The bodies hung in the midst of Eastwatch's northern bridge, swaying like broken puppets in the wind. Rainville arrived when the morning sun had only begun bleeding across the jagged cliffs, his boots silent against the damp stone.
He was a mountain of a man—six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds of coiled muscle, eight-pack rippling beneath his coat, chest scar hidden but hinted at beneath the edge of his shirt. His presence alone could stop a mob, and his eyes—ice-grey, unflinching—did exactly that.
The crowd scattered when he stepped into view. Children, merchants, and fools whispered his name, though few dared speak it aloud.
"Jorek Vann," he muttered under his breath, stepping closer to the first corpse. His fingers brushed the gold sigil branded into the man's cheek. "Slaver. Butcher. Collector of debts in screams."
A boy, barely fifteen, clutched a rusted spear at the edge of the bridge. His knuckles were white, his eyes wide as they tracked Rainville.
"You can leave," Rainville said. His voice was deep, calm, almost bored—but it carried the weight of someone who had killed more men before breakfast than most did in a lifetime. The boy flinched. Good. Fear kept people alive.
From his coat, Rainville drew his pistols: twin, matte-black, engraved with runes. He never needed them here, not yet. But the weight in his hands was comforting, like the heartbeat of the world itself. At his hip, a steel-edged sword gleamed, secondary but lethal.
"Wait!" A priest stumbled toward him, robes flapping in the wind. "You can't just leave him! He was—he was marked! The gods—"
Rainville stopped. Ice-grey eyes locked on the man.
"Who marked him?" Rainville asked, his voice a low growl.
"The fragment!" the priest gasped. "Jorek… he found one. A shard. Part of the World's Edge. Everyone—"
Rainville's jaw tightened. He had thought the legend dead, buried under lies and wars. The World's Edge. A wish-granting relic whispered about for centuries. Dangerous, unstoppable, and now real enough to pull him out of hiding.
"Say that again," Rainville said.
"They—he—he paid in old gold coins. Asked questions no one should ask," the priest stammered. "About the southern ruins, about… the Edge."
Rainville's lips curled in a slow, predatory smile. "You've seen nothing," he said.
The priest swallowed hard. "I swear it!"
Rainville didn't respond. He simply stepped forward. And for a moment, the world seemed… slower. Subtle. He felt it—the pulse of the fragment, faint but precise. If he concentrated, he could feel its movements, its whispers, the way it guided men like Jorek like a moth to flame. His power. His gift.
The priest's knees buckled, and he fell to the stone. Rainville didn't look back as he turned from the bridge, slipping into the shadows of the northern road.
By nightfall, Rainville camped atop a cliff, overlooking the mist-swollen river. Fires from distant settlements flickered like fireflies, helpless against the dark. He cleaned his pistols with deliberate precision, each stroke of cloth over metal as ritual as breathing.
He wasn't alone for long. Footsteps approached—light, careful. He didn't need sight. His ability to track targets and the precision of his senses gave him knowledge of the intruder before they cleared the treeline.
"Come out," he said.
A woman stepped into the firelight. Kara Vex. A hunter in her own right, scarred, lean, and sharp-eyed. She tilted her head, gauging him.
"You're late," Rainville said, voice low.
"Rumours of your death were… exaggerated," she replied. Her eyes flicked to the corpses nearby. "You've been busy."
"Always," he said, holstering one pistol while keeping the other in hand. "What do you want?"
She tossed a shard onto the dirt. The crystal pulsed faintly, catching firelight in fractures like trapped lightning.
Rainville crouched, lifting it, eyes narrowing. A heartbeat later, he sensed the paths branching out from it. They weren't visible, not yet, but he could feel the pull. The fragment whispered, guiding him, taunting him.
"You're not ready for this," Kara said.
"I'm always ready," Rainville replied, though he didn't move yet. He was feeling the limitations. His other gift—time itself—was unstable. He could stop it for fifteen seconds every three days, but only one time. Used recklessly, it could kill him as surely as any bullet. And he had yet to master it fully.
"You're going to end up dead before you even fire a shot," she said, eyes glinting with challenge.
Rainville smiled faintly. "Then I'll make sure they die first."
The air changed. He could feel it in the way the wind bent, in the low murmur of the cliffside. Someone was coming. A patrol, heavily armed. He didn't have to see them. He didn't have to guess. His ability to locate targets was perfect. He could feel every heart, every breath, every hidden weapon.
"Looks like they've found us," Rainville murmured, raising both pistols.
They moved first. Rainville waited. His breath slowed, heartbeat steady. The first man was visible for only a fraction of a second before he dropped, the bullet finding the only space it could: behind the eye, precise, silent. The others reacted too late. Rainville's second pistol spoke. Two more fell.
The last one fled into the trees. Rainville paused, eyes scanning. His time-stop ability pulsed faintly beneath his skin. Fifteen seconds. Enough.
He activated it. The world froze. The fleeing man's limbs hung mid-step. Rainville stepped, every movement deliberate, precise, closing distance in a silent blur. When time snapped back, the man was on the ground, unconscious, bleeding from a single well-placed strike with the butt of Rainville's pistol.
Kara exhaled softly. "I didn't think you'd actually use it."
"I rarely do," Rainville said, sheathing his pistols and reaching for his sword. "Only when it matters."
She studied him for a moment. Muscles coiled beneath his coat, his scar hinted beneath the edge of his shirt, his eight-pack tense and ready. "You're a dangerous man," she said softly.
"I don't argue," he replied.
