Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

Tonight, the Red Dragon Inn buzzed with its usual noise—laughter, drunken boasts, and glasses clinking in time with the beat of lives crashing into one another. I sat at the bar, sipping water from a chipped glass, letting the warmth of the room sink into my bones. For once, I almost felt like I belonged here. Almost. I let my guard down, just a little, allowed myself to pretend I could be like everyone else—just another face in the crowd, no past, no baggage. But even as I tried to convince myself, my eyes kept scanning the room, my ears picking up every word, every whisper. It's in my blood to stay sharp, even when I don't want to.

It was peaceful enough. Until he showed up.

He didn’t ask for attention—he commanded it. Tall, built like a freight train, and his eyes... they saw right through me. The second he sat beside me, I knew it. Trouble had found me, again. It always does. I tried brushing him off, playing the game like I wasn’t bothered, but his voice cut through the noise, sharp and smooth like glass.

Hearing my name, hearing him speak the lies about what I’d left behind—it was like being yanked back to the Boneyard, back to Pittsburgh Prime. The weight of it all crushed down on me, and I could feel the world spinning out from under me. That damn screen... watching President Prime twist everything, turn my fight, my sisters, into something monstrous. He blamed us. Blamed me. And all I could see was the ruin of my home, the rubble where I once found a family.

I thought I had escaped. Thought Rhy’Din might be a new beginning. But no matter how far I run, the past won’t let me go.

The bounty hunter thought he could break me with a few words, with a twisted version of my past. But he has no idea who he's dealing with. I’ve been broken before. And every time, I’ve come back stronger.

When he flashed that device in my face, I nearly lost it. He thought dragging me back to my nightmares would make me go quietly. But I don’t run. Not anymore.

The fight came fast, and damn if I didn’t feel every old scar pulling tight. I’m not as fast as I used to be, not as strong, but I’m still here. Still standing. And every punch I landed reminded me of that. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about fighting back.

And then, she appeared. Like a force of nature, stepping between me and the hunter with a calm swagger that made me question if she was real. Flames flickered at her fingers, like she carried the same fire inside her that I do. Maybe she does. She fought like she had something to prove, and I wasn’t too proud to let her take the lead. Hell, I was too tired to argue.

When it was all over, and the bounty hunter was left bleeding on the floor, she looked at me like she already knew my story. Like she’d been there before, seen what I’d seen. “You’re just my type,” she said, before disappearing into the night. She might as well have walked out of one of Serenity’s stories, the kind where the hero shows up just when you need them most.

But I’m no hero.

Tonight was a reminder of that. The past isn’t done with me, and no matter how much I want to pretend I can start over, it’s still there—waiting to drag me back.

I’m not sure where this is going. But I know one thing: I’m not done fighting. Not yet.

— Eva

It’s been one hell of a day. Came down to the Red Dragon feeling every bit as broken as I looked—bruises, busted ribs, and barely enough energy to make it to the bar. The kid behind the counter didn’t ask questions, just slid me a glass of water, and for a moment, I thought I might get a few minutes of peace. But peace doesn’t last long in a place like Rhy’Din, and I should’ve known better.

That’s when she showed up.

Mira Burke. Smelled like paint thinner, looked like hell, and sang like an angel with a broken heart. Her voice cut through the air, and even though her song was beautiful, the words… damn, they hit hard. It was the kind of pain you don’t just see—you feel it, deep down. And the worst part was, I understood it. I felt it. Her words lingered like an old wound that hadn’t quite healed, and for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel so alone in the mess I’ve been trying to outrun.

She saw me, too. Took one look at my battered face and made some joke about sharing drinks—offered to cover my tab, like we were old friends. I don’t know why I didn’t push her away. Maybe it was the way she looked at me, like she already knew what kind of day I was having without asking. I raised my glass in a silent toast, told her if she was drinking that stuff she had in her tin can, she was worse off than me. She just laughed, said she was “built different.”

Turns out, she wasn’t lying.

We started talking, and for a while, it felt easy, like we were two sides of the same damn coin. I told her about my sisters—the Boneyard Brats, the ones I lost back in Pittsburgh Prime. Told her about Mariah, Brick, all the people I miss every damn day. And she understood. Really understood. She’s lost people too, her whole crew gone in a suicide run against something called the Solar Confederacy. We swapped stories about battles and survivors' guilt, about how losing people never gets easier, no matter how many times it happens. I’ve never met someone who got it the way she did.

Then she hit me with this line about love. Told me not to wait too long to savor it, because the taste turns bitter if you let it sit too long. I didn’t expect that from someone drinking paint thinner, but there it was—wisdom wrapped in sadness. I admitted I’d felt something for Serenity. Told her about how I was trying to let it in without wrecking it, and she just nodded like she’d been there too. Turns out, she had. She’d loved a woman named Serenity, her late wife. The same Serenity who makes that tea I’ve come to love, Adia Green, which Mira said her wife grew herself.

That’s when everything went sideways.

The second I mentioned my Serenity, something shifted in Mira. Her whole demeanor changed, like I’d ripped open an old wound she hadn’t even realized was there. She said her wife Serenity was gone—she thought she’d killed her after a betrayal, and hearing me talk about another Serenity, it was too much. It didn’t take long for her to realize there was more to the story, that maybe my Serenity was her Serenity.

She cracked. Like, really cracked.

