“It’s me.” Riven’s voice was calm but quick, trying to soften the sharp tone that had just pierced the silence.

There was a pause, then from behind the wall appeared a small figure. Her face lit up with relief. “Riven! You’re finally back, I—”

Before she could finish, Riven’s hand flicked out and smack—a light knock landed on her head.

“Ow!” she cried, wincing as she grabbed her head. Her round eyes turned to Riven, caught between tears and annoyance, silently demanding to know why she was being punished.

Riven sighed deeply, his expression stern. “Didn’t I tell you? If you hear or see someone entering the house, you’re supposed to hide. What if it hadn’t been me? What if someone dangerous heard your voice?”

Melly, the little girl, dropped her head at once. Her voice shrank to a near whisper. “I… I know… but…”

Riven studied her face closely. Melly was only fourteen, yet she still carried a childlike innocence. Her skin was a pale olive, lighter than most who lived near the outskirts of Iskandria. Her black hair hung messily, the ends tangled and floating across her face. The stray strands made her look wild, yet somehow softened her features.

Her eyes were large, round, and the color of honey-brown. They held a warm glow, as though capable of calming the anger of anyone who met them. Her cheeks were soft and full, the kind that seemed always made for pinching, while her small lips looked pale yet sweet. Her clothes were worn, a rough woolen dress stitched and mended many times by her own hand, yet still kept neat. In spite of the simplicity, she looked like a small flower blooming amid the ruins.

“I… I actually knew it was you,” Melly spoke again, her voice softer, trying to defend herself. “It’s just… I hadn’t seen you all day. I was worried. So when I heard your steps… I got excited. I couldn’t help it.”

Riven fell silent. His hardened heart softened without his consent. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Teasingly, he pinched her cheek and pulled it aside.

“Auuh! Riven! Stop it!” Melly squeaked, struggling with her small hands.

“How could I have such a sweet sister? Maybe you’re not really my sister at all.” Riven chuckled, still tugging at her cheeks.

Melly pouted, swatting his hand away, trying to look serious. “Then maybe I’m the baker’s daughter. But too bad for you, no baker would have a child as pretty as me.”

Riven let out a laugh. “So full of yourself. Since when did you know you were pretty?”

“Since I realized my brother is ugly,” Melly shot back quickly, struggling to stifle her grin.

Riven feigned offense, pointing at himself. “What? I’m handsome, you know! Plenty of girls at the market look at me.”

“They look because your clothes are shabby. They feel sorry for you, not enchanted.”

Melly clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from laughing, but failed. Her laughter burst out, filling the small room.

Riven laughed too, though he pretended to glare. “You really… goodness, have I raised a brat?”

“No,” Melly answered at once, stepping closer and resting her head briefly against his arm. Her voice softened, full of sincerity. “You raised me well. Without you, I’d probably be dead by now.”

The room fell quiet. Riven stared at his sister, who tried to hide her face behind her hair. His chest ached with a mix of pain and warmth. He patted her head gently this time, without a knock.

“Don’t say that, silly,” he whispered.

Melly only nodded.

Riven’s thoughts drifted. He remembered who he once was. A man from Earth who had worked himself to death. His old life had been simple, yet full of burdens. Born in a poor country, he had struggled from childhood.

By the time he was twelve, his father had died in a work accident, and his mother had disappeared without a word. Riven had shouldered the weight of four starving siblings. He had left school, working every odd job he could find: café boy, food courier, construction laborer. He had lived on scraps, slept only a few hours a day, and still felt hungry.

Until one night, on his way home, his body gave out. Blood dripped from his nose, darkness swallowed his vision, and everything ended. Or perhaps… it had just begun.

He had been reborn into this strange world. A world of magic, monsters, and endless war. From childhood he had been forced to face its cruelty. Their parents were killed by monsters, leaving only one behind: Melly. His sister. His only reason to keep going.

Riven took a long breath and rose from the rickety chair. He ruffled Melly’s hair once more before saying, “I have to go.”

Melly’s head snapped up. “Go again? You just got back.”

“Yeah. You know how it is. If I don’t work, we don’t eat.”

Melly bit her lip, clearly fighting the urge to protest. At last, she only nodded. “Be careful.”

Riven gave her a faint smile. “I’m always careful. You know that.”

He picked up the worn leather bag from the corner and checked the rusty dagger tucked at his waist. His eyes lingered on Melly, standing in the middle of the room with her hair slightly disheveled from pushing it aside too often. She tried to smile, but it was too forced, a fragile mask over her worry.

Riven knew, in the end, everything he did was for that smile.

He reached for the patched black cloak hanging on the wall. The fabric was thin and frayed, but enough to cloak him in darkness. He put it on slowly, pulling the hood down to shadow his face. The faint sound of fabric brushing against itself echoed in the stillness of the room.

“Don’t get hurt, Brother.” Melly’s voice reached him again, softer this time, almost like a prayer forced into words.

Riven glanced back at her and gave a small nod. He didn’t need to say anything else. Everything he wanted her to know was already in his gaze.

He opened the creaking door and stepped outside. The night air rushed in at once, cold and damp, carrying the smell of wet earth mixed with lingering smoke from war. Trees crowded around the house, their branches swaying with the wind, clattering together like secret whispers.

With careful steps, Riven followed the path littered with fallen leaves. Each step crunched faintly, sharpening his senses. The sky was dark, heavy with storm clouds. The sun had nearly vanished, leaving only a dull red glow in the west, as though the world was slowly being wrapped in shadow.

Then, in the silence, a chill crept down his neck. His instincts tensed. Something—or perhaps someone—was quietly following him beneath the heavy shroud of clouds.

Riven did not turn around. He simply slowed his pace, sharpening his ears, while his fingers slid toward the handle of the rusty dagger at his waist.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep