River didn't need the soul shard.
It was cracked down the middle, a jagged stone that pulsed faintly with leftover light, just enough that it proved it belonged to a dormant Nightmare Creature.
It wasn't something he wanted or even needed.
There was just something deep and instinctual urging him to take it.
So, he did.
And then he did it again.
The second time was easier; the fifth, smoother. By the tenth, he barely thought about it—just let his fingers move while his eyes drifted elsewhere, playing the part of an enamored child. He never took from the same place twice, never touched anything new, and only took the things that no one really seemed to care about.
But River cared. Each item meant something to him. Like they were pieces of something he was missing, and the world had simply forgotten to hand them over.
So, no—River didn't think of it as stealing. He was just taking what was rightfully his in the first place, and there was nothing wrong with taking the things that belonged to you.
Yet… his parents' didn't exactly view it the same way when they ended up finding out about it.
***
River cautiously opened up the loose floorboard beneath his bed and gently sat down a figurine of a bird-like creature. It was slightly scuffed up, like it had been damaged from falling from a high height. But despite its damage, River loved it all the same. But just as he pressed the board back into its place, the quiet click of his door opening made him freeze.
"River." A strong voice resounded out to his right just as the floorboard finally clicked into place.
He stiffened.
Turning to the side, he spotted his dad leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed and an unreadable expression. He wasn't glaring, wasn't fuming—just watching.
"How long have you been hiding things under there?" His father asked, eyes drifting to the edge of the bed.
River didn't answer at first but eventually relented under his father's gaze.
"Does it matter?" he said quietly.
His father stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. "It matters when my son is sneaking around like he's living in someone else's house."
River's jaw clenched. He looked away. "I didn't take anything that wasn't mine."
"You took things that didn't belong to you," his father said, calm but firm. "That's not okay."
"They did belong to me," River childishly muttered as he looked down at the ground. "They just didn't know it yet."
His father let out a slow breath as if trying to choose his following words carefully.
"River," he said again, softer now, "what are you trying to fill with all of this?"
River didn't respond as he looked towards the ground, the ends of his shirt clenched in his fists. He just didn't get why his dad even cared, they were his belongings after all. He could do whatever he wanted with them.
His father let out a quiet sigh at the sight, his shoulders easing as his posture slouched just a little. Without a word, he stepped further into the room and sat down on the edge of River's bed, the mattress creaking under his weight.
For a moment, he just sat there, eyes on the floor. Then, with a small glance in River's direction, he gently patted the empty space beside him.
River hesitated, unsure of what he should do. Then, slowly, he padded over and climbed up beside him with legs dangling off the edge.
"River…" His father's voice was even softer now, the kind he only used when he was trying not to sound angry. "You understand why I'm upset, don't you?"
River didn't say anything. His shoes lightly tapped against the side of the bed frame, barely making a sound.
"You can't keep taking things that don't belong to you," his father went on. "I know you feel like they're yours. I know it makes sense in your head. But that's not how the world works, River. That's not something you're allowed to do."
River's lips pressed into a tight line. He didn't nod. He didn't argue either.
His father ran a hand through his hair before looking at River's small figure. "I'm not mad at you…I just…" He let out a soft exhale, his gaze distant for a moment. "The world doesn't like being taken from River. If you continue to take from it, the world will take something back. And it never trades fair."
Just as the words lingered in the room, a sharp buzz crackled from the small communicator clipped to his belt. His father glanced down, a mixture of surprise and unease spreading across his face as he read the name.
He stood reluctantly.
"We'll finish this later."
He ruffled River's hair and then turned to leave the room, the door clicking shut behind him. But before River could begin to process what his father's words had meant, he could hear his father's muffled voice from outside his door.
"ken… rd… is…?"
River knew it was impolite to eavesdrop on other people's conversation, but his unease and curiosity made him slowly inch his way toward the door.
"Wha… that…rtal…ame…?"
River wasn't sure who his father was talking to or why he was talking to them, but it made his stomach twist in ways he didn't know was possible. Finally pressing his ear against the door, his father's muffled voice became clearer.
"You ne… me… go… NQSC? But…"
His father's voice halted mid-sentence like the other person had spoken over him—sharp and sudden, cutting straight through whatever he was about to say.
"...eph? I'll… just… time… please"
River's brows furrowed. He'd never heard his father sound so… unsure before. Not when talking to strangers. Not when talking to other Awakened. Not even when he was talking to River.
River pressed his ear harder to the wood, barely breathing.
