Riend (prime)/Vignette: Nothing Harmless

This vignette is based on the player's logs.

The lock clicked shut behind her, the sound striking far louder than it should have, like iron sealing a tomb. Stone grinned when she flinched as though it were nothing at all, as though she had not just surrendered herself into his keeping.

“This is not something I do lightly,” he said, his tone solemn yet calculated, as if each word had been polished before it left his mouth. “You must know this.”

Riend inclined her head with measured gravity. “I know that there will be no rest until it is done.”

Still he pressed. “Are you certain you wish to go through with this?”

Her breath escaped in a weary sigh, heavy with dread, as she weighed each word before it left her lips. Bowing her head, she spoke softly, the quiet tone carrying the weight of her fear. “I have many doubts. Should my blood fall into the hands of the summoners… there is no limit to the damage they could do.”

Stone blinked, feigning surprise. “You think that possible?”

“Unfortunately, anything is possible,” she murmured, her voice strained and fragile. “They have spies everywhere.” And in truth, he was the spy, the leader, the villain whispered of in every warning. Yet she had no choice. If she meant to free Madelyne and end him, she would have to keep playing his game.

His smile was smooth, silk covering a blade. “I assure you, I trust those who have offered me a solution. You and your blood could not be in safer hands.”

Safe. In his hands. The thought twisted like a blade against her ribs. None of this was safe, least of all her.

“Let us hope so,” she whispered. “I do not wish to be the reason for another incident in this town.”

“Nor do I.” His hand produced a tiny vial of glass, pale light flickering across its surface. His voice gentled, coaxing, as though speaking to a child. “Perhaps it would be easier if you closed your eyes?”

Her gaze lifted uncertainly to meet his. For the briefest instant, something flickered across his features, not triumph but a shadow of regret. His voice dropped, quiet and hesitant, as though the admission cost him. “I still do not like the new change.” His expression softened further, almost mournful. “I miss your old eyes.”

Heat rose unbidden to her cheeks, a delicate flush she could not entirely hide. Her lips parted, and though she gave no full answer, her faint nod carried the weight of acknowledgment, as if for a heartbeat she almost believed she had glimpsed something beneath his mask. That perhaps, for once, he did not wish to see the likeness of his dead lover, a haunting reminder and a harbinger of what was to come all bundled together.

Then his lips brushed her nose, intimate and disarming, a softness that hid the cruelty beneath. She trembled, closed her eyes, and waited as cold steel grazed her palm. A sharp sting flared and passed, her breath catching as warmth spilled into the vial, bright and red, the essence of her life sealed into his hand.

“See, harmless,” Stone murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. The kiss was reverent in form, but his grin stripped the act of all gentleness.

“Perhaps,” she whispered, though doubt clung to her words like shadow.

He moved closer, his mouth brushing against hers with the weight of ownership rather than affection, sealing the lie with a tenderness that was never meant for her.

Turning away, he unlocked the door, the click of the key brisk and final. His smooth “Good night, my Lady” carried the chill of dismissal, his mind already elsewhere as though she were no more than business concluded. Left behind, she trembled as though her body no longer belonged to her, standing in the shadow of what he had taken.

Alone, she whispered to the Arkati, “Please… let this end well.” Yet even as she prayed, she knew the truth. Nothing harmless had passed between them.

The walk from Stone’s baths back to the temple storeroom seemed endless, her steps dragging as if each one cost her more than the last. The warmth of the water still clung faintly to her skin, mingled with the phantom press of his kiss and the memory of steel against her palm. No bath could wash away the weight of what he had taken from her. She felt hollow, fragile, as if she might shatter with the smallest touch. Yet beneath that hollowness something stirred, rising sharp and hot. It was a familiar presence clawing awake within her, and she knew it for what it was: Madelyne’s rage, swelling to fill the cracks Stone’s presence had left behind.

As soon as she reached the temple backroom, her supposed safe haven, the air shifted. The faint comfort of familiar walls barely had time to settle before a sudden wind howled through the chamber, violent and unrelenting. It struck her down, driving her to the floor as though the sanctuary itself had turned against her. She shuddered where she fell, arms tightening around her body, while cruel laughter echoed inside her skull, filling the quiet with malice.

