Riven cast a brief glance at the corpse. The two halves of Marquess Briarwood’s body lay sprawled across the ground, his blood seeping into the damp earth like thick red ink on a ragged cloth. Not a shred of sympathy glimmered in his eyes—only a cold, blazing hatred, like embers smoldering in the depths of an unquenchable hell.

He drew a short breath. His beautiful silver sword now hung again at his waist, cold and heavy, like a burden of fate long destined to be swung. Though they had been apart for only a moment, the sword felt as though it had rejoined him, like a hand rediscovering its long-lost fingers.

Riven bowed his head slightly, letting out a hoarse exhale from the pain that once again seized his chest.

Melly.

The image of that small body being thrown into the ravine danced through his mind. He saw his sister’s black hair drifting through the air, her body flung like a broken doll, her small arms limp and powerless. Time seemed to freeze as the memory played before his eyes.

There was still a river down there, he had seen it when he tried to leap before Marquess struck him with his roots. And if the river was deep enough, if the current wasn’t too wild…

She might still be alive.

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.

Riven ran.

One final step—

And he leapt.

His body lifted from the ground, weightless for a heartbeat. Then dropped, swallowed by the waiting void below.

The night wind greeted him with a cruelty greater than he had expected. Cold air slapped his face, pierced his bones, as though the world itself sought to tear him apart before he could even hit the ground. The valley’s mist, hanging like a thin curtain, began to swallow him, blurring his vision into chaos. His heart pounded from that fragile hope dangling on the edge of impossibility.

He tore through the mist like a falling shadow.

And then—

SPLAAASH!

Riven’s body crashed into the river.

In that instant, everything went silent.

The water did not embrace him, it raged.

His body was hurled into the fury of nature. The river did not cradle, it seized and thrashed. Riven felt like he was being struck by a thousand fists all at once. Cold gnawed at every inch of his body, and pain surged through his ribs where they slammed into the surface.

“Ghh—AARGH!”

He almost screamed, but water rushed into his throat. His breath vanished. He was tossed, rolled, slammed by the torrent dragging him downward, smashing him into the stones beneath.

Pain.

His entire body felt cracked from within. He couldn’t tell where he was hurt, because everything was broken.

His head struck something hard underwater. His vision blurred. The world spun, boiling and black. He kicked upward, trying to rise, but the current was too strong. His arms were pulled by unseen hands, dragging him deeper.

“Melly…” he thought through the haze of fading awareness.

But even whispering her name in his mind was a battle against the sleep of death.

He thrashed. Kicked. Reached. But his body was too heavy. His clothes soaked, blood streaming from open wounds, and his sword—Riftmaker—still strapped to his back, pulled him under.

He tried to release it, but his fingers had no strength. The river spun him again, sucking him into its whirlpool. His face surfaced briefly—just enough to gulp half a breath—then down again.

His head swam. His chest burned. Oxygen disappeared.

“I… can’t…” he thought.

The world dimmed. Mist shadows above rippled. The roar of water shifted into a faint ringing in his ears. His whole body numbed. He knew consciousness was slipping.

But then, his left hand touched something—rock.

He dug his fingers into a narrow crevice. The grip was weak, but enough. He pushed himself, dragging his body toward the riverbank. His hand found a root dangling from the edge, and with the last of his strength, he pulled himself out of the water.

His feet found mud. His chest slammed into the ground.

“Hhhhgk—GHK!”

He coughed violently, spitting river water from his lungs. His breath came in choking, ragged gasps like a newborn’s first cries. His body trembled. Every inch shook with cold, his vision still a blur. But he had made it.

He was alive.

Barely.

Riven lay at the river’s edge, drenched and trembling, his breath broken. The wounds across his body throbbed, blood dripping from his ruined cheek, pain flaring in every muscle. But that pain was nothing compared to what now swelled inside him.

Despair.

He had just survived the terrifying fall, the deadly current of the river. He had nearly died. And Melly… Melly had been unconscious when she fell.

The thought slammed into him like a boulder, crushing his ribs from the inside.

“She… couldn’t have survived…”

A small voice whispered in his head. Logic forced him to face reality. No way. No way a little girl could survive that torrent.

But as his mind began to fracture, something deep within him rebelled.

No.

No!

If he stopped now… if he accepted Melly’s death…

Then it was over. His life was over. All his struggle, all his scars, all of it meaningless.

