed in sync.
She raised her hand—and spoke a word neither of them understood.
The third blade froze. Then shattered.
The Overseer's eyes widened in fear. "What did you—"
Maelis fell to her knees, gasping, the sigil now faded but seared red into her skin like a burn.
Riven turned back to the Overseer, blood dripping from his blade.
"Tell the High Order," he said coldly, "if they want her, they'll have to come and take her."
The Overseer vanished in a blink, leaving behind only a smear of shadow and the bitter stench of burned air.
Silence returned.
Maelis was still breathing, but barely.
And above them, far above, in the invisible realm where the Abyss stretched like a forgotten sky, something had noticed.
And it was smiling.