CHAPTER 10: The Path Through Fog
Drea stood at the gate of Emberhaven, her hand wrapped in prayer cloth as she offered her final blessing. The early sun spilled amber light on her tired face. Arielle watched her with mixed emotions—respect, gratitude, and the itch of something unresolved.
"The shrine won't speak again," Drea said solemnly. "But its mark is already on you. Both of you. May the gods guard your steps—though I suspect you'll need more than blessings for what's ahead."
Riven said nothing, no reaction, just Cold. Composed.
Arielle bowed low, respectfully. "Thank you, High Seer."
Drea reached forward, pressing something into her palm—a small stone etched with a burning sigil.
"For strength," she whispered. "Or for surrender. You'll know when."
And then they left.
The path beyond Emberhaven twisted between golden cliffs, mist creeping low and cold. The wind had no scent. The trees held their breath.
Arielle didn't dare look at him.
Not once.
Not after the dream.
She could still feel it—his heat, his breath, the sinful way he'd whispered against her throat. She hated herself for it. For waking with flushed skin and a desperate ache she had no holy name for. For being unable to pray it away.
Riven walked ahead of her now, his long coat brushing against the wind like black smoke. His back was straight, his movements precise. Silent. Powerful. And she hated that her eyes kept trying to stray.
Don't look at him.
Don't look at the devil.
She tightened her grip on her staff. "Control," she muttered. "Focus. Banish the thought. Re-sanctify your soul."
"Talking to yourself?"
His voice slid in like a blade—cool, amused, dangerous.
She jumped.
He'd turned to look at her.
Hazel eyes. Not warm. Not golden.
They burned.
Like the center of a thousand dying suns.
"I—No. I mean. Yes. Not to you, obviously."
"You stutter when you lie."
"I do not."
"You also trip when you're distracted."
"I don't—"
Her foot caught the corner of a root.
She yelped. Stumbled forward—and slammed shoulder-first into a nearby tree.
A squirrel shot from a branch overhead in fright. Leaves rained down.
Arielle blinked, dazed, her face turning ten shades of red.
Riven didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
"Graceful," he said mildly.
"I hate you," she muttered, brushing herself off. "And your eyes. And your… symmetry."
"My deepest condolences."
She shot him a glare, which only earned a raised brow.
"You've been acting strange since morning," he said. "Avoiding my gaze. Murmuring to yourself. Blushing like a child."
"I am not a child."
"Then stop acting like one."
She huffed, cheeks still burning. "You're insufferable. And unholy."
"I've been called worse."
They walked in silence for a while longer, the road narrowing as they entered a dense, fog-draped forest. The trees creaked. Birds stopped singing.
Arielle paused, eyeing the mist ahead. "The trail splits here."
Riven gestured left. "We take the ridge trail. Higher ground. Less risk."
She frowned. "But this one goes directly through. It's faster."
"It's also fog-choked. Illusion-prone. Filled with natural traps."
"Faster."
He looked at her, deadpan. "So is falling off a cliff."
She crossed her arms. "You're not my commander."
"No, but that doesnt change outcome, your stupidity will still be my burden."
"I'm not stupid—"
"I never said you were. I said you're being stupid.The fog distorts your senses," he said. "It's a blindfold. You'll miss signs, wards, traps."
"I'm not blind."
"Not yet," he replied, voice as even as stone.
She clenched her jaw. "I said I'm going this way."
Riven stared at her for a beat. Then… stepped aside.
"Fine," he said coolly. "Try not to fall into a pit and die."
She scoffed. "Try not to enjoy yourself if I do."
The mist thickened around her like a curse.
She growled, spun on her heel, and stormed off toward the lower path.
Riven stood for a beat. Then sighed.
"Stubborn Priestess," he muttered. "And they wonder why gods leave."
He followed.
The fog thickened almost immediately. It coiled around her boots, filled her lungs with damp chill, dulled the world to grey shapes and ghostlike shadows.
She slowed, heart tightening.
She hated fog.
Hated how it reminded her of her mother—dying alone in a fog-shrouded field after an exorcism gone wrong. The memory clawed at her like rot.
She clenched her jaw, trying not to panic. Then the ground gave way beneath her.
She screamed.
Darkness swallowed her as she crashed into a hidden pit.
Pain flared in her ankle.
Mud splattered. The wind knocked out of her.
And silence followed.
Until his voice.
"I warned you."
She looked up. Riven stood at the edge of the pit, one hand tucked into his coat, gaze unreadable.
She scowled. "Are you going to help me or not,"
He knelt at the edge. "Are you hurt?"
