Riven's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward again.
The mist had thinned enough now that the forest stretched out in clearer shapes around him. Tall gray pines rose like silent pillars, their bark rough and scarred in ways that felt strangely familiar.
He slowed.
There.
A crooked pine leaned at an awkward angle beside the faint path ahead, its trunk twisted where lightning had struck it long ago. One side was blackened, the other stubbornly alive.
Riven stopped walking.
His gaze drifted across the ground.
A narrow stone ridge jutted out of the earth nearby, half-covered in moss. Just beyond it lay the broken stump of a tree that had been split clean through the middle.
He remembered that stump.
For a moment he simply stood there.
Then his gaze lifted.
And he saw it.
A dark opening in a rock face ahead.
A cave.
The same cave where he had once stood trembling with a lantern in his hand. The same cave where an Icefang Bear had nearly torn him apart while guarding a single Frostdew Flower.
Riven stared at the entrance.
"…No way," he murmured.
The realization settled slowly.
Almost without thinking, he looked down at the compass again.
The small silver disc gleamed faintly in the dim forest light. The green needle inside pointed steadily forward.
In the same direction, he had walked toward back then after slaying the bear.
Riven stood there for another moment, gaze returning to the cave entrance.
The wind stirred faintly through the pines, carrying the cold scent of stone and damp earth.
Back then, that cave had felt like the mouth of death.
He could still remember the weight of the lantern in his hand. The way the cold had crawled into his bones as he stepped deeper inside. The quiet breathing of the bear as it slept beside the Frostdew Flower.
And how certain he had been that he might not walk back out again.
Back then it had taken everything he had just to survive that fight.
Broken ribs. A desperate gamble. One last burst of speed that nearly tore his body apart.
Now…
He looked back toward the cave again.
The entrance seemed smaller than he remembered.
Not less dangerous.
Just… less overwhelming.
The struggle from back then now seemed insignificant.
Riven turned away from the cave.
The compass was already gone, tucked back inside the ring.
He didn't need it anymore.
The path ahead wasn't unfamiliar to him.
He stepped past the crooked pine and continued through the forest, the ground rising gradually beneath his feet as the terrain shifted toward the familiar slopes of the mountains.
The Graypine Forest thinned slowly as he walked.
The trees grew farther apart, their shadows stretching long across the rocky ground. Through the branches ahead, pale stone began to appear between the trunks.
Walls.
Terraced slopes.
Green-tiled roofs catching the light high above the forest line.
Riven slowed.
The Venomthread Sect.
He was back.
And it was the same as ever.
Perched along the mountainside in quiet, careful symmetry. Deceptively white stone structures layered one above another along carved terraces, their green-glazed roofs rising like scales against the pale cliffs.
Wind chimes stirred somewhere in the distance.
From this far away, it looked peaceful.
Almost elegant.
Riven knew better.
Hidden within the walls and courtyards were arrays meant to kill intruders without warning. Spider carvings etched into stone that served as anchors for the sect's defensive formations.
Even the ponds were suspect.
Riven stood at the edge of the forest for a moment longer, watching the sect in silence.
Then he stepped forward.
Toward his current home.
No matter how weird it might seem.
The familiar sounds of the sect slowly returned as he approached.
Wind chimes stirred between pavilions. Somewhere higher on the mountain, a bell rang once, the sound drifting down the terraces.
Stone replaced dirt beneath his feet.
A few disciples moved along the paths ahead, their robes marked with the subtle spider embroidery of the sect.
Several glanced his way.
Not with recognition.
With curiosity.
Riven wasn't wearing sect robes. His clothes were rough travel gear now—faded fabric, road dust still clinging to the hems. Nothing about him looked like someone belonging here.
But the way he moved fit the place well enough.
There was a certain weight to him now. The quiet sharpness of someone who had spent too long surviving outside the safety of walls. His gaze didn't wander. His steps didn't hesitate.
It was the kind of presence disciples here understood instinctively.
The kind that suggested a person who wouldn't think twice about killing if pushed.
But more than that, there was another reason no one stopped him.
And that was the simple fact, that he'd reached the sect.
Without a sect-issued guiding item or some kind of token, you wouldn't be able to make your way through the misty forest.
And that alone was enough proof.
No one stopped him.
Their eyes lingered a moment longer before they moved on.
Riven continued past them without slowing.
The wind stirred again, carrying the faint sound of water somewhere deeper in the courtyards.
For a place built by people who spent most of their lives plotting how to kill one another, it still managed to look strangely serene.
Riven followed the stone path deeper into the sect without slowing.
