The execution square of Lavian was a sea of murmurs and shifting bodies, packed tight beneath the pale gold of midday light. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, indifferent to the spectacle below.
At the center of it all, bound and kneeling on the raised platform, was Riven.
His chains had been removed—only to be replaced by iron manacles that bit deep into his wrists, arms wrenched behind his back. Dirt streaked his face, and blood crusted his split lip. He was weak. Hollow.
And for the first time in years, utterly alone.
Above him, the city's mayor raised a ceremonial blade, its polished surface catching the light. The man's hands trembled, but his voice was steady.
"Let all gathered witness justice. The cursed child, wielder of infernal chains, shall be executed for crimes against Lavian's peace."
The crowd erupted. Some cheered. Others simply watched, hungry for the spectacle.
Riven lifted his head. His gaze swept over the faces—some twisted in glee, others blank with indifference. No allies. No escape. Only the distant glint of sunlight on a rooftop tile, mocking him with its freedom.
Is this it?
Then—
"You must not die here."
The voice slithered through his mind, dark and familiar.
Riven's fingers twitched. "You again…" His lips barely moved. "Why does it matter if I die?"
Silence. Then—
"You are mine. I do not waste what is mine."
Before he could retort, black smoke exploded at the edge of the platform.
The crowd screamed as the wind howled, a figure emerging from the swirling darkness—robed in black, face hidden behind a devilish mask.
Gasps tore through the square.
"Shadow League!" someone shrieked.
The masked man lifted a gloved hand. "This one is not yours to kill."
Chaos erupted.
People scrambled back as Sareth, the golden-haired enforcer, stepped forward, his spear humming with faint light.
"You'll have to go through me, freak."
Their clash was a blur—steel met shadow, sparks flying as their weapons collided. The platform groaned under the force, smoke coiling around their feet like living tendrils.
Riven's heart hammered. His bindings were loose—likely from the earlier struggle.
Now.
Varnak's voice cut through the noise. "Run. Now."
He moved.
Ducking past stunned enforcers, Riven threw himself off the platform, hitting the ground hard. Pain lanced up his leg, but he ignored it, pushing through the panicked crowd.
Almost there.
The alley loomed ahead—freedom just steps away.
Then—
A shadow fell over him.
Riven froze.
Van Joiva stood before him, silver hair glinting, spear resting casually against his shoulder. His expression was calm. Almost bored.
"And here I thought the Shadow League might take you." He sighed. "But you slipped up, child."
Riven turned to run—
But too late.
A flash of silver. A searing, white-hot pain.
Then—
Nothing.
The world tilted. Colors turned black.
Van Joiva stared down at the lifeless body, blood dripping from his spear.
"Dispose of it," he said, turning away. "The curse ends here."
"Riven, the reason I gave you my power was because of the potential you had. But fate didn't allow you to reach your potential. I hope, one day, in some other world, we will meet again," said the voice.
------------------[THE END]------------------
This was a super short story that I wrote to learn some writing. Sorry for the unexpected ending. Yes, and in a sense, I wanted you guys to experience this unexpected ending. In this world, he was not fit to be a main character. Oh, by the way, I am not high on anything. This was a story of a nobody or an NPC that just dies in some part of the story. Thanks for reading and wasting your time!!