And Riven would not let that happen.

With a hoarse, trembling voice, he screamed, “MELLY!!”

The cry echoed through the trees, swept away by wind and river. But no answer came. Only silence. Only rain, beginning to fall from the gray sky above.

Riven forced his body to rise. His knees shook, the world spun around him, but he stood. Walked. Then ran. Along the raging riverbank. Each step brought agony. Each breath torn from a chest caged in stone.

“MELLYYY!!”

“MELLY—!!”

He kept running. His feet slogged through mud, navigating gnarled roots, leaping over slick stones. But his body hadn’t healed since he woke. His mana gone. His strength drained. His stomach churned with hunger and pain. His eyes blurred with exhaustion and the tears streaming down his torn cheeks.

“Answer me…” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Melly, please answer… please…”

But no voice came. No reply. Only the river’s roar and the sharp drumming of rain turned to storm.

The sky broke open. Rain poured, slamming into his face, mixing blood and mud. His hair clung to his skin, his clothes grew heavy, his body weaker. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He kept running… and then—

THUD!

His foot hit something. A large stone hidden beneath the flooding water. He fell, slamming hard on a bruised shoulder. His chest hit the mud, and his face briefly submerged in the freezing filth.

He pushed himself halfway up, stared at the stone, and screamed:

“DAMN YOU ROCK!!”

He punched the ground, slapped mud, and began to cry.

He cried.

Not in silence. Not like a stoic warrior. But with loud, broken sobs—the screams of a child who had lost everything.

“I—I HATE THIS!! WHY MELLY?!”

“WHAT DID SHE DO?! WHAT DID I DO?! WHY HER?!”

He pounded the ground over and over. His hand bled, but he didn’t care. He screamed as if the world owed him an answer, but the world was silent. Only the rain and the wind and the mocking rush of the river.

His eyes reddened. Snot ran down his nose. His mouth hung open in a grief too vast to contain.

Riven cried like a child.

He trembled on the ground, mud coating his body, rain washing over his blood, revealing a pale face and hollow eyes staring into the river.

Melly was dead.

That truth pierced deeper than any blade.

But deep within his soul, something still refused.

No.

Don’t die. Don’t you dare die. Please. Please stay alive.

Tears still flowed as he gripped the earth, hugging himself in suffocating emptiness. He didn’t know where to search. He didn’t know how long he’d last. But as long as his heart beat—

He wouldn’t stop.

Because giving up… meant dying with Melly.

Riven kept running along the river, wild and rising, threatening to swallow him too. The rain didn’t stop, it worsened. Wind lashed his face, whipped his broken cheeks, beat his faltering body.

But still, he ran.

His footsteps merged with the roar of water and thunder shaking the heavens. His hoarse cries for his sister were hurled into the dark, strangled by the storm and loss.

“MELLY!!”

No answer.

Then, in a moment of blurry steps and fading sight—lightning struck.

CRAAACK!!

A bolt split the night sky, and with a thunderous blast, a tree beside him exploded and collapsed to the earth.

Riven froze.

His body locked in place. Rain still lashed his face, but he didn’t move.

That thunder… it slapped him.

As if nature itself was screaming reality into his face.

Slowly… his knees buckled. He fell to the soaked earth, mud smearing his legs, sliding between trembling fingers. His shoulders rose and fell. Breath hitched. His eyes—empty.

Silence.

Only the heavens rumbling and the river churning. But inside Riven’s head, all went still.

Then came the memory.

A memory he had tried to bury, now rising again.

With a raspy, gasping voice, he spoke:

“Melly…”

“How… could you leave me alone in this world?”

His breath shattered between words. His voice broke, as though each syllable ripped another wound into his throat.

“I haven’t even told you about what happened…”

“I haven’t even properly apologized…”

“If I told you… you’d never forgive me…”

He bowed, his forehead touching the cold earth, hands gripping mud that offered no comfort.

“I’m sorry, Melly…”

“I’m sorry…”

And then he broke.

He kept whispering, those words repeated like a hopeless prayer:

“Sorry… forgive me… forgive me…”

The wind howled. The rain poured. But no one came to hold him. No small hands brushed his hair like they used to when he was wounded.

Only the night remained, staring back with empty eyes.

And the tears… that could never bring anyone back.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep