The other children were watching now, cautious but curious. These weren't pampered cathedral novices playing at faith. These were survivors who'd clung to forbidden belief in a world that killed people for it.
Riven felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest. Not quite guilt—he'd never asked them to martyr themselves. But responsibility, perhaps. Recognition of a debt owed to those who'd believed when believing meant death.
"The shadow sickness," he said. "Show me."
Kess hesitated, then nodded to one of the younger boys. The child—couldn't have been more than eight—rolled up his sleeve.
The flesh beneath was... wrong. Patches of skin had turned gray, almost translucent, and beneath it Riven could see something moving. Not veins or muscle, but darkness itself, threading through the boy's arm like infection.
"Started two weeks ago," Kess explained. "After he tried the prayer ritual the old ones taught us. Said he felt something respond, felt power, then..." He gestured at the corrupted flesh. "It's spreading. Another week, maybe less, it'll reach his heart."
Riven crouched beside the boy, studying the corruption. He recognized it now—unstabilized Authority. The child had touched genuine shadow, his fragment or some other loose piece of divine essence, but without proper anchoring it was consuming him. Using his life force as fuel because there was nothing else to draw on.
"Give me your hand," Riven said.
The boy looked to Kess, who nodded permission.
When their skin touched, Riven felt the connection immediately. The corruption recognized him, recognized the Authority that had spawned it. It surged toward him like a starving thing, desperate for proper structure, for purpose beyond mere consumption.
The fragment in Riven's chest blazed. Pain lanced through him, sharp enough that he nearly pulled away. But he held on, forced himself to endure as the loose shadow-essence flowed from the boy into him.
It wasn't clean. Wasn't easy. The corruption had been feeding on mortal life for weeks, had adapted itself to that diet, and it fought against being reabsorbed. But Riven was still, fundamentally, what it had been born from. Shadow recognized its source.
The boy gasped. The gray patches on his arm began to recede, darkness bleeding out through his pores like sweat and flowing into Riven. Within seconds, the corruption was gone, leaving only healthy flesh behind.
But Riven...
He staggered back, barely staying upright. The fragment in his chest was burning, gorged on the reabsorbed essence but struggling to contain it. The corruption had brought power, yes, but also chaos. It would take time to stabilize, to integrate properly.
"You..." Kess was staring at him with something approaching awe. "You actually are him. The Shadow Saint. The god who died."
"Not a saint," Riven managed through gritted teeth. "And clearly not dead enough."
He forced himself to stand straight, to meet their eyes. Five pairs of eyes watching him with desperate hope. Waiting for him to be what they needed. What they'd been promised by martyrs who'd died believing.
The smart play would be to leave. These children were liabilities, untrained and already marked by association with forbidden faith. Taking them on meant accepting responsibility for more lives that could be used against him.
But the fragment in his chest pulsed with new strength. The boy's corrupted shadow had fed it, made it burn brighter than it had since his reincarnation. And more than that—these children represented something valuable.
They already believed. Already had faith, however malformed. They were a foundation he could build on.
"Listen carefully," Riven said. "Because I'll only explain this once. The old ones were right—shadow has returned. But not the way they imagined. Not some prophesied hero come to save you."
He let his own shadow ripple, responding to his will for the first time since waking. It was weak, barely visible in the candlelight, but it moved wrong. Moved with purpose.
"I am Riven Ashmore. I was the Lesser God of Shadow and Forgotten Truths. The Pantheon executed me fifteen years ago because I discovered what they truly are—mortals who stole divinity and rewrote history to hide it. I've returned because they failed to destroy me completely."
Silence. Even Kess looked shaken.
"I'm going to reclaim what was taken from me," Riven continued. "I'm going to become powerful enough that the gods who killed me will kneel or burn. And if you choose to follow me, if you choose to give me your faith..." He met each of their eyes in turn. "I will make you into something they fear."
It wasn't a kind offer. Wasn't gentle or reassuring. But these children had survived horrors already. They didn't need comfort. They needed truth.
And truth was what he offered.
Mira was first. She moved forward, pressed her hand over her heart in that gesture of reverence, and bowed her head.
Then the young woman. Then the boy he'd healed. One by one, until only Kess remained.
The scarred boy studied him for a long moment. "You'll get us killed."
"Probably," Riven agreed.
"But you'll make them pay first."
"Absolutely."
Kess smiled—a sharp, violent thing. "Then I'm in." He moved to join the others, then paused. "One question, though. You said you were a god. Does that mean you can make us gods too?"
The question hung in the air, dangerous and seductive.
Riven thought about lying. About promising power he couldn't deliver. But he'd built his domain on truth, and he wouldn't abandon that now.
"No," he said simply. "Godhood is a prison. I'm not freeing myself from one cage just to lock you in another. But I can make you strong. Can teach you to use shadow, to see truth, to—"
A sound from above. Footsteps. Multiple sets, moving with purpose.
Everyone froze.
"Sweep patrol," Kess whispered. "They're early."
The candles guttered as if sensing danger. Riven's shadow contracted, instinctive.
The footsteps stopped directly above them.
Then, muffled but clear through the ancient stone: "Divine resonance detected. Seal the district. No one leaves."
Riven's eyes met Kess's in the flickering dark.
"Run," he said.