They hadn't eaten in days.
When the last scraps had gone, silence followed. Not the kind born of peace—but of slow starvation, tight throats, and quiet, desperate thoughts.
The Phantom crouched by the stone outcrop, gaze fixed on the dark beyond. Her voice came flat and deliberate:
"I'm going to hunt. Stay hidden. Don't scream."
Riven nodded, slumped against the cold wall of rock. His arm still throbbed, fingers swollen, purple where the bone had broken. He hadn't had time to bind it—not properly. Only a torn piece of cloth wrapped around it in a crude knot.
The Phantom disappeared into the tunnels like smoke.
And Riven was alone.
For a time, he fought the weight in his eyes. But pain bled into exhaustion, and exhaustion swallowed him whole.
Sleep came.
He stood in a place that was not the real world.
The air was darker here, thick like tar. Silent. Empty.
Until it wasn't.
A presence moved behind him. A shape more felt than seen—it looked like riven but it wasn't
Kairon.
"You should kill her," the voice said.
Riven turned slowly, throat dry. "I'm not stupid. I know I don't stand a chance."
Kairon tilted his head. "Yet you don't even try."
Riven laughed bitterly. "You think I'm afraid of dying? No—I'm afraid of wasting my breath. I'd fail. I know I would."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Kairon spoke again—softer, more thoughtful. "You're not like the others, Riven. You were never meant to be one of them. Not truly. You didn't earn your mask. You became it."
Riven's eyes narrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"
Kairon stepped closer. "You're not bound by the old rules. You are Unbound. And until you accept that, until you stop rejecting what you've become, you'll never be more than a crippled Firstborn dragging a broken arm through a nightmare."
Riven clenched his jaw. "So what? Accept the mask? Become what—another monster with a face I don't recognize?"
"You are a monster, Riven. The mask didn't change that. It only revealed it. And until you accept that truth… you'll never use its power. You'll never even touch the full strength buried in your soul. Right now, you can't access half of what the mark offers you. You're denying it—denying yourself."
Riven stared at him. The silence returned.
Then, coldly: "At what cost?"
Kairon smiled, empty and dark.
"Yes," he said. "That is the question."
Riven took a breath. "Convince people it was all for research. For advancement. That it was necessary. But we both know what I am. I didn't earn my mask. I was made. A monster pretending to be a man. The remainder of that awful experiment"
Kairon's eyes gleamed. "You don't even use a fraction of what you are. You've been holding back. Afraid. Ashamed. If you accepted your mask—truly accepted it—you'd be Unbound. Do you even understand what that means?"
Riven looked away. "I'd rather not use it."
Riven woke gasping.
Sweat dripped down his face. Pain pulsed through his wrist.
He tore another strip of cloth from his trousers and slowly, carefully, began wrapping his arm. The bone was still broken, but pressure helped. A little.
When the Phantom returned, she didn't speak at first. She dropped a dead Wraithspawn at his side—half-crushed, likely poisoned by the dark—and sat.
She eyed his bandages.
"Messy," she said.
"I'm not a healer."