She wasn’t just angry anymore. She was dangerous. The air got heavy, and I could feel her power—dark and suffocating, like she was on the verge of losing control. She started glitching, literally glitching, like something wasn’t right inside her, and I saw her for what she really was. Not just a broken woman. A demon. And not just any demon—a powerful one. She wasn’t playing anymore.

She made it clear she could snuff me out like a candle if she wanted to, and I believed her. But I wasn’t about to back down. I’ve faced death before, stared it in the face and kept going. Mira was angry, yes, but she wasn’t the first person to threaten me. She started talking about how she loved putting out sparks, how she was fighting her instincts to destroy everything. Said she used to “play nice,” but that side of her was gone—buried by betrayal, abandonment, and heartbreak.

She was ready to follow her instincts and destroy me, just to prove a point.

And then, before I knew it, she was swinging. A bat, black as night, shot out of her hand, and she swung it at me like she was swinging for the fences. I tried to brace myself, but I wasn’t fast enough. The bat slammed into my arms, breaking bones on impact, and sent me flying across the room. I hit the wall so hard I thought it might knock me out, but I didn’t black out. I stayed conscious, even though every part of my body screamed in agony.

Mira wasn’t done. She came at me again, ready to finish what she’d started. But just as she swung that bat toward my head, something else happened. Serenity’s cloak—the one she gave me—wrapped around me, shielding me from the blow. It shimmered with this soft, golden light, and when Mira’s bat hit it, the force of her attack just dissipated. Like it couldn’t touch me. Like Serenity herself was standing between us.

Mira was furious. She sucked her bat in, storming off, but not before making it clear that she wasn’t done with me. She left the bar in a rage, her goblins disappearing into the shadows with her, and the whole place felt like it exhaled after she was gone.

When it was over, I could barely stand. I was broken, again, but this time it wasn’t just my body—it was everything. Tyladi and some kid, Cass, helped patch me up, using their healing magic to put my bones back in place, but even as my body mended, I felt like something inside me was still shattered. They tried to tell me I should stop fighting, that maybe there’s another way to live. Maybe they’re right. But how the hell do I stop fighting when that’s all I’ve ever known?

Mira said she was my Serenity’s mountain, the one she thought she’d never see again. And I saw it in her eyes—the pain, the loss, the betrayal. I don’t know what to do with any of this. I don’t know what it means for me, for Serenity, for Mira. All I know is that I can’t let this go. I have to figure it out, even if it kills me.

Because if I don’t, if I just walk away from this, what the hell was all the fighting for?

— Eva

I’ve spent the last few days locked up in that so-called “safehouse” on the 42nd floor of The Spire in Venator City. They called it protection, said I was being kept safe from Mira. Like that demoness isn’t in my head every minute. I could still feel the ache in my ribs from where she nearly killed me, and they think locking me up in some sleek, sterile cage would keep me safe?

I was done waiting.

After pacing for days, I noticed the guard—Varnell—got lazy with his rounds. He left the door unlocked when he brought me food. The second he walked away, I slipped out. Silent, like I’d done a thousand times before. Old habits don’t die easy.

The halls of The Spire felt more like a prison than any safehouse ever could. Agent Bane was my first problem. I grabbed a mop from a nearby closet and took him down fast. Caught him by surprise, knocked him out cold, and stole his comm device. Halverson and Koch were next. Too bad for them, they were easy marks. I used a fire extinguisher to distract them, took out Halverson with a knee to the chest, and slammed Koch’s face into the wall before he even knew what hit him.

Floor by floor, I worked my way down, taking out anyone in my path. Vickers and Cassidy tried to stop me on 18, but they weren’t fast enough. A punch here, a shove there, and they were both out cold. Three more—Donovan, Quaid, and Muir—were waiting for me closer to the lobby. This time, I had to get creative. I took out the sprinkler system, used the water to my advantage, and left them slipping and sliding across the floor while I made my exit.

By the time I hit the lobby, I could taste freedom. But Farley was blocking the door. I didn’t even try subtlety this time—just rammed my shoulder into him and dropped him like a bag of bricks. I could hear the glass doors hiss open behind me, and for the first time in days, I was free.

But that wasn’t enough.

I stole a car—a sleek Venator model, the kind that doesn’t breathe without permission—and told it to drive far away. I didn’t care where. I just wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t The Spire. The car drove off towards Endless Nights after I stepped out at the Red Dragon Inn.

The inn felt different after what I’d just gone through. It’s still worn-down and full of the same familiar smells—old wood, leather, and maybe stew—but for a second, it actually felt safe. Serenity’s not here. That should make me feel more alone, but right now, it’s almost comforting. No one’s watching me. No one’s asking me to be something I’m not.

The bartender barely looked up as I dragged myself to the bar. He poured a glass of water before I even sat down, like he knew I’d show up eventually. I slumped into the stool, every muscle in my body screaming at me to rest, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. "You made it back", he muttered, sliding the glass toward me. Yeah, I made it back. Barely. I smirked when he mentioned the agents I knocked out a few days prior. I know he won’t say it, but I think he was a little impressed. Or maybe just relieved I didn’t get myself killed.

I downed the water, letting the cold run through me. For a moment, I let myself breathe.

I muttered something about people leaving me alone one day. Who am I kidding? No one’s ever going to let me just be. Not while Mira’s still out there. Not while the weight of Pittsburgh Prime, the Boneyard, and everything I’ve ever done still drags behind me like a shadow.

But right now, sitting in this old bar, I can almost pretend I’m free. Almost.

For now, I’ll take it.

— Eva