A figure sat on something that looked like a broken pillar. The downpour was heavy, barely letting the moon be visible, and the figure looked up.
It seems they're still following me
The figure stood. It was a boy of average height. His long, raven-black hair blew in the wind. His eyes were dead, like a corpse's, and his skin was ghostly pale. Around his neck, something darker than the moonless night itself was tied. He wore black, which made him almost invisible.
He moved his gaze upwards, looking toward the distance. There was a massive wall that loomed ahead. It was barely visible due to the absence of light, but it was visible nonetheless. He coughed twice.
It's time to go.
He began to walk, moving through the downpour with nothing to shield him. After a while, he sighed and reached something that once looked like a moat that circled around the massive wall. The moat was empty— the water that was once inside was gone. The colossal wall was about 90 meters tall and seemed to circle around the city. He raised his head up, trying to find the top of the wall, but he couldn't see anything.
How did humans manage to build something like this?
He looked around, trying to find a way across, then found a bridge. He moved toward it. Then he walked across the bridge, then saw massive double gates— or what remained of them. One of the gates was missing while the other was severely destroyed. It barely connected to its hinges, just swaying in the wind, making a very nerve-wracking sound. He took a few steps, walking past the destroyed gates.
His head whipped around— a sudden, almost violent snap that belied his earlier stillness.
It seems they're getting closer.
He moved into the city. The city was in ruins. Destroyed roofs, houses missing— some were blackened, indicating fire, and some were gone entirely. He could only see this because the rain was starting to let up, and the moon was starting to become visible.
He moved in further into the city.
Three figures were moving through the moonless night with incredible speed. They were on horses. One raised their hand, halting the charge. They came down from the horse, placing their hand on the muddy ground.
"It seems he's close."
The leader remounted, signaling the others to follow through the city gates. They rode through the ruined city, past what was once a bustling human settlement
After a while, they passed a bell. It was the same height as an average man.
And then they saw it— a figure that sat there in the rain.
He sat slouched sideways on a jagged, fractured piece of stone— maybe once part of a ruined wall or shattered column. One arm draped lazily along the cracked edge behind him, fingers hooked loosely as if the weight of his body meant nothing. His other hand rested on his thigh, relaxed, careless. One leg was lifted, ankle balanced over the opposite knee, giving him an air of effortless dominance. His torso leaned slightly toward the propped leg, spine curved, posture casual yet commanding— like someone who had seen too much to care and survived too much to fear.
The three figures were looking up at him. He sat atop a half-collapsed building.
They came down from their horses, and one said:
"Why run?"
He let out a sigh.
"You can't escape the Order. They own you."
He slowly moved his head toward the three beneath him.
"Is that so?"
One of the three stepped forward and said:
"Test Subject: 665A. Codename: Riven. We're here to apprehend you for desertion."
He let out a laugh— sharp, bitter, and far too loud for the silence that had fallen. It wasn't humor that twisted his lips, but something far colder. Sarcasm, perhaps or a hollow mockery of it. His laugh echoed within the ruined city.
One of the figures below asked,
"What's so funny? Please, do tell."
Riven didn't move; all he did was shift his gaze toward the bell.
"Three Mask users— and Firstborn no less."
He paused, then stood up.
"If the Order thinks that's enough to catch me, you are sorely mistaken."
The three started putting on something that looked like masks over their faces, getting ready for a fight. But he didn't jump down— all he did was stare at them, as if looking down on them.
He grabbed a splintered beam from the wreckage and hurled it at the bell. It struck with a hollow clang, the sound spreading through the silence like ripples through oil.
At first, nothing happened.
But then, tremors began. The ground itself was shaking.
Then it stopped.
And then— behind the three— a hand came out of the ground.
And slowly, its entire body revealed itself.