Fight? You have none left. You have lost. We have lost.

Her body shook. She pressed her hands to her face, peering through her fingers as though she could shut the voice out. “What else could I do?” she whispered. “He would take it.”

Find a hole and die. And take Erreim with you.

Her breath caught in her chest. She staggered upright, her limbs trembling. Another gust slammed her down again. Fury sparked, fragile but fierce. “You will not touch him. Do you hear me?”

Her own throat answered with ghostly laughter. You did it. You gave him what he wanted.

“What was I supposed to do?” The words left her raw, half-snarl, half-plea.

She staggered, the world tilting beneath her, until arms steadied her from the side. She startled at the touch, for she had not even noticed another enter the room. Only then did she see Wennia, her face drawn with concern, gentleness sharpened into something fierce by fear.

“What did he do to you?” she asked, her voice low, cutting through the haze like a blade.

“You should go,” Riend whispered, the words unsteady, barely her own. Her lips trembled, her breath shivered as though another force pushed it through her lungs.

Her gaze lifted to Wennia, pleading and afraid. “She is very angry,” she warned, not for herself but for Wennia, desperate that the storm inside her would not break against the one who cared enough to stay.

“You gave it to him?” Wennia’s words were soft, horrified.

“I had no choice,” Riend snapped.

The wind roared again, unseen hands closing around her throat. She fell to her knees, clutching at her neck, gasping as her vision darkened. The pressure tightened.

More voices entered, firm and steady. Greganth and Seomanthe, their footsteps striking the stone like a heartbeat.

The world tilted. Madelyne’s voice rose inside her, venomous and commanding. He took your blood, and now they will pay for it. Hurt them. Tear them down. Make them bleed as you have bled.

Riend felt her arms twist against her will, fingers curling until they threatened to become claws. The muscles in her forearms burned as if another presence guided them, drawing her closer to striking. She fought against it, straining to hold herself back from the violence that surged within her.

Her lip quivered. “Please,” she whispered. “Not them.” She forced her hands against the floor, pressing them down as if to pin them in place, her whole frame trembling with the effort. Every breath tore at her lungs, but still she resisted, straining to keep the fury inside from spilling outward and hurting those she could not bear to harm.

I give you this last warning, you love-struck puppy, Madelyne snarled, her voice a jagged edge of scorn, each word dripping with contempt.

Riend's body convulsed as phantom fingers lifted her by the throat. Pain arced through her chest. The ghost’s face appeared before her eyes, raven hair swirling in an unseen gale, green eyes sharp as shattered glass.

No more blood, Madelyne hissed. No more flesh. No more hair. Let him leave with nothing more of us. Because if you do…

The air above them began to shimmer, rippling like heat over stone, and from it formed phantom images of those she held most dear. One by one, the likenesses of her friends appeared, their bodies limp and lifeless, suspended from the rafters. An ethereal gust of wind stirred them, making them sway like broken marionettes in a cruel display.

Riend shook beneath the phantom’s grip, her lungs clawing for air. Her voice cracked, desperate. “Madelyne… teach me how. Or kill me. Get on with it. Leave them alone.”

The specter laughed, the sound rattling bone and heart alike. Harden your heart to him. Or bury it.

The pressure eased, loosening its hold as Madelyne receded. Air rushed back into her lungs, harsh and uneven, each breath scraping like gravel. Her vision swam in and out of focus, the world wavering as though it too was uncertain whether she still belonged to it.

Her companions were all around her now, their voices fierce and unyielding. Wennia’s anger cracked through her grief. Greganth’s voice carried quiet certainty. Seomanthe’s strength lent hers to Riend’s broken body. They pleaded with Madelyne, promised their loyalty, their lives, if only Riend would be freed.

But Riend knew the truth. Stone had taken her blood, and with it he had given Madelyne a weapon. Both of them lived inside her now, one with a vial, the other with her throat in their grip.

She coughed, clutching her temples as tears stung her eyes. The war was no longer out there. It was within her, and it would not end until one of them broke.