The wind in the forest had changed.
Saphira could feel it.
Her gaze lifted, as her fingers clutched close to her chest.
The air once heavy with mist...had seemed to grow still.
The voice she'd heard, the voice of Riven had gone quiet.
"...Where are you?" she whispered.
It was dark, the smell was unbearable.
The list of things to describe the scenery would have kept her for centuries; a fate worse than death it seemed.
"...ha...."
Her breath clouded as her feet splashed through puddles of red.
Squelch.
Squelch.
'...Was that voice even his?'
The longer the voice had gone silent, the more her thoughts whirred.
The atmosphere didn't help either.
"...ha..."
She felt suffocated, almost pushed down by an unspeakable weight.
Squelch.
'...I can't believe it...'
'The notebook....'
It wasn't clear cut, it wasn't a guarantee, but what other trees had the Veil harboured?
What other trees could those villagers meant?
'...What else could have done that to them?'
It was another weight that had threatened to topple her.
Squelch.
Another taste that had unsettled her on her tongue.
'...Riven.'
She wanted to call out to him.
To shout his name so loud he'd hear...
She didn't. Her fingers clutched the openings of her coat, a tugged pull, as her own crimson gaze swept all around.
Who knew what else was harboured here?
The forest floor was wet.
Squelch.
Thick.
Simmering in a way that felt wrong.
A substantial question that deepened its meaning the more she walked, flowed:
'What happened here?'
There isn't any forest like this recorded on anything...'
Squelch.
It was almost innocent...
Innocent in a way that, not everything could be explained, nor needed to be explained.
As a princess, she'd been taught that knowledge was control...
Squelch.
Maybe this was an exception. Maybe this was something not meant to be understood.
Squelch.
Squelch.
She kept moving, her golden hair swaying constantly as her head moved.
After everything that's happened, she learnt to always be on her toes...
Squelch.
But as she moved, her steps began to slow...
'Something feels...off.'
A rumble ran through her stomach.
It wasn't hunger.
The blood around her had still dripped down from the barks of trees, the pungent metallic smell had still consistently pulled at her...but those weren't it.
Thum.
It was small at first.
The wind shifted.
It carried something with it.
Thum.
It wasn't a heartbeat.
Thum.
It didn't even seem to belong.
It was heavy...but it wasn't the forest...
Thum.
She didn't hear it straight away, but it didn't take long...
THUM!
It didn't take long for the sound to engulf the very surroundings itself.
She froze, a brief stun before her lips slowly parted:
"...W-what is that?"
-----------------------
It was done.
Riven was dead.
Drenn stood before the cocoon of blood, its pulses had stopped, its calls had silenced.
Nothing could survive that...
The trembling sphere suspended above the forest's floor, its surface rippling like breath trapped beneath its skin.
The forest had gone still.
The medallion on his neck glowed faintly, the etches of the chalice seemingly filling.
"Another vessel returned," he murmured, his voice as rough as the smell.
"The Lord will feast."
Shrrhh....shrhh....
The forest exhaled, as if acknowledging the words that had praised their master.
Drenn's bony fingers curled in the air, the threads of crimson floating above his cradle.
There was no triumph in his tone.
There was triumph in his actions.
It was surgical.
It was precise.
A necessity.
This was a kill that had transpired before he'd even appeared.
It was clear.
This was what Drenn, the Crimson Rhyme had lived for:
The hunt.
The paranoia.
The anxiety.
The slow decline.
The wish not to live anymore...
The silence after the struggle.
The acceptance of the end.
It was done.
Riven was dead.
Now, it was time to find her.
Squelch. Squelch.
Steps sounded, as Drenn moved forward.
There was nothing further to discuss here.
He turned his back to the cocoon.
"The ritual awaits..."
Squelch.
His tall figure paved through, the blood seemingly charting a path.
Was it guiding him to her?
"Wait for me, blessed one."
His voice carried through the blood-hazed air, almost sincere.
Shrrhh....shrhh....
Each step pressed deeper.
Squelch.
