They spotted the camp just before nightfall.
Five tents. One broken watchtower. Scattered fire pits glowing faintly through the ash haze. At first glance, it looked abandoned.
But Riven felt them.
Corrupted Cinders. Not fully human anymore. Not Hollow either. Something in between. Something worse.
"They're tainted," he said, crouched behind a low ridge of black stone.
Veyla narrowed her eyes. "Remnant-touched?"
He nodded. "And angry."
The Rune pulsed once, on his chest. He could feel the pull of sorrow coming off the camp like a slow heartbeat.
"How many?" she asked.
"Six. Maybe seven."
"You sure?"
"No. But it doesn't matter."
She hesitated. "You going alone again?"
He stood. "I have to."
The Rune burned hotter.
He dropped over the ridge without another word.
They didn't see him at first.
The first two were sitting by the fire, armor half-melted to their skin. One scraped a dull knife against bone. The other whispered to something that wasn't there.
Riven moved through the camp like smoke.
He didn't run.
He walked as he drew his blade.
The whispering one turned...too slow.
Steel flashed.
One strike, diagonal across the chest. The corrupted Cinder hit the ground gasping, already turning to ash.
The second barely had time to shout before Riven plunged his sword into their throat, twisting it free as they collapsed in a cloud of gray.
That's when the others came.
Four more burst from the tents.
Eyes glowing faint red. Veins black. Limbs twitching, stuttering like a broken puppet dance.
One roared and charged.
Riven sidestepped, slashing deep into its side. Bone cracked. Black blood sprayed. It didn't fall, but staggered, shrieking.
Another lunged from behind, too close.
He turned late, caught the hit across the ribs. Pain bloomed sharp and hot, but he didn't stop. He dropped low, swept the attacker's legs, and stabbed up through its chest before it hit the ground.
Three left.
They surrounded him, moving in sync. Not coordinated, more like linked.
They struck together.
He ducked one. Parried another. Took a shallow cut across the arm. The third came in with a hammer swing wide enough to break ribs.
He jumped back, chest heaving.
The Rune burned hotter.
Griefwoven.
He called it with no words.
Ash surged to life around him.
Thin threads rose from the air, wrapping him in pale shimmer. Pain dulled. Vision sharpened. Every heartbeat slowed.
They charged again.
This time, he met them head-on.
His blade caught the first attacker mid-strike....slid straight through its arm, then shoulder, cleaving down through the chest. It shrieked as it crumbled to dust.
The second ducked under and tried to slam him with its shield.
Riven caught it.
With both hands.
And shoved.
The force cracked the shield in two.
The Cinder fell back and Riven followed with a sharp kick to the chest that sent it sprawling.
The third one leapt at him from behind.
But he was ready.
He turned with a backhand slash that took its leg off midair. It hit the ground screaming.
He ended it cleanly.
Two left.
The shield-wielder tried to stand but its body glitched. Its hands shook like they couldn't remember how to hold a sword.
Riven struck once, sharp and fast.
The blade went in just below the chin.
It didn't scream, it just fell.
The last one looked at him and froze. For a moment, it hesitated.
Like it recognized him. Like it wanted to run.
Riven stepped forward. It tried to run but he dashed.
Faster than it could move. One blink and he was behind it. One slash and it was over.
The ash settled slowly around his boots.
Veyla arrived minutes later.
She stood at the edge of the camp, watching the smoke rise.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
"They were already gone," Riven said. "Just needed someone to finish the fall."
He wiped the blade clean and sheathed it.
But inside, he didn't feel clean.
The Rune had burned brighter than ever.
Every kill had sharpened it. Every memory it pulled had left a mark.
He didn't know who the Cinders used to be.
But pieces of them now lived in him.
The grief pressed behind his eyes like a tide.
Not loud, just constant.
Veyla looked at him, and her voice softened.
"They moved faster this time."
He nodded. "They're adapting."
"To you?"
"To the Rune."
He didn't say it, but he felt it:
Next time, they'd be waiting.
Next time, they might not be running from the Ash...They might be following it.