"Ashes of the Unseen."

The cold night air bit at Riven's skin as he sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, gazing down at the city streets below. Neon lights flickered, casting distorted shadows on the cracked pavement. The world felt distant, like he was watching a play unfold from behind a glass wall.

His body still ached from the last fight, but he couldn't afford to rest. He tightened his grip around the worn hilt of his dagger, the weight of it grounding him. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a reminder of what he had to do.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Tonight, he had a lead.

The name Torsen had surfaced again, whispered in the dark corners of the underworld. A supplier of weapons, a man tied to the very organization that had left Riven's past in ashes. If he could find Torsen, he might finally get closer to the truth.

Riven adjusted his weapon coat and dropped silently from the rooftop, landing in a dark alley. He moved quickly, sticking to the shadows as he approached a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

The door was locked, but a quick twist of his dagger in the rusted handle made short work of it. He stepped inside, his green eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. The scent of oil and metal filled the air—this was definitely a weapons depot.

A low voice broke the silence.

"You shouldn't be here, kid."

Riven froze. From the darkness, a man stepped forward. Tall, muscular, with a scar running down his cheek. He had the presence of someone who'd been through countless battles. A revolver rested in his gloved hand.

"Torsen," Riven said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Torsen smirked. "So, you are looking for me. Word spreads fast in this city." He tilted his head. "But tell me, what's a runt like you doing sniffing around my business?"

Riven didn't respond immediately. He measured the distance between them, noting the crates that could serve as cover if things turned violent.

"I need information," Riven finally said. "On the people you work for."

Torsen chuckled, shaking his head. "Kid, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Before Riven could reply, movement caught his eye. More men stepped out from the shadows—guards, armed and ready.

A trap.

Riven clenched his jaw. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy.

Torsen sighed, lifting his gun. "I respect your guts, but you won't leave here alive."

The moment the words left his mouth, Riven moved.

He lunged to the side, flipping over a crate as bullets tore through the air. He landed in a crouch, drawing his dagger in one swift motion. His mind sharpened, instinct guiding his movements.

One of the guards charged at him with a baton. Riven ducked under the swing, driving his knee into the man's gut before slamming his elbow into his jaw. The guard crumpled, unconscious.

Torsen fired, but Riven was already moving, weaving through the chaos like a ghost. He launched himself at another guard, twisting mid-air to kick him against a stack of crates.

He had no intention of killing—only disabling.

But Torsen wasn't playing by the same rules.

The moment Riven turned, he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the side of his head.

"Too slow," Torsen muttered.

Riven's heart pounded. He had miscalculated.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A loud crack echoed through the warehouse. Torsen stumbled, his gun falling from his grasp. A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a lethal grace.

Riven's eyes widened.

It was him.

The man who fought for fun.

A smirk played on the newcomer's lips as he cracked his knuckles. "You always get yourself into trouble, don't you, Riven?"

Relief washed over Riven, but he didn't let his guard down.

The real fight was just beginning.

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