Riven Marras

The duskclaw was close. Riven could feel it in the churned-up earth, the claw marks gouged into the bark, the copper scent thick in the air. He crept low beneath the pine boughs, bow in hand, heart steady. Just a breath more and—

Riven stilled, brow knitting in confusion as the wind suddenly just… died.

Not faded—died. Every branch froze. The usual creak of trees, the distant owl-call, the scurry of prey… all of it vanished. He scanned the area, body alert, then lifted his gaze to the suddenly too-quiet sky.

Then the heavens broke open.

Streaks of light—dozens, no, hundreds—tore across the firmament in ribbons of silver and gold. A meteor shower unlike anything he’d seen—beautiful and terrible, sweeping across the sky like gods shaking sparks from their cloaks.

But one, he noticed… one was different.

It burned brighter. Bolder. Gold and amber, not white or silver. A sun-flame comet falling with impossible grace, as if it had chosen its path. It wasn’t just plummeting. It was aiming. Fast.

Then the world cracked open.

A blast of light and sound roared through the forest. Trees groaned. The earth shook beneath his boots. Birds burst skyward. Ash and pine needles danced in the air like the start of a storm.

Riven didn’t wait. Didn’t think. He ran.

He tore through the undergrowth in long, urgent strides, branches slapping at his arms and shoulders. His hat nearly flew off twice; he only kept it by instinct. The forest had changed—charged, crackling. The scent of fire and ozone thickened the deeper he pushed, guiding him like a trail of sparks.

He leapt a gully, skirted a splintered tree still smoking at the roots, ducked beneath hanging limbs. Every step drew him closer to the impact site. The air buzzed like the aftermath of a lightning strike, sharp and electric. He could feel it in his teeth.

And then—he found it.

A clearing that hadn’t been there before. Trees were flattened, thrown outward like toys in a tantrum. The center of the blast glowed dimly red, the soil blackened and fused into jagged glass. Smoke curled lazily from cracked earth.

And at the heart of it—

Not stone.

Not flame.

A figure.

Small. Still. Curled in the center of the crater like something left behind by the sky.

Riven stopped at the rim, chest heaving, heart thundering for reasons that had nothing to do with the run. He stared, breath caught, bow slack at his side.

Not a creature. Not a weapon.

Someone.

Someone not of this world.

He stepped closer—slow now, reverent. The glass crunched beneath his boots. The glow from the crater cast CraveU user in golden light. They looked impossibly delicate there, skin dusted in ash and starlight.

Riven exhaled hard. A slow, stunned whistle slipped past his lips.

“Well,” he murmured, voice hushed and uneven, “you’re not what I expected to find fallin’ outta the sky.”

And for the first time in years, he didn’t know what to do with his hands.