The alley had grown quiet, but the chains still rang in Riven's ears.
He couldn't recall walking back. His legs moved as if they were by their own volition. The numbness in his fingers had not disappeared, neither had the weight on his chest. And when he tried to remember what he had just done, there was a blank—a jagged, empty hole in his head where something used to be.
A memory.
But it was gone.
He blinked, looking down at his shaking hand.
It felt stronger.
But also colder.
The orphanage could hardly be considered home. It was merely a roof. A place to sleep where nothing was said unless it was necessary.
The moment Riven walked through the gate, every other kid scattered like flies.
Nobody said anything.
They didn't have to.
Riven walked to his corner room, laid down on the thin mattress, and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight flooded through the cracked window. The only sounds were the dim barking of alley dogs and the occasional creak of wood was it shifted in the wind.
He couldn't quiet his thoughts.
"That power... was it even mine?"
The way the chains had popped off, the way his body had moved without him- something had taken over.
Not completely. But enough to leave him trembling.
*****
Far across the city, high above the sad alley Riven had left in wreckage, stood a man in black. His mask was shaped into the face of a devil—horned, panting, and viscous.
The man chuckled under his breath.
"Didn't expect this in such a small city."
A faint clinking sound echoed from the ring of metal charms hanging from his belt.
"Too bad for him… I'm the one who saw it."
He turned, stepping into the shadows—and vanished.
*****
Riven jumped awake.
His breath was fast and shallow, sweat sticky on his skin.
A dream—if he could call it that. Shadows… chains… and a voice speaking in a language he didn't understand. But it wasn't just a dream. He could feel it in his bones. That pressure. That presence.
He pulled himself into a seated position.
And then he saw it.
A symbol, faintly glowing on his upper chest, just below the collarbone—burned into his skin like a brand. A sharp "V" shape, with chain-like patterns looping around it like it was shackled.
His breath caught.
He touched it. It was cold. Like metal.
"What… is this?"
The moment his fingers brushed it, a voice echoed in his mind again.
Low. Ancient.
But familiar now.
"You have tasted power… but you do not yet understand the price."
"Who… are you?" Riven whispered.
No answer came.
Only silence.
The next morning was colder than usual. Not the air—just the way people looked at him. Whispers followed him wherever he went.
"He's one of them, isn't he?"
"Did you see the alley? Chains. Real ones."
"Someone said they saw eyes glowing like silver fire…"
He didn't respond. Just kept walking.
He felt… different.
Not invulnerable. But… conscious. Like he was perceiving the world for the first time with a new sense. A thrum beneath everything. A murmur behind every vocalization.
As he walked past the marketplace, he caught an instant of his reflection bouncing off a broken piece of the polished steel. For just a brief instant—just a brief second—his own eyes flashed.
Not silver.
But Violet.
That night he was awake; sitting by the window, the lights of the city flickered below like stars in the sky dying one by one.
The mark on his chest still pulsated with a faint glow.
He could feel it, he could feel it pulling; not physically, but something inside of him was being drawn, pulled, to the north, beyond the city wall.
"What are you trying to show me?"
No answer. Just the sound of wind sliding against the roof tiles.
But deep down, a feeling was developing.
A call.
A direction.
And the tiny little voice that was inside him told him if he followed it... he may find out.
About the chains.
About the mark.
About himself.
****
Elsewhere, in a room filled with scrolls and dim candles, the man in the devil mask stood before a large stone mirror.
He placed his gloved hand on its surface.
A pulse of darkness rippled across it.
"Dark Bearer spotted," he said calmly.
Silence answered him… and then a voice, like cracked glass scraping against steel.
"Observe. Do not engage."
"The successor must awaken on his own."
The masked man tilted his head.
"Successor?"
He chuckled.
"Well… things just got interesting."