The day dragged on, as Riven waited in anticipation. The densely grown forest spanned for miles in every direction, a shield from the world. Karn stood beside him, staring into the distance. The sound of metal could be heard, but not seen, for it sounded from many miles away.
His father was an enigma, what with having lived as a drifter after the last great war. He had suddenly retired, quoting Let the younger ones have their fun. This was a shock to the many who knew him, and an even greater one to the few who knew him well.
Despite his old age and retired status, the few times there had been visitors, fear could be smelled in the air. Those meetings were tense, and Riven wanted no part of them.
A gentle breeze brushed against his hair; it was a perfect day, yet everything seemed off. Too perfect. The wheat field paved a path as he crossed over to his father Karn. Across from him, his father sighed.
A tremor racked his body, and for a quick second, the remnants of pain could be seen, lingering on his face. Feebleness came with age, of which Karn was no stranger, but he had not quite reached the age where the problems began.
The War. Riven concluded, the spasms were no longer an odd occurrence, but a daily one. It prevented him from rough labor, but his father paid no heed to the advice the local healer had given; he was determined to work.
I will rest when I am dead.
That is what his father had told him, much to his dismay, and the dismay of the healer that cost a pretty penny to summon. The remnants of battles fought decades ago still haunted him to this day.
Riven had a slight suspicion that if he had not troubled himself so, Karn would have been in better condition. Of course, this might not be the case; the lingerings of war are uncertain and cruel. There was no way to be certain, his father had never felt the need to speak about the past.
Riven stared at the aged face of Karn, sighing as he went.
***
A dull creak from the pale wood floor announced his entry into his room. Steeling his resolve, he opened his closet. He glanced at his reflection, which stared back at him from the perfectly kept iron spear he had left hidden. It was no time to relax.
Twirling it in a circle as he grasped it, he grinned. Here his future lies, in the way of the spear.
An opportunity.
It was a lifeline, cast by the forger who had gifted him the weapon upon reaching adulthood. A spearmaster. They were far and few, after all, not many carried a spear over a sword.
His room was bare, an ideal place for him to practice the way of the spear. Without hesitation, he leapt forward with a thrust. Not in any sophisticated demeanor, but efficient nonetheless. He took one step back, slicing diagonally as he went, following up with an immediate spin.
Momentum carried his weight, adding power to the blow, a soft wind produced in the room, cut off from the world. After he had repeated his routine, ensuring it was done sufficiently, he collapsed on his bed with leaden limbs.
Riven opened his eyes the next day, which dilated from the beams of sunlight, as he peered through the window. Riven couldn't place it; something just felt off. The serenity of the silence betrayed his suspicions, peaceful, yet frightening.
It was rare for his house to be as still as today; often it was filled with familiar yelling, the hustle of the villagers, and the sounds of the animals. In Seldirin, there was never a dull moment. Hollow. He heard a whisper as he eavesdropped on his father; no wonder.
There were only rumors about the supposed wraiths that had felled many villages in the past. It was only by sheer luck that Seldirin had avoided them; the devils of mankind. His father broke the silence.
"Riven! Join me today, I need your strength."
There was no choice; his father was unyielding, standing for no impertinence or disobedience. He was also aging. Riven ensured his stomach had been filled and then left the house, following his father deep into the woods, far from the protection of the barrier. His father suddenly stopped, turning to look at Riven.
"You will carry the wood I cut to the storage. In my old age my limbs have grown weak."
A dull sizzle, and from his finger a three-inch blade of flames formed. Riven stared, forgetting his task for a moment, it was a rare sight; seeing his father use his ink. Runic tattoos swirled down his arm as he used his finger and one by one, sliced each log into the correct proportions.
Ten trips. The sheer amount of wood his father had cut, and the burden that had been placed on Riven. Clouds covered the sky, as it darkened, and the sun was shaded out, covered by the moon. An omen.
For a moment, Riven might have believed it was his imagination. If he had not looked over, seeing his father tremble in fear. A cloud of smoke approached, leaving death and misery in its wake. A mouse died, shrubbery turned gray and crumbled. Birds fell to the floor, landing in awkward positions.
With a jolt, he noticed the strange beings, floating over, clearly lacking a set of limbs below their torso. Their reptilian yellow eyes froze Riven for a moment, entranced by their beauty. The gray, crumbling skin. They reeked of nothing more than horror and devastation. The forest surrounding the four wraiths withered, the happiness struck from the world. As if they were god's own mistake, running rampant to his dismay.
It had only been a moment, but Riven was paralyzed, covered in sweat. His father's words brought him back to reality.
"Impossible… I was assured they were towns over!" His father whispered, turning back to Riven as he did so. "Run! If you hesitate, you will die! Do not turn nor look back!"
Karn assumed a battle-ready stance as heat erupted from his body, caking Riven in sweat, ripping the oxygen from the air. His face hardened as fire leapt from his fingers. Riven turned and ran. He heard a thud behind him but did not falter, placing his trust in Karn, his father.