The silence after the slaughter wasn't quiet.
It was the kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums until you started hearing your own pulse.
Daigo shifted his weight like he wanted to speak—then stopped.
The silver-eyed woman just kept watching me. No blink. No breath.
And then the floor exhaled.
I don't mean wind. I mean lungs.
A hot, wet rush of air rose from beneath the cracked black stone, carrying the smell of old meat. The corpses at our feet didn't stay corpses for long—blood slid off them in rivulets, snaking toward the glowing cracks like it was being drained.
The Keeper's voice slid into my head again.
You take without asking…
You overwrite what I have written…
The air thickened. My soldiers' armor began to frost—not from cold, but from sheer pressure, like the atmosphere itself was being crushed.
The glowing cracks widened, spiderwebbing across the chamber until the floor looked like it might split entirely.
I didn't need to guess what would happen if it did.
"Formation—" I started.
The ground heaved.
Black stone tiles rose like the back of some massive beast. Fissures spat out red mist, and from them… something crawled.
Not stitched this time.
These things looked human. Perfectly human.
Too perfect. Skin without pores, eyes like glass, hair that didn't move.
Every face was beautiful—and completely empty.
The Keeper whispered, almost tender:
If you will not walk the path I give you…
You will face the one I denied myself.
The glass-eyed figures moved as one.
Their feet didn't touch the ground—they slid toward us.
My soldiers readied their weapons, but the link between us was… wrong.
Heavy. Dull. Every instinct screamed that fighting these things would not be the same as fighting stitched flesh.
The first one reached the line.
It raised a hand—not to strike—but to touch.
The soldier it touched froze.
His eyes clouded. His sword dropped.
Then… he turned it on the man beside him.
Daigo barked, "Riven—!"
I already knew.
These weren't enemies to cut down.
They were corruption.
One by one, the glass-eyed things touched my soldiers, and one by one, my formation collapsed into chaos.
Swords turned inward. Shields slammed against brothers-in-arms.
It wasn't frenzy—it was precise.
They fought like they'd been training for this moment their whole lives.
Daigo ripped a man off his feet and threw him back, snarling. "It's in their heads—cut the connection!"
Easier said than done.
The link between me and my soldiers pulsed like a vein under a knife. I could feel the Keeper's presence in it—slick, cold, invasive.
He wasn't just controlling them.
He was rewriting them.
The silver-eyed woman still stood there, unmoving, her gaze locked on me. She didn't so much as flinch when one of the corrupted soldiers stumbled within arm's reach. They ignored her entirely, like she wasn't even part of this world.
I drew in a breath, grounding myself.
Kill the soldiers, and I lose my army.
Let them live, and they'll gut each other.
Fine. No killing.
But pain?
Pain was still on the table.
I lunged at the nearest corrupted man, slamming my palm against the back of his neck. A jolt of mana cracked through him like a whip. His knees buckled, his grip on his sword loosening. For a heartbeat, his eyes flickered—not glass, but human.
The Keeper's voice purred.
You're making them suffer, Riven. For what? Pride? Refusal?
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
The way my pulse spiked told him enough.
Behind me, Daigo roared as two corrupted soldiers pinned him. Steel rang against steel.
The air grew thicker, that wet-meat scent drowning out every other thought.
And then—
The silver-eyed woman finally moved.
Not toward the fight.
Toward me.
Her footsteps didn't make a sound.
Not from stealth—this floor simply chose not to acknowledge her weight.
She stopped an arm's length away.
No sword. No raised hand.
Just those silver eyes, unblinking, reflecting me back in perfect detail.
"Riven," she said, and my name in her mouth felt… wrong. Like the syllables were folded twice before they reached me.
I gripped my weapon tighter. "I didn't give you permission to use that."
The faintest curve of a smile. "You think you own your name? You think you own anything here?"
Her voice wasn't loud.
But every corrupted soldier froze mid-swing. Daigo stumbled backward, blinking, as his attackers simply stopped breathing.
It was just us.
Her. Me.
The Keeper's silence pressing down like a stone lid.
"You've made him curious," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Few ever do. Fewer still… survive it."
The Keeper's presence slithered across my thoughts, a familiar cold.
I'd felt it before—when he offered me the bargain.
Now it was closer.
Leaning in.
"I'm not interested in his curiosity," I said.
Her smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Then you're already losing. Curiosity is the only reason you still draw breath."
Something shifted in the air. The walls rippled like they were breathing.
The ground beneath my feet went soft, spongy.
She took another step forward. Close enough that I could see the faint veins in her silver irises.
Close enough that if I swung, I might land the hit—if the Keeper allowed it.
"Riven," she whispered. "Do you want to wake up from this floor… or do you want to drown in it?"
The floor split.
Not a crack—more like a wound opening, stitched walls of black sinew pulling apart beneath my boots.
No heat. No wind. Just… the kind of darkness that feels wet in your lungs.
She didn't move, didn't blink, even as the hole widened until it was big enough to swallow both of us.
"This is where you find out," she said softly. "What you're worth without your tricks."
The Keeper's presence pressed harder.
I could hear him now—not words, but the rhythm of something massive breathing inside my skull.
Daigo's voice was faint, muffled, like he was calling to me from behind glass. I didn't look back.
If this was bait, I was already on the hook.
The floor gave way under my right boot. I should've fallen, but instead the darkness pulled me in like water.
It was cold. So cold my bones felt like glass.
Then it hit—
A memory. Not mine.
A hundred soldiers kneeling, heads bowed. A city burning behind them.
And in the middle of them, a boy about my age, eyes hollow, wearing a crown of black iron.
"You know him," she said beside me.
It wasn't a question.
I forced my voice steady. "I've never seen him before."
Her smile was almost pity. "You've been him before."
The darkness surged, dragging me deeper. Shapes moved below—things with too many limbs, too many faces, all watching without blinking.
One by one, they began to kneel.
The Keeper's voice finally broke through, like a whisper in the marrow of my bones.
Claim them, and they are yours.