Somewhere miles from the city of Mondstadt, deep in the wilderness, a young man tossed and turned in his sleep within the quiet of a small wooden cabin. His skin was fair, his black hair damp with sweat, and though he looked to be in his mid-twenties, his restless expression made him seem older. Whatever he was dreaming, one word could describe it: a nightmare.
Screams echoed. Panic. Children crying. The sky above churned with unnatural colors as the world seemed to shudder beneath his feet. He ran—ran from something but what?
And then, darkness.
Riven's green eyes snapped open. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as he sat up in the cot, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Another nightmare," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
It had been over a month since he began living in the cabin.
In that time, the old man had taught him a great deal how to fish, track animals, hunt, build a fire, even craft tools like a stone axe. Survival skills, hard-earned and patiently passed down. But he'd also shared wisdom beyond survival: how to read people, how not to blindly trust others… and most importantly, that if you give someone your word, you honor it—no matter what.
Yet, for all he'd learned, not a single memory had returned.
Just flashes. Fragments. Dreams soaked in fear and confusion. Nightmares that vanished the moment he opened his eyes, leaving only the hollow ache of something lost.
When Riven asked Logan about the nightmares, the old man had simply said it might be his subconscious trying to piece itself back together. But there was another question that lingered, one that bothered Riven more than the dreams—how did he end up on that beach in the first place?
Logan claimed that no one ever came this far out. He was the only one who lived in the region, far from the city and deep in the wilderness. When Riven pressed him further, asking if he'd seen or heard anything that day, Logan had only shaken his head. "Everything was quiet," he said. "Didn't hear a thing, didn't see a soul."
That answer didn't sit well with Riven.
He slipped out of bed and stepped outside the cabin, the cool air brushing against his skin. His thoughts still churned. If Logan didn't hear or see anything… then maybe someone had dropped him off by boat, left him there intentionally. It was possible. But why?
He paused on the porch, glancing back at the cabin where Logan sat in his rocking chair, half-asleep, gazing silently into the trees.
His condition had worsened over the past few weeks. He rarely moved now, and when he did, it was slow, strained. Most of his time was spent in that chair, staring into the forest as if waiting for something—or someone that would never come.
It hurt to watch.
And it hurt even more knowing there was nothing Riven could do to stop it.
But the one hurting most… was Spark.
The loyal dog rarely left Logan's side anymore. He had grown quieter with each passing day, his usual energy dulled by the weight of his master's failing health. And Logan's granddaughter—she still didn't know. She believed he was off traveling, never suspecting he was slowly fading away alone in the wilderness.
One morning, as the sun barely touched the treetops, Logan broke the silence.
"Riven…" His voice was thin. "I know you've been here a month." He paused to cough—deep and harsh. "Didn't expect my health to take a turn like this. So… do us both a favor. Take Spark, and leave."
"Woof!" Spark barked sharply, stepping in front of Logan with a low growl, clearly protesting.
Logan offered a soft, pained smile. "Spark, listen to me. I'm dying. Faster than I imagined. But… I think the winds brought Riven to me for a reason. Maybe it was Barbatos's doing."
Riven shook his head, his voice firm. "Logan, I'm sorry… but I'm not leaving. If I go now, you'll starve out here. Someone has to look after you."
Logan gave a dry chuckle, the sound brittle. "Who said I plan to starve, kid? I'm going out on my own terms."
Riven's eyes widened. He understood what Logan meant.
Even Spark whimpered now, ears drooping, his entire body trembling at the words.
"Don't worry," Logan whispered, his eyes misting over. "I've been waiting for this day. To see my wife again… and my son. But before I go, there's something you need to do."
He turned his gaze toward the cabin, his voice a rasp. "There's a bag in my room. Inside are letters, keepsakes. Take it to my granddaughter. Her name is Amber. She's in Mondstadt, training to become a knight—just like I once was."
He coughed again, and this time, blood stained his sleeve.
"Follow the narrow path through the woods. It'll lead you to Oakfield. From there, it's a few days' walk to the City of Mondstadt."
Logan closed his eyes briefly, the fire in them dimming.
"Promise me, Riven… let her know I was thinking of her until the very end."
"I will, Logan. I'll remember everything you taught me," Riven said softly, his voice catching in his throat.
He stood there for a moment, just watching the old man—burning the memory into his mind—then turned and grabbed the worn bag Logan had mentioned, slinging it over his shoulder. At the doorway, he hesitated once more, glancing back.
Spark lingered beside Logan, unmoving, until the old man gave a quiet nod. Tail low, the loyal dog padded over to Riven, ears drooping. He didn't want to leave—but he obeyed.
They started down the narrow path, silence stretching between them.
Then, behind them, a distant gunshot cracked through the forest. Birds scattered into the sky.
Riven stopped and turned, eyes fixed on the cabin hidden among the trees. A single tear slipped down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away.
He just kept walking.