The fragment pulsed again. Rainville felt it, deeper this time, almost like it wanted to move. He closed his hand around it. "We leave at dawn," he said.
"Where?" Kara asked.
"South. To the ruins. And beyond," he said. "If the Edge calls, we answer. If it kills, we survive."
She nodded. "Then let's hope your legend isn't a curse."
Rainville looked out over the river below. Fog clung to the stone, swirling around the jagged cliffs. Somewhere in the distance, others were already moving, hunting for the same thing. And Rainville… he was already on their trail.
Rainville woke at first light, the fog still thick over the cliffs, swirling around the campfire embers. Kara had already packed their few supplies—water, rations, and the fragment safely wrapped in a piece of thick leather.
"Early risers," he said, voice low, eyes scanning the misty horizon.
"You'd rather face the day later?" she replied, sliding a dagger into her boot. Her gaze didn't waver, but her fingers brushed the hilt like she was testing her nerves.
Rainville's hand hovered over one of his pistols. "The sooner we move, the less likely someone else gets to us first. This fragment… it doesn't stay hidden for long."
She nodded. "And yet here you are, calm as stone. How?"
Rainville let the question hang. He didn't answer. He never really did. Some truths weren't for others to know—not yet.
By mid-morning, they reached the southern road, where the forest thickened into shadowed canopies. Rainville's boots made no sound on the dirt. Kara matched him stride for stride, both moving as hunters do: alert, patient, ready.
Then the rustle came—a trap.
From the trees, two figures leapt forward, armed and confident. A third stayed hidden, eyes bright as he readied his bow. Rainville didn't hesitate.
"Targets identified," he muttered under his breath. His ability hummed beneath his skin; he could feel exactly where the three were, every heartbeat, every breath.
He raised both pistols, fired twice in precise, fluid motions. The first two were down before the third realized he was under attack. Rainville pivoted, pistol sweeping, and the arrow missed him by inches.
"Too slow," he muttered, tossing the spent casings aside.
The remaining man charged with a knife. Rainville dropped one pistol, drew his sword, and moved like water over stone—blade sweeping in a single, clean arc. The man fell, winded and dazed, not knowing how close he had come to death.
Kara exhaled. "I can't believe you just did that."
Rainville wiped his blade, voice quiet. "I told you. I rarely waste time. And I rarely miss."
They walked the forest in silence, punctuated only by distant birdcalls and the occasional drip of water from moss-laden branches. Kara finally broke the quiet.
"Why are you after the fragment? You don't strike me as a… a hero."
Rainville smiled faintly, almost cruelly. "I'm not. I'm a hunter. I follow what the world cannot contain. And if it bites back…" He tapped the fragment lightly, "I make sure it knows who holds it first."
She frowned. "And the wish?"
Rainville didn't answer. Not yet. He had learned long ago that answers could be more dangerous than silence.
Hours later, as they neared the ruins, the fog thickened again, curling around the collapsed stones like sentient fingers. Rainville paused, hand hovering near his pistols. His body coiled like a spring.
"Something's wrong," he murmured.
Kara looked around. "I don't see anyone."
Rainville's eyes narrowed. The fragment pulsed, faintly, tugging like a whisper from the earth. He reached for his unstable gift—the fifteen-second stop.
"I'll need every second of this," he muttered.
He activated it. Time froze. Leaves hung in the air, birds stopped mid-flight, the ruins paused mid-collapse of shadow and mist. Rainville moved silently, weapons at the ready, closing the distance to the enemy hiding behind a fallen column. He placed a pistol against the temple of the first man and fired. A second shot found the next target. By the time time resumed, two hunters were on the ground, unconscious, and the remaining enemy realized too late what had happened.
Kara blinked. "You… stopped time."
"Fifteen seconds," Rainville said. "Once every three days. And I'm still learning to control it. Don't waste it asking how it feels."
Her eyes were wide, but she nodded. "That… that was insane."
Rainville sheathed his pistols and drew his sword. "Insane keeps people alive. Never forget that."
The ruins rose ahead, jagged and half-swallowed by vines. Pillars crumbled, walls fractured, and shadows pooled in every corner. Rainville's gaze swept over the stones, tracing the faint hum of magic lingering like a whisper.
"They're here," Kara said softly.
Rainville's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"Others," she replied. "Hunters. Mercenaries. Fanatics. Someone always knows where a fragment is."
He studied her for a long moment. "Then we'll be welcome company."
They slipped into the ruins, Rainville leading, blade drawn, pistols ready. Every corner could hide a threat. Every shadow could conceal death. But he felt the fragment's pull, guiding him, steadying him.
"This way," he said, voice low.
As they moved deeper, Rainville could feel eyes on them—watching, calculating, waiting. His power hummed faintly, alerting him to the faintest heartbeat, the softest breath. He didn't need to see them to know where the hunters hid, how many there were, and which of them would die first if they tried anything.
Inside the largest hall of the ruins, they paused. The fragment pulsed brighter here. Rainville knelt, holding it up, letting the fractured light bathe the stone around them.
"The Edge is close," he said. "And everyone else feels it too. We don't have much time."
Kara frowned. "And if someone catches us?"
Rainville smiled faintly. "They won't. Not if I can help it."
He glanced at his sword and pistols. Muscles taut, scar visible beneath the edge of his coat, eight-pack rippling with readiness, eyes like ice, mind precise, body lethal. Rainville was a storm waiting to strike.
And he was ready to face whatever the World's Edge threw at him.