It climbed gently upward along the mountainside, branching between quiet pavilions and private residences. Compared to the central training grounds, this section of the sect felt calmer—less traffic, fewer wandering disciples.
Eventually the stone path narrowed and a familiar residence revealed itself.
Riven slowed.
Then stopped.
Jasmine Garden.
The name still fit.
Flowers grew along the low walls and climbed lazily up the sides of the residence, their pale blossoms drifting in the light breeze. The stone path leading through the small courtyard had been swept clean, and the vines that once threatened to swallow the windows had been trimmed neatly back.
It looked… maintained.
Better maintained than when he had left.
Riven stood there for a moment, quietly taking it in.
Why does it look better than when I was there?
A faint sound came from inside the house.
Movement.
Before he could think much more about it, the door slid open.
A broad-shouldered young man stepped out into the courtyard, wiping his hands on a cloth as if he had been in the middle of cleaning something.
He froze the moment he saw Riven.
The cloth slipped from his fingers.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Riven's eyes narrowed slightly.
The man standing in the doorway was tall. Taller than Riven remembered. His build was solid and heavy with muscle, the kind that came from years of real labor rather than cultivation techniques. Cropped blond hair framed a face that looked like it had been through its share of rough days.
His jaw was square. His nose slightly crooked, like it had been broken more than once and never properly set again.
A long, jagged scar ran from the side of his neck down across his collarbone before disappearing beneath the collar of his clothes.
The man blinked once, as if making sure he wasn't imagining things.
"…Young master?"
The voice clicked something into place.
Riven stared at him for another second.
Then the memory surfaced.
Brann.
The servant he had taken in before leaving.
He looked… different.
Before, his eyes had always seemed tired.
Heavy-lidded.
Not the kind that came from a long day's work.
The kind that settled into a person and never quite left.
But now they looked almost alive.
As if the peace had recovered a bit of his former energy.
Now the maintenance made sense.
Brann looked at him like someone who had just seen a ghost.
"You're back."
Riven stepped into the courtyard and nodded.
"Yes."
The flowers shifted softly in the breeze around him, the quiet scent of jasmine hanging faintly in the air.
For a strange moment, something loosened in his chest.
He shouldn't feel comfortable here.
The Venomthread Sect was a nest of scheming cultivators and quiet killers.
But this small corner of it…
Somehow still felt like the closest thing to peace he had known in a long time.
Riven walked past Brann and into the house.
He didn't feel like catching up with him right now.
There was something more important going through his mind.
He stopped in his room.
It looked exactly the same as when he had left.
Thin bedroll, wonky lamp stand, and that leaning lantern that still pissed him off just by seeing it again now.
Why could it never be straight?
For the first time since leaving Verdance, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
But the moment didn't last.
The issue he had realized on the way to his residence came to mind again.
Vaern.
The thought returned immediately.
His gaze drifted toward the floor.
The body was still inside his spatial ring.
He had come here intending to return it.
At the time, the idea had seemed simple enough. Bring Vaern back to the sect. Inform someone of what had happened. Let them bury him properly.
But now that he was actually here, the flaw in that plan felt painfully obvious.
If he reported it, the sect would ask questions.
Where had he found the body?
Why had Vaern been with him in the first place?
Why had Vaern died while he was still alive?
Riven leaned back slightly, his expression tightening.
Vaern hadn't been traveling with him by coincidence. That much was clear in hindsight.
He had been following him.
Most likely sent by Kael.
And if Kael already knew Vaern had been following him, the next question would be unavoidable.
How had Vaern died?
Riven's gaze darkened.
The body didn't have any obvious wounds.
No cuts. No punctures. Nothing that would explain a normal fight.
Which meant that once the elders examined it, the questions would only grow worse.
How had Vaern died without injury?
How had Riven survived something that killed Vaern?
And eventually—
The truth of the trial might surface.
Riven felt a faint chill run down his spine.
The Venomthread Sect was not a kind place.
If word spread that he had survived a hidden trial…
That he might have gained something from it…
That wouldn't end well.
Not for him.
Riven exhaled slowly.
Returning Vaern's body the way he had originally planned was no longer an option.
But leaving him inside the ring forever wasn't acceptable either.
Vaern deserved better than that.
Riven lowered his gaze, thinking.
He needed to find a way to honor him properly.
Without giving the sect a reason to turn their attention toward him.
But before he could think it through—
A knock sounded at the door.
Riven looked up.
Brann's voice rang out behind the door, hesitating slightly.
"Young master," he said carefully.
"There's someone here to see you."