Riven's gaze drifted back to the woman's body. Then his eyes shifted toward his sister, who still stood with swollen eyes and a reddened nose. Something deep inside him knew that what he was about to do was foolish. There was no benefit at all. It could even bring them new trouble.
And yet, for once, maybe he had to act without weighing gains and losses. After all, there was something far more important. He never wanted to see his sister look at him with that kind of fear again. That look was more terrifying than any enemy he had ever faced.
"All right," Riven said at last, his voice heavy. "Let's take her with us."
At those words, Melly flinched slightly. A faint smile touched her lips, as if a great weight had lifted from her chest.
Riven crouched beside the woman. His body felt light as he helped her sit upright. Though frail, there was still something dangerous yet graceful about her.
The torn black gown clinging to her frame did little to hide the alluring curves beneath. Her full chest, slender waist, and shapely hips formed a figure made to draw the eye.
Curiosity pushed Riven to gently brush away the strands of crimson hair hiding her face. The moment they fell aside, his eyes widened.
As if the heavens conspired, the moon, hidden behind clouds all this time, chose this very moment to reveal itself. The storm had faded, leaving only a thin drizzle. Its silver light fell directly on the woman's face.
And the world stopped.
Riven's heart, which had been racing with wariness, seemed to cease entirely.
The woman was too beautiful. So beautiful she did not seem real, like a dream mankind was never meant to touch. Her skin was pale like marble, yet faintly alive. Her face was soft, noble, yet not fragile. It looked like the sculpture of a god mistakenly dropped into the mortal world.
Her lashes were long, trembling faintly with each breath. Her lips were red, glistening, as if they had just whispered a final word before falling into eternal silence. Her blood-red hair, though tangled and messy, still looked enchanting, like rose petals scattered in the storm.
Her once-elegant black gown was torn in places, stained with blood and dirt, yet it still clung to her with inexplicable majesty. A silver chain with a crimson jewel hung around her neck, glinting faintly under the moonlight.
Riven froze. His gaze locked in place, caught in some invisible snare that refused to release him.
He knew in both his lives, past and present, he had never seen a woman like this. Not the adored actresses of his old world, not the radiant noblewomen glimpsed from a palace window. None of them compared.
Riven lowered himself, carefully sliding one arm beneath her. She was light. With only a little effort, he lifted her, cradling her cold body against his chest.
The wagon was already filled with weapons. Swords, bows, spears, axes, even crates of heavy metal taken from Jacky's shop. But Riven had prepared an empty space behind the driver's seat in case his sister wanted to rest.
He laid the woman down gently, making sure her body did not hit the hard wood. Without waiting for instructions, Melly climbed aboard and sat beside her. Her face was still somber, but her eyes carried a strange light. Sympathy outweighed fear.
Riven exhaled heavily, crouching low to check the woman's condition. Blood stained her black gown, seeping faintly across the torn fabric. With calloused fingers, hardened from years of gripping steel, he brushed aside her long red hair to inspect her back.
And then he saw them.
Scars.
Not one, but many, crossing over each other like a map of hell carved into pale skin. Whip marks, dark lines etched by countless lashes, as if the devil's hand had torn her open again and again. Deep claw marks too, as though some beast had raked its talons through her flesh.
The wounds had long since dried, leaving behind hardened ridges and warped skin. This was a body broken and forced to heal, only to be broken again.
Riven's breath caught.
Melly, peering from the side, clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. Her face went white, her eyes trembling.
Riven swallowed hard. How could someone this beautiful bear scars so horrific? He knew immediately these were not from one incident. They were the marks of prolonged torment, the result of endless cruelty and repeated suffering.
Something stirred inside his chest. Something unfamiliar, a storm of anger mixed with pity. He pushed it away quickly, forcing the feeling down. Such thoughts would only cloud his judgment.
He continued his inspection. Fresh bruises marred her body, blue and purple, evidence of recent beatings. But no fatal wounds threatened her life.
Riven drew in a long breath. "Melly, change her clothes. Clean her, then cover her with a blanket," he said flatly.
Melly nodded weakly, her face still pale from tears and fear. With trembling hands, she carefully began to strip away the wet gown. Riven chose not to stay. He did not want to see more than he needed to.
He stepped down from the wagon, standing by the mud-streaked wheel. His head bowed, his eyes empty as they stared at the ground. His thoughts swirled with visions of the future. A future hazy, no clearer than the mist still hanging in the air after the rain.
He thought of their fate.
His, his sister's, and now this stranger's. What awaited them tomorrow?
But his thoughts were cut short when his eyes caught sight of a figure in the distance.
A man staggered down the muddy road, his steps heavy but his gaze sharp, tracking the footprints etched into the wet earth.
The woman's footprints.
Riven's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. Damn it. That had to be the one hunting her. The softened earth, still wet from rain, had betrayed her path perfectly.
The man drew closer, his figure becoming clear. His long white hair clung wetly to a hard face. His gait was unsteady, but his presence radiated unmistakable menace.
And as soon as he was close enough, Riven froze.
He recognized him.
The white-haired man.
The one he had met on the hill just hours ago.
The man who had coldly threatened to kill him and Melly, only to spare them at the very last moment.