The darkened blade at his hip glinted under the hue of the red.
Squelch.
Another step.
Squelch.
Then another.
The forest exhaled, low and drawn, almost breathing with him.
The blood bubbled as it always had done before.
Thum...
But a pulse echoed softly through the air.
It wasn't the pulse of air, or the pulse of haemoglobin.
Thum...
It wasn't a heartbeat.
It was something heavier.
Squelc--
Drenn's steps slowed to a halt, his mask slightly tilting to the side, as his eyes looked back.
Thum...
The forest went deathly silent.
The air had stopped whispering.
Something was coming...
Then came another pulse: louder, heavier.
THUM!
The cocoon shuddered once.
THUM!
Twice.
Splashes of red burst outwards, crashing towards the ground in steaming puddles.
A shine passed through those ember slits. Drenn's body had now turned completely, angled watching the procession; no words came out of his mouth.
THUM!
Every pulse gave the cocoon a darker colour, a darker shade, a darker meaning.
THUM!
Every pulse gave its surface another strain, another pain.
It was expanding.
THUM!
It was splitting open in slow, jerking pulses.
THUM!
The sound deepened.
It seemed louder than any sound the forest had conveyed itself.
THUM!
Its surface tore wider, and wider.
Spllrrsshhhhh!
Red spilled out, gushing like an untamed river.
THUM!
Drenn didn't move.
His gaze lingered on the cracks forming through the shape, on the light that shouldn't have existed.
THUM!
The kind of light that eclipsed, rather than shone.
THUM!
Something wasn't coming.
No.
THUM!
The forest bent.
The blood all around halted mid-flow.
THUM!
More cracks spread, expunging the flows of red across the forest's surface.
Something inside breathed.
Drenn could hear it.
Drenn could feel it.
THUM!
In those pulses of thum's:
A sound followed...
It wasn't the forest.
It wasn't a plea.
It wasn't a scream nor a roar...
It was a long, wet exhale, one that spread through, twisting through the trees.
Shhrrrchhh....Splllrrrsshhh!
The shell had tore open, and with it? A red mist burst out, swallowing the clearing whole.
Shrrchhh...
It spread like fresh ice sponged in water.
The air fell still.
The mist hung heavy. It felt alive, instead of moving with the wind, the wind moved with it.
Drenn's eyes narrowed behind that pale mask.
It all felt too quiet.
But then...came a breath:
Quiet. Ragged.
Human.
From the heart of the mist, something shifted:
Flesh, pale and trembling, pressed through the remains of smoke.
It looked like something was being born.
Thum.
It looked like something had returned.
Thum.
It looked like it wasn't over.
Thum. Thum.
Not even close.
But...how could he have survived?
The faint hiss of mist, sounded through the air as it retreated into the soil.
The figure lingered in the haze; head lowered, arms slack at his sides.
Steam seemed to coil faintly from his skin.
Drenn watched him. No words at first.
Only the faint tilt of his masked face and the shifting of his medallion rung.
Then, quietly:
"You aren't dead."
No answer.
The figure didn't flinch. Didn't breathe.
Head lowered, arms loose, steam still rising from his skin, blood still clotted across his visage.
It felt more like a forgotten statue.
A short silence returned, but it didn't feel normal...
It felt different.
It had weight.
Drenn's gaze lingered. The blood at his feet rippled, seemingly drawn towards the figure's shadow as if by gravity itself.
There....was still no reaction.
It continued, not a stale mate, but more like the stoppage of time.
The thum's had gone.
The forest had hushed its sounds.
Drenn's fingers twitched once.
The motion was minuscule, barely a tremor, but it happened nonetheless.
"...You should not be standing."
Silence.
All around the trees seemed to intertwine, masking the pair in a darkness only seen through by hues of red.
There was still no answer.
Drip.
A drop fell.
One drop of blood. It slid from the figure's chin to the ground below.
A soft impact...but one that shuddered the very air itself.
His head rose.
What emerged from beneath that face wasn't rage, but it wasn't life either.
His eyes opened, dim, unfocused.
It was empty.