The world was asleep.
No bells were chiming in the city, no merchants were carting goods and calling out to customers, and no kids were bickering and yelling. No barking dogs could be heard. The only thing reminding Riven that the world still existed was the cold breath of wind passing through the half-closed windows and broken roofs.
Riven sat up at around 3 AM in the morning, as if something deep inside had tapped him awake.
His eyes flicked to the ceiling.
Quiet.
He felt a pull again. It wasn't loud or hurting—just a gentle tug. It felt like a string inside his chest was pulling him.
He rose to his feet and grabbed the small cloth bag he had packed the night before--some stale bread, a flask of water, and a cracked knife he had stolen from the kitchen. Nothing else.
No one saw him leave.
No one wanted to watch.
There were no guards at the orphanage. Just bad locks and a group of tired children. He was a shadow; after years of learning how to be invisible, moving like a shadow came easily.
Some boards in the hallway creaked, so he avoided them. The staircase only groaned if he didn't lean left, but he happened to lean left.
A small hatch hidden behind the rusty shelves at the back, near the storage room, was a remnant of the building's past. He had discovered it by chance.
Tonight was the night of his exit.
The hatch opened with a soft click, revealing the stone crawlspace below.
To get to the opening in the outer wall where the bricks had crumbled over time, he knelt, dropped in, and crawled beneath the foundation.
He managed to get through.
The city lights were distant now.
And he was outside.
The grass moved softly on both sides. The horizon looked black, with a little light from dawn in the distance.
Riven didn't look back.
There was no point. He didn't have many memories of living in that place; all he experienced were looks of inferiority from others.
"Whatever's calling me… It's not here."
He walked.
He continued despite the cold biting through his thin clothing. His boots crunched softly against the dirt and old pebbles as his breath formed clouds in front of him.
After a while, the path became lined with tall, twisted trees that murmured as the wind blew through them. A bird screamed somewhere in the woods; perhaps it wasn't even a bird.
He hesitated.
Listened.
Nothing changed.
His heart was still pounding, but it wasn't from fear, but something else.
"So this is the world outside the city…", he murmured
It seemed larger.
Once—gently—the mark on his chest pulsed.
Through his shirt, he touched it.
It's still cold. Faintly glowing still.
He continued walking until the stars dimmed.
Until the sky turned a deep indigo instead of black, the first signs of morning appeared over the treetops.
Behind him, the city had vanished.
And going forward...
An obstacle in the way.
In the direction of the trade towns, one road curved eastward.
The other vehicle turned into the misty, unmarked hills that had not been explored.
The tug in his chest intensified.
He was aware of his destination.
"No idea what's waiting for me out there…"
"But I can't stay weak forever."
He stepped off the path and into the mist.