Riven's first solo mission began with a coil of tension in the air, a charged feeling that coursed through his veins like electricity. Under the guise of a rebellious orphan haunted by debt collectors, he stepped into the gritty streets of Emberwick—a city of factories and seaports, marked by shadows lurking in alleyways and the hum of machinery that seemed almost predatory.
After exchanging solemn farewells with Vaelorian, Riven—now masquerading as "Reven"—was teleported by Sir Eryndor to his new life. He immersed himself in the role immediately, donning clothes that whispered of rebellion: distressed jeans, a loose T-shirt, an oversized hoodie, and a beanie that concealed his long black hair. He felt the need to shed the current him like an old skin, fully embracing the delinquent persona he'd lived before.
"This is it," he thought as he maneuvered through the dimly lit streets, the chill of night wrapping around him like a shroud. The first night was spent in an alley, the unforgiving cold gnawing at him as he examined the bruises he had inflicted upon himself—a reminder of a life he thought he'd left behind. Vaelorian would have had plenty to say about that choice, but Riven was determined to stay true to his mission. After the sting of sleeping on concrete streets, he checked into a run-down motel the following day. The peeling paint and flickering lights felt like a fitting backdrop for his fabricated tale.
For the next few days, he lay low, appearing only where there's free food because "what runaway hiding from debt collectors wants attention?" he pondered, feigning ignorance while selecting stale bread and bruised apples from a charity table. Just enough money for junk food and a shabby room was his existence now, with a shapeshifter companion, Mouse, who can only transform into a human in private. In this city, Reven was truly alone, the perfect bait for anyone seeking to snatch an orphan from the streets.
Nothing happened the first day, he thought, voice in his mind like a whisper in the dark. No one had come for him. His days blended into a monotonous routine—waiting tables, blending into the background, watching, listening. It was dull, but necessary. Every shift was a step closer to understanding the city's secrets. The theory that missing people followed their captors willingly—that strange, sickening idea—began to seem more plausible every day.
Then, on the fourth day, came the first spark of hope—an encounter that made his blood run cold. A young boy, probably around his age or maybe a little older, approached him after his shift. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that didn't quite match innocence.
"Hey," the boy said, voice tinged with a strange, almost desperate edge. "You look like you could use some extra cash. Want to make more money?"
Reven ignored him, pretending he hadn't heard. "Ignore him. Don't give him what he wants." But something about the way the boy looked at him—something in his eyes—made Reven pause. "What if this is what I've been waiting for?"
Three days later, he found himself at a rubber factory on the outskirts of Emberwick city, a place buzzing with the energy of young and seasoned laborers alike. It was mundane yet oddly comforting. The pay was slightly better, and it helped cover rent, food, and frivolous expenses for Barron, his mouse companion. He kept his head down, but his instincts were alive, sharp as a blade.
A week in, he noticed something strange—fewer young workers, disappearances, whispers in the factory's dark corners. Then, someone approached him—another offer, better pay, a more "respectable" place. Reven played it cool, pretending to be disinterested, but inside he was alert. 'They're playing a game,' he thought. 'They're testing me.' And so he accepted.
Little did they know, Reven was already playing them.
They took him to a grand manor in Stellara City, a place that reeked of power and secrets. The moment Reven entered the Manor, a wave of unease washed over him, as if the very walls were whispering about dark dealings. He learned it belonged to a wealthy lord with ties to the great houses—an aristocrat with a smile that never reached his eyes.
Life in the manor was hell—long hours, constant surveillance, whispers behind closed doors. Barron, his only ally, was the only thing keeping Reven sane. But even Barron's support couldn't shield him from the lurking in the shadows. But then an older servant caught him with Barron in his human form one evening—his secret exposed—he had to act fast. Reven's mind raced. "What if he rats us out?"
In that desperate moment, Reven reached into his hidden reserve—his second gift, the one he thought he couldn't use at will, the power to control minds. With a quiet whisper, he manipulated the servant's memory of what he saw. It was a risky move—exposing his second gift to Barron—but he trusted his friend. Barron promised to keep his secret, and Reven kept fighting, using his powers to stay one step ahead of their enemies.
Since then, Reven has been more aware of his surroundings. Two weeks passed—then another. Reven began to see the patterns, the clues hidden in plain sight. Strange shipments, enormous containers leaving the estate under cover of darkness—evidence of something sinister. Every night, he watched from the shadows, piecing together the puzzle. And at the same time, he was becoming a household name in the manor, known for his resilience, wit, and haunting beauty that masked a mind sharp as steel.
What were they transporting? He needed to know, and he needed to stay alive long enough to expose it.
One morning, as he went about his duties, fate introduced him to the lord of the manor himself. Tall, imposing, with a commanding presence, the lord's eyes lingered on Reven—an unspoken fascination that left Reven uneasy. From that day, the lord invited Reven everywhere, even to meet his foreign dignitaries. Reven's suspicion deepened—these visitors, these "business associates," spoke the same language as the enemies they'd captured in Dawnspire. The pieces was starting to fall into place—this was another kink to the abductions.
Reven tried to extract information, probing the lord's mind and actions, but it was clear he was just a pawn in a much larger game. The lord was a middleman, a conduit for the real players pulling the strings behind the scenes. And Reven's mission had become much more dangerous.
Meanwhile, miles away, Vaelorian sat in the secret room in the imperial Palace, listening intently as Barron recounted the harrowing tales he and Riven had experienced for months. Three months! That's how long Riven's been gone, risking everything. His heart clenched—he'd almost pulled Riven out early, fearing for his safety, missing him unbearably. But he knew Riven was doing what needed to be done. He had placed his faith in his lover's resilience, in his cunning. And now, thanks to Riven's silent work, they had uncovered the true scale of their enemies' operation.
He glanced at Barron, who deserved a moment of relief after his arduous journey.
"Eryndor, please get Barron something to eat and let him rest. We have a long trip ahead tomorrow," Vaelorian commanded, his voice steady, though his heart raced with underlying urgency.
As Barron departed under Eryndor's watchful eye, Vaelorian settled back into the chair, hands clutching the stack of papers Riven had sent—cryptic messages disguised as love notes, coded with information and clues. Each letter was a testament to Riven's ingenuity, his unbreakable spirit. "He's waiting for me." Vaelorian thought as his heart swelled with longing and pride—his lover has become a warrior.
Vaelorian closed his eyes, imagining the moment—when he would finally hold the younger boy again, when all this danger would be behind them. But for now, they had to prepare, because tomorrow he would be meeting the Lord of the Manor.