"...now? That's not…"
But before he could hear more, the sound cut off. Not faded—cut.
River flinched as a sharp beep rang out like the communicator had been disconnected or forcibly ended. Then silence. No footsteps. No voices. Just the static quiet of the hallway outside his door.
River stood frozen, ear still pressed to the wood, waiting for something—anything—to pick back up. But nothing came.
It wasn't until River heard the sharp crack of shattering metal, followed by the sound of footsteps heading down the hallway that he realized whatever that conversation had been… it was over.
***
The house had grown quieter over the past few days, not in a comforting way, but in a way that made it feel like he was walking on eggshells no matter where he went. Conversations stopped when he walked into rooms. The doors closed a little too quickly. Even the topic of River stealing things—something that his father had promised to revisit—no longer seemed like it mattered anymore.
It was like everyone had silently agreed to ignore it as if their focus had shifted to something much heavier, something unspoken but undeniably present.
His mother had been spending more time inside the small dojo, and the sound of wood creaking under pressure was present throughout the day. It was a space she had barely used since he was a kid, always dismissing it with a simple, "That's all in the past," whenever the topic came up. But now it was hard to find a time when she wasn't slaving away in there, sometimes even forgetting to eat meals.
His father hadn't changed much, still spending the majority of his time making sure everything in the house ran smoothly. But there was a subtle shift in the way he moved, like a gear that had slipped slightly out of alignment. He no longer stayed up late discussing his experiences as an Awakened with River, nor did he tell stupid dad jokes during dinner time. Instead, he spent his time locked away in his study. The door was always shut as if the house itself had grown too noisy for him to bear.
Even his grandmother, usually the calm presence in their home, had started to act differently. She'd always been the one to keep everyone grounded, her steady gaze able to pierce through the quiet to notice things that others missed. But now, River often found her standing by the windows, her eyes scanning the horizon with a tense edge as though she were waiting for something.
River tried to understand what exactly changed, but nothing seemed to make sense. The only thing that lingered in his mind was that strange call he'd overheard, but even that didn't offer any answers, just more questions.
River was almost at his breaking point. But then, it happened.
"Thalia and I are going to the NQSC," his father abruptly brought up, his voice cutting through the quiet clatter of dinner.
"The NQSC…?" River questioned, confusion clear in his tone. The name felt a bit unfamiliar, but his memory tugged at him, recalling snippets of conversations he'd overheard. The North Quadrant Siege Capital was the quadrant where the Immortal Flame clan resided. He didn't know much about it, though; his parents often avoided the topic like the plague.
"Yes… your father and I will be leaving tomorrow." His mother cut in, her voice lingering with quiet sadness.
"Tomorrow…? Like… tomorrow tomorrow?" River was now even more confused. Not only were they going to the NQSC, but they were leaving tomorrow?
His father stared at River, an emotion he couldn't name etched deep across his face—like something inside him was breaking. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way River. But, we'll come back soon. I promise."
"Don't make any false promises," his grandma suddenly cut in, her gaze burrowing into her son-in-law. "We left that place for a reason."
"We didn't have much of a choice." His father said as he glanced up, his eyes resting on the older woman.
"You always have a choice." His grandmother's glare became even more intense, as if River's father had just betrayed her. "You choose them over us."
River looked between them, unable to understand a single that was going on. What did his grandmother mean by saying they had already left the NQSC? And who was his father choosing over him and his grandmother?
"We didn't have a choice," his father added, his frame becoming more tense. "We have to go and that's final."
With those final words, silence settled over the table like a shroud, thick and suffocating. The clink of utensils stopped. No one moved.
River sat frozen, his appetite long gone, staring down at the untouched food on his plate. He could feel the weight of everyone's eyes, but no one said another word. There was nothing left to say.
His mother stood first, her chair scraping back with a sound that made River flinch. She left without another glance. His father followed a moment later, pausing just long enough to rest a hand on River's shoulder. It was meant to be comforting. It wasn't.
Only his grandmother remained, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze distant now—not angry, not even hurt. Just tired.
"I'm sorry that you were caught up in the middle of this," she said quietly, her voice almost breaking. "There's just so much you don't know… so much that we've hidden from you. And I know you must want answers, but… not tonight." She reached out, brushing a hand gently over his knuckles. "Soon. I promise, River. Just… not tonight."
Then she, too, rose and left.
River was alone in the dining room, the quietness of the house pressing in on all sides.
He didn't know what they were running from or what they were running back to—but whatever it was, it had already started pulling his family apart.
And tomorrow, they'd be gone.