Lost to the Wild：The Man Named Riven

Elara Wynn had always trusted her instincts—until the moment they led her straight into Verdant Hollow, the most unnervingly silent forest she had ever stepped foot in. She came for research, chasing rumors of undocumented plant species that could revive her struggling environmental channel. But as she pushed deeper into the valley, the air grew thick with a strange, ancient stillness that clung to her skin like cold breath. No birdsong. No insects. Not even the whisper of wind through leaves. Just her boots pressing into damp soil and the faint creak of trees that seemed to lean closer the farther she walked. "This place is giving me the creeps," she murmured, checking her compass. The needle jittered for a second, then spun in a perfect circle, ignoring every direction. She tapped it. No change. The hairs on her arms rose. She turned around to head back—only to freeze. The path behind her was gone. Completely gone. The ground was smooth, covered in fresh fallen leaves, as if no footsteps had ever touched it. As if the forest had erased her. A sharp, metallic taste of fear rose in her throat. She forced herself forward, quickening her pace. Maybe she'd circled unknowingly. Maybe the trees were just similar-looking. Maybe— A crack echoed above her. Heavy. Close. Elara lifted her head just as the branch snapped. She jumped back, but too late—a tangled snare of roots gave way beneath her boots. The earth crumbled, and she fell. The world spun. Her shoulder slammed against a rock, pain flaring. She tumbled down a steep hidden slope until she hit soft moss with a breathless gasp. She lay still, stunned, dust motes drifting through the dimmed light above her. Then—movement. Slow. Soundless. Someone was standing a few feet away. Elara's pulse skyrocketed. A figure emerged from the shadows—a man, but not like any man she'd ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-bronzed skin and hair falling in tangled waves to his chest. Feathers and beads woven into the strands. Clothing made of stitched hides. Scars crossed his arms and torso, not violent-looking, but earned, like the marks of someone who lived alongside the wild instead of fighting it. His eyes were the most startling—pale grey, sharp and unblinking, like stormlight trapped in them. He studied her with the intensity of a predator and the caution of someone who didn't trust easily. Elara's breath hitched. She tried to push up, only to cry out as pain flared in her ankle. The man reacted instantly. His head tilted, brows knitting in a way that almost looked… concerned. He approached slowly, knees bent, moving with the fluid quiet of a wolf. Before she could protest, his hand reached out—not grabbing her, but hovering, giving her time to pull away. He wasn't threatening her. He was asking. Elara swallowed. "I—I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself. His fingertips finally touched her boot, pressing lightly around her ankle. She winced. He froze, then made a low sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a sigh. A sound of understanding. And then, without warning, he lifted her. Effortlessly. Elara gasped, instinctively gripping his shoulder. His warmth seeped through the hide he wore. She should have been terrified. But something about him—something grounded, ancient—kept her still. He carried her through a maze of trees that twisted unnaturally, as though hiding paths from outsiders. Yet he seemed to know exactly where to go. Finally, he slipped into a hollowed cliffside covered with vines. Inside was a small cave layered with furs, herbs drying from the ceiling, the faint glow of embers. A home. He set her down gently, then disappeared into a corner. When he returned, he held crushed leaves mixed with water in a stone bowl. He pointed at her ankle. Elara hesitated, but he looked at her with an expression unexpectedly soft. Trust me. Somehow she did. He applied the paste with surprising delicacy. Cool relief spread through her skin. He covered her with a fur, then sat near the entrance, listening to the forest as if he understood its rhythms. Elara's exhaustion finally overtook her. The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was his silhouette against the dim light. Wild. Silent. Watching over her.