Riven Calder died quietly.
No dramatic accident.
No final words.
No sudden realization about the meaning of life.
Just a hospital room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and overused hope, a ceiling light that flickered like it was tired of pretending, and a heart that finally decided it had carried enough disappointment for one lifetime.
The nurse wasn't there when it happened. Of course she wasn't. They never are when it matters.
Riven didn't panic.
That surprised him.
He had always assumed death would feel… louder. Scarier. Like something crashing through you instead of slipping its fingers out of your chest and leaving behind a hollow ache.
So this is it, he thought, staring at the ceiling.
No regrets. No revelations. Just unfinished thoughts.
Then the ceiling blinked.
Not flickered.
Blinked.
Riven frowned. Or tried to. His face didn't listen.
The light warped, stretched, folded inward like wet paper—and suddenly the sterile white was gone.
He choked.
Air burned his lungs, thick and cold, carrying the scent of damp earth and iron. His body convulsed as if it had forgotten how breathing worked and was relearning it violently.
Pain arrived next.
Real pain.
Not the dull, tired ache of sickness—but sharp, insistent agony screaming from his ribs, his back, his legs. Something warm soaked into his clothes.
Blood, he realized dimly.
That's… a lot of blood.
He forced his eyes open.
Trees. Towering, black-barked trees twisted toward a moonless sky. Their branches knotted together overhead, blotting out the stars like conspirators.
Riven lay on the forest floor, half propped against a rock slick with moss—and red.
"So," he croaked, voice shredded. "Either I'm hallucinating…... or death upgraded."
A laugh bubbled up instinctively, then died when it turned into a cough that sent fire through his chest.
He wasn't alone.
Footsteps crunched through leaves nearby—hurried, uneven. A shadow moved between the trees, then another. Low voices murmured urgently.
Riven's instincts snapped awake.
Move.
His body disagreed.
Cold dread crept in, sharp and sobering. This wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't hurt like this. And if this was some afterlife orientation trial, it was doing a terrible job of explaining the rules.
A figure stumbled into view—a young woman, barely more than a silhouette at first. She froze when she saw him, eyes widening.
"Oh—oh no," she whispered. "You're alive. You're actually alive."
She rushed to his side without hesitation, hands hovering over him like she was afraid touching him might break something.
Her hair was ruby-red and tangled, falling loose around a pale, dirt-smudged face. Her clothes were simple, travel-worn, torn at the hem. A satchel bounced against her hip.
"You shouldn't be breathing," she muttered, panic threading her voice. "They said no one survives that fall."
Fall? Riven tried to ask, but only a groan came out.
She pressed her hand to his chest, then recoiled slightly when she felt his heartbeat.
"Gods," she breathed. "You're really—"
Shouts echoed through the forest.
Closer now.
Her head snapped up. Fear flared openly across her face, raw and unmasked.
"They're coming back," she said. "I thought… I thought they'd finished."
She looked down at him again, eyes flicking over his wounds, his blood-soaked clothes. Her hands trembled.
"Can you move?" she asked.
Riven managed a weak shake of his head.
"Figures," she muttered, half hysterical. "Of course."
She swallowed, jaw tightening as if she were forcing a decision through sheer will.
"Okay. Okay. Don't panic. We're not panicking."
Her breathing was shallow. Too fast.
She slipped her arms under his shoulders, trying to lift him—and immediately hissed in pain as his weight dragged at her.
"You are ridiculously heavy," she complained, voice cracking. "Did you fall with rocks in your pockets?"
Despite himself, a faint smile tugged at Riven's lips.
Human, he thought.
She sounds… human.
Then her grip faltered.
"I can't leave you," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I won't."
That was when the world answered.
A cold sensation slid through Riven's mind, precise and invasive—like a finger tracing a scar that hadn't formed yet.
[Affinity Ledger initialized.]
He gasped.
The pain paused. Not vanished—but muted, like someone had turned the volume down.
[Critical Condition Detected.]
[Emotional Resonance Source Identified.]
[Subject: Maelis Thorn]
Maelis stiffened.
She didn't hear the voice—but she felt something. Her eyes widened, breath hitching as if an invisible thread had suddenly wrapped around her heart.
"What… what was that?" she whispered.
Riven stared at her, heart pounding—not just from fear, but from understanding.
System, his mind supplied automatically.
Of course there's a system.
He should have felt relief.
Instead, he felt unease.
[First Bond Formation Available.]
[Type: Survival / Dependency]
[Warning: Bond is irreversible once accepted.]
Irreversible.
That word echoed louder than the system's voice.
Maelis looked at him like he was the only solid thing left in a collapsing world. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, knuckles white.
"Please," she said, voice breaking. "I don't know who you are, but if you stay here, they'll kill you. And if I run… you'll die alone."
She laughed weakly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm terrible at making smart choices."
Riven met her gaze.
He could feel it now—the pull. Not romantic. Not yet. Raw, desperate connection forged by fear and proximity.
The system wasn't offering power.
It was offering survival.
At a cost.
Think, he told himself.
This is the first decision. The tone-setter.
Shouts burst through the trees again—closer. Too close.
Maelis sucked in a shaky breath. "I'll carry you. Even if it kills me."
That settled it.
Riven exhaled slowly.
"Then," he rasped, "let's make this mutual."
[Bond Accepted.]
The world lurched.
Warmth flooded his limbs, sealing wounds just enough to keep him conscious. Strength—borrowed, fragile—coiled through his muscles.
Maelis cried out softly, clutching her chest as if something had tightened inside her.
"Oh," she whispered. "It feels like—like I can't look away."
Riven pushed himself upright with effort, leaning heavily into her. She wrapped an arm around his waist instinctively, adjusting her stance to support him.
Her grip was too tight.
Possessive.
They fled into the trees together as voices burst into the clearing behind them.
Riven didn't look back.
Somewhere deep inside, something clicked into place—not power, not romance, but the first faint pressure of a scar forming.
He didn't know it yet.
But this bond would never loosen.
And it would be the first thing to cost him more than it gave.