The forest breathed like a living thing. Mist wound around the trunks of ancient oaks, and the moon spilled silver light across the undergrowth. Every sound carried—crickets in the grass, wings overhead, the faint crackle of fire far in the distance. Riven walked through it all with practiced silence, his cloak blending with the shadows, his blade resting against his thigh.
A demon had been sighted here. Another mission, another life to take. It should have been routine. Yet the air tonight felt heavy, charged with something he couldn't name.
He found the signs soon enough. Splintered bark gouged by claws. Ash spread across the ground in black smears. Bones picked clean and left in a careless pile. The Order's scouts had not exaggerated—something powerful had come through this place.
Riven crouched, brushing his fingers over a scorch mark. Still warm. His instincts sharpened, pulse quickening. The demon was close.
A low sound drifted through the clearing. At first, Riven thought it was the wind—but no. It was richer, deliberate. A laugh.
He rose swiftly, hand at his sword, scanning the shadows.
From between the trees, a figure emerged.
Not the snarling beast Riven expected, but a man—tall, lean, with the kind of dangerous grace that made him seem more like a predator than prey. His hair was dark, falling carelessly over his brow, and his eyes glowed faintly red, burning with a heat that cut through the night. He wore no armor, no claws or horns to bare—only a smile, curved like a blade, sharp and knowing.
"Well, well," the stranger drawled, his voice smooth, threaded with amusement. "Another hunter sent to kill me. You lot really don't tire of it, do you?"
Riven's blade was unsheathed in an instant, steel glinting beneath the moonlight. "Name yourself, demon."
The man chuckled, stepping closer with no fear at all. "Eryth. And you are?"
Riven didn't answer. His grip tightened on the hilt. Demons didn't deserve names, didn't deserve acknowledgment. They were curses upon the world. Monsters to be destroyed. Yet—he found himself hesitating.
Eryth tilted his head, studying him with curiosity, his crimson gaze catching every flicker of Riven's resolve. "Ah. Silent type. How refreshing. Most of your Order bark orders or spit threats. You… you're different."
"I'm nothing different," Riven said flatly. "I'm the one who's going to end you."
"End me?" Eryth's smile widened, though his eyes were unreadable. "You're welcome to try, hunter. But let me give you a warning…" He leaned forward just enough that the air between them seemed to crackle. "…Once you draw blood, you'll never stop thinking of me."
Riven's jaw tightened. The demon's words were meant to unsettle him, but what unsettled him most wasn't the threat—it was the strange truth to it. Even standing here, blade ready to strike, he could not ignore the pull. The way Eryth's presence clung to the air like smoke and fire.
For the first time in his life, Riven wondered if his duty would be as simple as killing a monster.
The hunt had begun.