"Just a sprain. Maybe. Definitely."
"Then stop moving."
He dropped down beside her without another word, as smooth as shadow. He didn't ask permission. Just scooped her up into his arms, bridal-style.
She gasped. "Don't touch me! I'll climb out myself!"
"You're bleeding. And twitching."
"I am not twitching."
"You are. And I'm not letting you get eaten by forest dogs because of your ego."
"Put me down!" she shouted.
"You'd rather crawl?"
"Your filthy, unholy hands—"
"Are the only thing keeping your righteous head from cracking against stone."
"I said—"
"Stop. Talking."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Gritted her teeth.
"Fine. But don't think I owe you anything."
He didn't say anything.
He leapt effortlessly, carrying her up out of the hole like she weighed nothing.The fog curled around them like smoke. Arielle's heart pounded for all the wrong reasons.
Once above, he set her down carefully against a rock and crouched beside her, examining her ankle.
She tried to look anywhere but at him.
Bad choice.
His sleeves had pulled back. His forearms were muscled and lined with ancient black runes that pulsed faintly.
She watched his hands.
Long fingers. Calloused. Surprisingly warm.
He cleaned the cut with water from her flask and ripped a strip of fabric from his sleeve.
"Don't you dare start undressing—"
He shot her a flat look. "Please. You're not even my type."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
"Well, good."
"Though the tripping was charming."
She gave a strangled noise.
His face was close now. Too close.
And she saw it again—the burn of his hazel eyes, the quiet power in his jaw, the cool control in every line of his body. There was something so inhumanly perfect about him it made her furious.
She caught herself staring at his mouth.
His face—cold and sharp—looked more like carved marble than flesh. His eyes weren't just dark. They were endless. Her gaze caught on the slight curve of his lips, the perfectly structured cheekbones, the faint scar beneath his jaw—
Her breath caught.
He looked up, catching her stare.
She flinched. Looked away so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.
It was the bond.
It had to be.
"You're doing it again," he said.
"Doing what?"
"Blushing. Staring."
"I knew it," she blurted.
"Knew what?"
"You're using your powers on me. You're trying to influence my thoughts. Make me see things. That's what demons do, right? Seduce. Manipulate. It's all part of the trap."
"I haven't said a word."
"Exactly!" she snapped. "It's too quiet! It's… sinisterly quiet."
Riven blinked slowly. "So now silence is suspicious."
She glared at him. "I had a dream about you."
"…I'm aware."
Her face flushed. "You saw it?"
"No. But you've avoided my gaze all morning. Your steps faltered every time I came near. You blushed when a child called me a prince. I made a deduction."
She groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "Gods. I need to pray more."
"Yes. You do."
She peeked up. "You agree?"
He smirked—just barely. "You're clearly afflicted."
She gasped. "You mock me."
"I merely observe."
"Your face is unreasonably symmetrical."
"That's a new accusation."
"And your hands are… disturbingly clean for a demon."
Riven arched a brow. "Would you rather they be bloodied?"
"No! I mean… maybe. I don't know."
"Perhaps you should pray about it."
She glared.
"Thinking about that dream?"Hr mocked.
Her face went nuclear.
"I am not."
"You are. Loudly."
She groaned and covered her face. "I hate you."
"You've said that a lot."
"Well, you're very hateable."
"And you're very easily flustered for someone sworn to celibacy."
She froze. "You—you don't know anything about me."
"I know that you're scared of fog. That you hate losing control. That you've been trained to deny what your body wants so hard, it's breaking your mind."
She slapped his arm.
He didn't flinch.
"You're a demon. This is what you do. Tempt. Twist. Seduce."
"I haven't touched you. I haven't used my powers on you Priestess"
"Then why do I keep feeling this way?"
He leaned in, voice low. "Maybe because you want to."
She gasped.
"Or maybe you need a cold bath," he added dryly, pulling back. "I suggest holy water. A lot of it."
She glared daggers.
He smirked. Just a little.
But it wasn't mocking.
It was… almost amused. Curious.
She hated it more than anything.
"I'm going to pray," she declared, getting to her feet—and immediately almost falling again.
He caught her elbow.
She yanked it back.
"I said I'm going to pray."
He gave a mock bow. "Good luck with that."
That night, when she made camp beneath a twisted tree, she sat beside the fire, praying furiously.
He rested a little distance away against a treee, watching the fire.
The silence stretched.
She peeked once.
He caught her.
Her face turned red again.
And for the first time, Riven looked away.
Just slightly.
Because maybe, just maybe…
The fire wasn't only burning in her.
Not anymore.
With that he vanished again.