Recap
Arriving in Blackstone under heavy rain, Riven's group learns the city is on edge after the murder of the governor's nephew. Suspicion runs deep — especially between Riven and the white-and-gold knight. But the moment they settle into the Iron Cask inn, the man in the green coat walks through the door, blade at his side, and his eyes fixed firmly on Riven.
Part 1 — The Man Who Didn't Blink
The man in the green coat moved with the kind of deliberate calm that only came from one of two things — extreme confidence, or a death wish.
Riven had seen both before. Usually, they looked exactly the same.
The common room's low chatter died in stages. First the bard's string fell silent. Then the dice stopped rolling. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to crackle quieter, as if the flames themselves didn't want to be noticed.
The man didn't hurry. He wove through tables without brushing a single sleeve or jostling a single mug. When he finally stopped, it was two strides from Riven's table.
"You took your time," Riven said, voice flat.
The man tilted his head slightly. "It's polite to let the prey grow comfortable before the hunt."
Ysera's chair scraped against the floor. "Friend—" she began, but the man's gaze slid past her as if she didn't exist.
"You're carrying it," he said to Riven, his tone soft but edged like honed steel. "The blade that hums."
The sword stirred in Riven's mind, voice curling like smoke. "Oh, I like him."
Riven's fingers brushed the hilt beneath the table. "And what if I am?"
The man's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then tonight, one of us leaves this city lighter by one head."
Part 2 — The Stairwell Ambush
It didn't happen in the common room.
That would have been too public — too many eyes, too many variables.
The man in the green coat turned away without another word, drifting toward the stairs that led to the upper floors. He didn't look back. Didn't have to.
Riven waited ten slow heartbeats before pushing away from the table.
No one stopped him. Not Ysera. Not the white-and-gold knight. Not even the hooded shadow.
The sword whispered in his mind, "They want to see how you handle yourself. Or maybe they want to see you bleed."
The stairwell was narrow, lit only by a single wall sconce that sputtered against the damp air. The wood creaked underfoot.
Halfway up, Riven saw him — leaning casually against the rail as if he'd been waiting all night.
"I thought you wanted my head," Riven said.
The man's hand rested on his blade's hilt. "I do. But the quiet places are always better for business."
The draw was fast — steel sang as both weapons cleared their sheaths. The green coat lunged first, the narrow blade flashing like a dart toward Riven's ribs.
Riven twisted sideways, the edge whispering past his coat, and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest. They crashed against the wall, the impact rattling the sconce and sending shadows spinning across the stairwell.
The man recovered instantly, his strikes quick and precise — meant to puncture, not slash. Riven's sword met each thrust with a ringing deflection, the confined space forcing them close enough to smell each other's breath.
From the corner of his vision, Riven caught movement at the top of the stairs. A figure — still as stone — watching.
The sword's voice sharpened. "We're not alone, boy. And that one's deciding who to help."
Part 3 — When the First Blood Falls
The watcher at the top of the stairs didn't move.
Riven couldn't see their face in the dim light, only the faint outline of their frame — a slight tilt of the head, as if studying a painting.
The man in the green coat pressed harder, his strikes gaining speed. Riven's blade caught them all, but each parry drove him one step lower on the stairs. The rail bit into his hip. One wrong move and his balance would be gone.
A feint — the man's blade dipped, then flicked upward. The tip kissed Riven's cheek. Warmth spread along his skin.
First blood.
The sword pulsed in his mind, its voice hungry now. "Enough playing. End him."
But Riven hesitated. Because the watcher… stepped forward.
Light caught their face — and it was the white-and-gold knight.
She moved without urgency, her boots silent on the wood. Her hand rested casually on her sword, but she didn't draw. She just watched.
The man in the green coat grinned at her presence. "You're late."
Her voice was even. "You didn't need me to start. You might need me to finish."
That was all Riven needed to hear to know the truth — they knew each other.
His grip tightened. Betrayal wasn't coming later. It was already here.
Part 4 — The Two-on-One
The air in the stairwell changed.
It wasn't just the cramped heat of two bodies fighting — it was the third presence, the subtle pressure of someone deciding whether to join in… or to strike from behind.
The white-and-gold knight didn't announce herself further. She just descended another step, eyes flicking between Riven and the man in the green coat as though weighing their worth.
The man's smile deepened. "It's almost unfair."
Riven's jaw tightened. "You think so? Let's test it."
The man attacked again, his narrow blade darting like a serpent. This time, the knight moved too — a smooth sidestep that closed the space behind Riven. Her gauntlet brushed the small of his back. Deliberate. Blocking his retreat.
The sword's voice growled. "She's boxing you in. Take the high ground."
Easier said than done. In the confined stairwell, every movement risked catching on the wall or railing. Steel clanged against steel in sharp bursts, the rhythm almost too fast to follow. The man's thrusts pushed Riven upward, the knight's presence keeping him from sidestepping out.
Then she spoke again, quiet but clear. "Disarm him."
It was an order — not to Riven.
The man feinted low, then snapped his blade toward Riven's sword arm. Pain flared as the edge kissed flesh, forcing Riven to shift his grip. The knight's armored hand shot forward, aiming to wrench the weapon free.
But Riven wasn't done yet.
He let the blade's voice guide his arm, pivoting hard and driving his elbow into the knight's breastplate. The clang echoed in the stairwell as she stumbled back a step.
The man's grin vanished. The knight's eyes narrowed.
"Bad news," the sword whispered, almost pleased. "Now they're both going to try to kill you."
Part 5 — The Drop
The stairwell was now a cage.
Two opponents above him, no way to slip past, and nowhere to retreat except downward — straight into the common room, where half the patrons were probably watching this play out with more interest than the bard's songs.
The man in the green coat lunged again. The knight shifted in from the side, her blade finally drawn, the polished steel catching the sputtering light.
The sword in Riven's hand vibrated with anticipation. "Break them. Or break the floor."
It wasn't a bad idea.
Riven parried the man's thrust, but instead of following through, he slammed his shoulder into him — hard — forcing the green coat back against the knight. The two collided, breaking their perfect formation for just a heartbeat.
Riven used that heartbeat.
He shoved upward, twisting the man's arm, then hooked a boot against the top step's edge. With a sharp kick, the old, rotting wood splintered.
The stair gave way beneath them.
For one dizzying instant, all three were falling — steel flashing, splinters raining, the knight's gauntlet clawing for a hold. The man in the green coat twisted mid-air, trying to land on his feet.
Riven didn't care how he landed. He just aimed for the table below.
They crashed through it in an explosion of wood and tankards, scattering startled patrons. Ale soaked Riven's coat. Pain shot through his ribs.
The man in the green coat rolled to his feet, bleeding from his temple, but still smiling. The knight rose more slowly, her eyes burning with a silent promise.
Riven didn't wait to hear it.
He was already moving — out the door, into the rain-slick streets of Blackstone. His breath ragged. His sword whispering, "We made it out. But they're going to follow."
Preview for Chapter 6
The streets of Blackstone are a labyrinth at night — wet stone, shadowed alleys, and eyes watching from windows. But the most dangerous hunter isn't behind Riven… it's already ahead, waiting in the dark.
Call to Action
If you're hooked, don't just read — follow the story, drop a rating, and tell me who you think the real traitor is. Because the moment you think you've figured it out… you're wrong.