They say a blade remembers every drop of blood it spills. Riven never believed that — until his sword started talking back.
Opening Scene — The Edge of Windmere
Windmere wasn't the kind of town you saw in travel books.
It was too ordinary for glory, too quiet for gossip, and just far enough from the capital that no one bothered writing songs about it. If you squinted, you might see its crooked rooftops and faded banners as charming — but if you stayed long enough, you'd realize they were just… tired.
Riven leaned on the worn wooden fence by the north road, chewing a stalk of dry grass and staring at the clouds that moved lazily over the distant mountains. His sword — a blackened, slightly chipped blade strapped to his back — was humming again.
It was always humming when it was bored.
"You're brooding," the sword muttered in his head.
"I'm thinking," Riven murmured.
"You're thinking about not thinking."
He sighed. It had been two months since the incident at the Riverwatch ruins — an incident that had left him with a few scars, more questions than answers, and, unfortunately, a sentient blade with the personality of a smug older brother.
The wind shifted, carrying the faintest hint of smoke. Not the cozy firewood kind — this was sharper, acrid. Trouble-smoke.
Rising Action — The Arrival
Windmere's main street wasn't crowded, but a shift in the townsfolk's behavior caught Riven's eye. Heads were turning, whispers were starting, and a couple of shopkeepers stopped mid-sale just to glance toward the east road.
Then he saw them.
Six women, walking in perfect unison, their boots striking the dirt road in a rhythm that sounded almost rehearsed.
The first was tall, athletic, with silver hair tied into a high ponytail that swayed like a banner. A sheathed blade at her hip shimmered faintly, tendrils of wind curling around it as though impatient.
The second wore black silk robes, moving like her shadow might at any moment detach and walk away without her. A hood concealed most of her face, but her violet eyes cut through the shade like moonlight through water.
The third carried herself with disarming warmth — a soft smile, green-trimmed armor, and hands clasped loosely in front of her. But her boots were stained, and Riven knew from the way she walked that she'd been in fights before breakfast.
The fourth was clad in jagged metal plates streaked with crimson, her dark hair swept back in a practical knot. She rested her massive sword over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.
The fifth was almost too elegant for the dusty road — wearing form-fitting white and gold armor, her every step precise, as if she were walking across marble instead of dirt.
The last moved like a stormcloud, her short, spiky hair streaked with blue, her weapon buzzing faintly with crackling lightning.
Riven's sword hummed louder. "Oh, wonderful. Trouble multiplied by six."
"They're… interesting," Riven replied.
"They're problems wearing nice outfits," the blade corrected.
First Contact
The silver-haired leader glanced at Riven as they passed. Not a full look — just enough to make him feel like he'd been weighed, measured, and filed away in her mind.
The hooded woman's gaze lingered longer. Her lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, before she looked away.
The one in green offered a polite nod, as though they were meeting at a festival rather than in a town with no festivals worth attending.
The crimson-armored warrior barely glanced at him. The white-and-gold one ignored him entirely. The lightning-haired woman gave him a look that could have meant hello or I might stab you later.
They continued down the road, drawing the townsfolk's eyes like magnets.
Riven almost followed — then the ground trembled.
The Interruption
It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the fence at his side rattle against the post. Then came the shouts — from the western gate.
A heartbeat later, the sharp clash of steel.
Riven turned, and so did the six women. None of them looked surprised.
The lightning-haired one tilted her head toward him and grinned. "Looks like you've got work to do, kid."
"Kid?" Riven muttered, already moving.
"Finally, something to do," the sword purred.
At the Gate
By the time Riven reached the western gate, the fight was over. Two guards lay unconscious, one clutching a burned forearm, the other breathing heavily but out cold. The attackers — whoever they were — had vanished.
The silver-haired woman was already there, kneeling to check one of the guards. "You're slower than I thought," she said without looking at him.
"I wasn't aware I was on a schedule," Riven replied.
The hooded woman stood a few paces away, her violet gaze fixed on him with quiet intensity. It was the kind of look that felt like it could peel the truth off your skin.
"Who attacked?" Riven asked.
The silver-haired woman didn't answer — but her slight pause told him she knew.
The Investigation
Windmere's guards weren't much for procedure, so by the time Captain Lorn arrived — a broad man with a gut like a barrel and a voice that carried — most of the scene was already trampled.
"What happened?" he barked.
"Three figures," one of the conscious guards wheezed. "Hoods… too fast… lightning."
Riven's eyes flicked to the short-haired woman in the storm-colored cloak. She didn't react, but he noticed her grip tighten briefly on her weapon before she relaxed again.
The blade hummed against his back. "Noticed that, did you?"
"Shut up," Riven whispered.
Unfortunately, Lorn heard. "What was that, boy?"
"Nothing," Riven replied quickly.
The captain gave him a suspicious glance before returning to his questioning. But Riven's thoughts were elsewhere — the attackers had been fast enough to breach the gate and escape without leaving much trace. That meant skill. And skill usually meant a reason.
Evening in the Inn
That night, Riven sat in the corner booth of Windmere's only decent inn. His drink was barely touched — not that the innkeeper's bitter ale was worth touching.
The six women occupied the table at the far end. They weren't talking much. Instead, their eyes occasionally swept the room, watching exits, entrances, and the few other patrons unlucky enough to be dining in silence.
The green-armored woman caught his gaze and smiled again — warm, inviting, almost friendly.
"Careful," the sword whispered. "That one could smile at a funeral."
The hooded one didn't look at him, but he had the unsettling feeling she was aware of every word he'd exchanged with his sword since she'd walked in.
The Quiet Warning
Riven decided to approach. The moment he stepped closer, the silver-haired leader set down her cup and met his gaze.
"You shouldn't be here," she said simply.
"It's a public inn."
"Not tonight."
He hesitated. "The attack earlier… you knew something about it."
Her expression didn't change. "And if I did?"
The blade in his mind chuckled. "She's not denying it."
The woman leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to let him know the conversation was over.
Riven turned away — but as he did, the hooded woman's voice drifted to him, soft enough that no one else heard.
"They're not all here for you," she said. "But one of them will be."
When he looked back, she was sipping her drink as if she hadn't spoken at all.
Alone with the Blade
Up in his rented room, Riven shut the door and sat on the bed, unstrapping the sword from his back.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well what?"
"You heard her."
"Oh, I did," the blade said lazily. "Question is, which one? The charming one in green? The smug one with lightning? Or maybe your new best friend with the shadowy eyes?"
Riven rubbed his temples. "I'm not here to play guessing games."
"Too bad," the sword replied. "Because whether you like it or not, someone's going to put a knife in your back before this is over. And if I were you… I'd try to figure out who before you start liking them too much."
Outside, a lantern flickered in the wind, then went out.
Foreshadowing
Riven lay awake long after the noise from the inn faded.
He kept replaying the attack in his mind, the way the silver-haired leader hadn't been surprised, the way the storm-haired warrior's grip had tightened, and the hooded woman's warning.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew — whatever had happened at the western gate was just the first step. And he had no idea which direction the next one would come from.
But one thing was certain.
Windmere wouldn't be quiet for much longer.
Preview for Chapter 2
In Chapter 2: The strangers reveal why they've come to Windmere — and Riven learns that the attack on the gate was just a distraction. A new enemy steps into the light, but not before an unexpected ally makes a dangerous proposition.
Call to Action
If you enjoyed this opening, add The Betrayer's Edge: My Blade Hates Me to your library and drop a comment with your theories on which of the six women Riven can trust — and which one will betray him. Your support keeps this blade sharp!