After Alira’s death, the darkness within Riven began to grow at a rapid pace, and while he concealed it well from those around him, what he was becoming beneath the surface was something far more unsettling than what anyone could have imagined.
To outsiders, he appeared to be nothing more than a broken boy who had lost the will to speak after his mother’s death.... A quiet child, who had been hollowed out by grief and left behind in a world that no longer held any meaning for him.
However, had anyone been able to peer into his mind at that moment, they would have realized that Riven was not grieving at all.
Because there was not a trace of sorrow within him, only a deep and growing anger.
He was angry at the world for taking away the last thing he cared about.....
Angry at Minerva, the moon goddess, for never answering the countless prayers his mother had whispered into the night.
And most of all, angry at those who had wronged him and his family over the years, as with Alira gone, he finally chose to act on that anger.
Scratch—
Riven sat alone beside a candle with an old torn ledger resting across his lap, as he began keeping a record of all the people that had wronged him in his life.
Scratch—
The charcoal dragged slowly across the paper.
One name.
Then another.
Then another.
Men who hit Alira for speaking too slowly.
Men who laughed while watching others hurt her.
Men who grabbed her by the hair.
Men who stood nearby and did nothing.
Riven remembered all of them and made a list.
Every face.
Every voice.
Every detail.
The candlelight flickered across his expression as the list continued growing beneath his hand until eventually, more than a hundred names filled the worn pages, with punishments already decided for every last one.
On the very top, was Hagrid, while the last name was the entirety of the Ashfang Tribe itself, as even at such a young age, Riven swore an oath to erase the Ashfang Tribe from existence, just as they had done to the Blue Frost Tribe all those years ago.
And though he did not yet know how he would accomplish it, what he did know with absolute certainty was that someday he would.
So, he began planning his revenge one step at a time, with the first target he selected being Hagrid, since he was the man responsible for ending his mother’s life far earlier than it should have.
However, while the urge to kill him burned fiercely within him, Riven understood that acting on impulse by slitting his throat in his sleep or stabbing him from behind would only lead to Riven’s own downfall.
Such an obvious act would bring immediate suspicion from the local authorities and ensure that he was hunted down by the Ashfang warriors before he could escape to the next nearest village.
And that would defeat the purpose of everything.
Because his goal was not simply to kill Hagrid, but to wipe the Ashfang Tribe itself from existence.
So instead, he chose a more deliberate path.
One that required patience, control, and precision, as he took his time carefully planning his first act of revenge and came up with a method that would not grant Hagrid a quick death, but instead force him to suffer slowly, day after day, until the man finally understood what it truly meant to be broken.
Even at such a young age, Riven understood that every action carried consequences, as life within the brothel had taught him that lesson with brutal consistency.
Every mistake he had ever made had been punished severely, forcing his mind to mature far beyond his years, and because of that, he knew exactly what he could get away with, and more importantly, what actions would immediately draw suspicion toward him.
Which was why the plan he devised unfolded over months rather than days, as he resisted the urge to act immediately and instead allowed time to become his greatest weapon.
He understood that careless haste would only expose him, and so he allowed the routine of the brothel to continue unchanged while quietly positioning himself where it mattered most.
As every movement he made during those days served a purpose, while each task brought him closer to carrying out the revenge he sought.
Because the method he ultimately chose to kill Hagrid was slow poisoning, something that required immense patience and precision, yet suited Riven perfectly since he was already the brothel’s cook and the person Hagrid trusted with his meals every single day.
The idea itself came from something small, a quiet conversation he had overheard between a few women who believed no one was listening.
They had spoken about a plant that grew behind the brothel, a root that could induce deep sleep when used in the right quantities.
The green worm herb, as they called it, was often used by local healers to treat headaches and restless nights through controlled consumption.
It was tasteless, easy to mix into food, and most importantly, capable of affecting the body without raising immediate suspicion if handled carefully.
Riven remembered every detail of that conversation, and from that moment onward, the first phase of his plan had already begun forming in his mind.
He began collecting the herb quietly from the garden behind the brothel, gathering small amounts that would never be noticed as missing.
He crushed the roots into a fine paste, learning through careful observation how much could be used without triggering immediate harm.
At first, the quantities he added to Hagrid’s meals were so small that the effects were barely noticeable, allowing the changes to remain subtle.
Hagrid simply felt more tired than usual, his energy dipping slightly as he attributed it to age, stress, or the demands of running the brothel.
And so, Riven continued without interruption, increasing the dosage little by little with each passing day, ensuring the change never felt sudden or unnatural.
As weeks passed, the fatigue deepened, and Hagrid began sleeping longer while complaining more frequently about feeling unwell and unusually weak.
Eventually, the condition became noticeable to others, as the once imposing man began to appear sluggish and visibly drained in his movements.
Concerned, Hagrid visited a local healer and began taking medicines meant to restore his strength, believing his condition to be temporary.
However, no matter what remedies he followed, the weakness never truly left him, because Riven never stopped adjusting the dosage in secret.
Instead of improving, Hagrid’s condition slowly worsened, until his constant drowsiness became an accepted part of his daily life.
Once that happened, Riven knew the first phase of his plan had succeeded, and that no one would question the steady continuation of Hagrid’s decline.
As it was only then that he moved to the next step and began introducing actual poison into the equation.
Behind the brothel, he had often seen venomous snakes slithering through the undergrowth as they hunted small animals, and after observing them for long enough, he eventually captured one and kept it carefully hidden from sight.
Over time, he studied its behavior and learned how to extract its venom without killing it, collecting small amounts day after day and storing them with precision as he waited patiently for the right moment.
And when that moment finally came, when Hagrid grew desperate enough to rely on strong energy boosting drugs known for their hallucinogenic side effects in an attempt to shake off his drowsiness, Riven quietly began mixing the venom into his food in controlled quantities, ensuring that the eventual symptoms of foaming at the mouth and paralysis would not appear as deliberate poisoning, but rather as the result of a fatal medicinal overdose.
The goal was never to kill him quickly, but to destroy him piece by piece until his body failed him completely from within.
And then, one day, the result came.
Not as death, but as something far worse.
As overnight, Hagrid suffered a paralysis stroke that left his body broken, his legs refusing to respond while his left side stopped functioning entirely.
The scene reflected in Riven’s gaze, his eyes never moving away. He watched in silence as the once powerful man was reduced to a cripple, unable to stand, unable to move, and forced into dependence on those around him.
As watching him that weak, Riven suddenly brought his hand to his mouth.
Without realizing it, he had started to smile.
Something about the sight before him.
Seeing Hagrid in such a deplorable state made his chest tingle, as he couldn’t help but mutter how this feeling, it....
"It feels good."
As that was the moment that he felt it for the first time....
The thrill.
A thrill that he would become addicted to for the rest of his life, as this small success would become the start of a transformation that went far beyond revenge and settled deep within his mind, reshaping the way he thought, the way he felt, and the way he would come to see the world itself.
As somewhere within that quiet satisfaction, the first fracture in his mind took hold and refused to fade, setting him on a path that would one day give rise to a name the world would come to fear...
The Smiling Calamity.