Riven lay in bed in the small spare room, staring out the window at the stars scattered across the night sky. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep—but it never came. His mind was too restless, too full.
With a quiet sigh, he opened his eyes again. From the room next door, he heard a fit of coughing harsh and persistent. His chest tightened with concern. He must be very sick. I hope he gets better… he's done so much to help me already.
He turned onto his back, resting his hands behind his head. Logan had mentioned he was once a Knight of Favonius. That name… it appeared on the note Riven found in the crate on the beach. The Knights were the protectors of this land, the enforcers of law and order.
That's what he told me… but he seemed distant, like he was hiding something just beneath the surface of our small conversation by the campfire.
Riven's gaze swept across the room until it came to rest on a simple wooden stick, resting inside a small barrel.
He stood and walked over, picking it up. It was a training sword worn, but balanced. It made sense. If Logan had a son, perhaps he trained him out here. Maybe… this had been his son's room.
Curious, Riven looked around. There were old photographs on the shelves. One showed a young boy who looked a lot like Logan, standing beside a warm-looking woman with soft brown hair. In another, the same boy, now older, held a small child in his arms. The child wore a ribbon shaped like bunny ears.
Logan has a granddaughter, Riven realized. Then why did he say he was all alone?
Maybe he didn't mention her because of the coughing… the blood. Coughing up blood wasn't normal.
A heaviness settled in Riven's chest.
He's dying, isn't he?
That's why he didn't say anything. Maybe he planned to die alone out here in the forest.
Riven slowly stepped back from the worn portrait hanging on the wall and wandered outside to the porch. He sat down, watching the sun rise over the horizon, a heavy sadness settling in his chest—for the old man, even though they had only just met.
The cabin door creaked open behind him. Logan shuffled out, noticing Riven. "You're up early. Couldn't sleep?"
"You could say that," Riven replied, hesitating. Then, deciding honesty was best, he asked, "Logan… why didn't you mention you had a granddaughter?"
Logan sighed deeply and lowered himself into the rocking chair. Spark burst out of the cabin, full of energy, running circles around the porch.
"Ah, so you saw the portrait," Logan said softly. "I've kept it quiet to spare her. I'm dying, kid, and she believes I'm off traveling somewhere. Maybe it's kinder that way—she won't have to face saying goodbye."
He looked away for a moment, voice thick with regret. "But maybe that's just me being selfish. I'm sorry for lying to you."
Riven wasn't truly upset with him for lying—he understood, in a way. They had only just met, and he didn't expect Logan to share something so personal.
"How long do you have?" Riven asked quietly. If Logan died out here alone… what would happen to Spark?
Logan waved him off with a half-smile. "Don't go worrying about me. I've still got some time left." He stood with a groan, stretching his back. "Now, come on—we've got hunting to do. Lucky for you, Spark handles most of the tracking."
Logan gave Riven a small grin. "Today, I'll teach you how to use a bow and arrow. Let's see if you've got the hands of a hunter, lad."
Riven followed him into the woods, where Logan handed him a bow. As they walked beneath the canopy of swaying trees, the old man began teaching him the basics—not just how to handle the bow, but also how to track, how to move quietly, and even a few of the commands Spark knew by heart.
What surprised Riven most was how smart the dog really was—clever, obedient, and quick on his paws. With Spark leading the way, nose low and tail alert, they followed the trail deeper into the forest until they spotted it: a boar grazing quietly among the underbrush, unaware of their presence.
"Remember what I told you, Riven—nice and steady," Logan said calmly.
Riven nodded, placing the arrow on the string of the bow. He drew it back, holding his breath as he tried to steady his aim on the boar's head. His fingers trembled slightly. Then—he released.
The arrow sailed wide, thudding into the ground and startling the boar. With a sharp grunt, it bolted into the woods, vanishing into the brush.
"Curses," Riven muttered under his breath.
Logan chuckled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad. You'll get it right on the next one. Every hunter misses their first shot."
And so, Riven spent the day getting familiar with the bow. It took a few tries—more than a few, really but he was starting to get the hang of it. Then, finally, he landed a clean shot, striking a boar right in the head.
He cheered in surprise and excitement, unable to hide his grin. Spark barked happily, tail wagging as if celebrating with him.
Later, with the hare slung over his shoulder, Riven followed Logan and Spark back toward the cabin, a quiet sense of accomplishment settling in his chest.
Logan showed Riven how to properly butcher the hare and cook it. Riven watched closely, trying to memorize each step. At one point, Logan doubled over in a harsh, rattling cough, but when Riven asked if he was okay, the old man simply waved it off and said he was fine.
After they ate, Logan handed Riven an axe and asked him to chop some more wood for the fireplace. Riven did as he was told, glancing back every so often to see Logan rocking gently in his chair, Spark curled up beside him, both resting in the fading afternoon light.
Afterward, Logan showed him how to start a fire, another skill Riven picked up surprisingly quickly. It caught him off guard, how naturally it was all coming to him. Maybe survival was in his blood.
But after a long day of hunting, learning, and chopping wood, all he wanted now was a warm bed and some rest. As he lay down, the fire crackling softly nearby, his thoughts drifted toward the unknown: his story, his past, his purpose.
With a quiet sigh, Riven closed his eyes, hoping that one day he'd find the answers he was looking for.
And just like that, sleep gently took him.