---
The infirmary reeked of disinfectant and old blood.
Ethan sat on a cot near the far end of the room, his arm wrapped in gauze, his thoughts louder than the groans and murmurs around him. He barely noticed the medics moving from bed to bed, checking vitals and injecting stabilizers. Their words were dull background noise.
His eyes were fixed on the glove sitting in his lap.
The same glove that had concealed his mark for years.
Now it was singed. Burned through. The mark—still faintly glowing—pulsed like a heartbeat on the back of his hand.
"Still alive, Cross?"
Ethan didn't have to look to know who it was. The voice belonged to Elias Tren, one of the Guild's mid-level enforcers. A smug face and a talent for manipulation. More politician than warrior.
Ethan glanced up. "Unfortunately."
Elias chuckled. "You've got guts. I'll give you that. Not many E-Ranks survive evolved-class encounters."
Ethan said nothing.
Elias stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the mark. "You planning to explain that? Or should I call in the purifiers now?"
Ethan tensed. The purifiers were part of the Church—the ones who hunted cursed individuals, aberrations, or anyone "tainted" by Rift energy.
He clenched his fist, hiding the glow.
"I don't know what it is," Ethan lied. "I've had it since I was a kid. Never caused problems before."
Elias raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but he let it drop—for now.
"Well, congratulations, rookie. You've made the board. Half your squad's dead, your team leader's in a coma, and you're the only one talking. Expect a debrief at dawn. Don't disappear."
With that, he walked off, coat flaring behind him.
Ethan's eyes stayed on the door long after Elias left.
He knows something. They all do.
The Guild hadn't questioned how a supposedly low-level Beast broke through the outer sectors. They weren't even shocked. Which meant this wasn't the first time.
And that thing—the one in the forest—it had spoken to him.
Not in words. In thoughts.
His mark pulsed again, as if reacting to the memory.
---
That night, Ethan didn't sleep.
He waited until the infirmary lights dimmed, then slipped out through a side door, hood pulled low. Arx never truly slept—steam vents hissed through alley grates, and hunters patrolled the streets in tight formations—but the lower wards were quieter.
He made his way to the archives.
The Guild Library stood like a fortress of its own—thick stone walls, reinforced windows, and a dozen layers of security enchantments. Luckily, Ethan knew someone.
Inside, behind the librarian's desk, sat a girl with silver hair braided tight, reading a book the size of her torso. When she saw Ethan, she didn't look surprised.
"I figured you'd show up."
"Evening, Lira."
Lira Vane. A C-Rank Support Class, officially registered as a researcher. Unofficially? The Guild's worst-kept secret. She knew more about forbidden Beast lore than most archivists twice her age.
He held up his hand and pulled off the glove.
The glow was fainter now, but still visible.
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Still active?"
"Yes. It reacted again. The Beast—Evolved class, maybe higher—recognized me."
She frowned. "Beasts don't recognize people. They attack. Instinct only."
"This one spoke. Not out loud. In my mind."
Lira closed her book slowly. "Then you're not dealing with a regular Riftspawn."
She stood, walked to a locked case, and pulled out a smaller black journal. Dust flew from it as she opened the cover. Inside were drawings of various marks—glyphs, seals, and curses.
Ethan stared as she flipped to a marked page.
It showed a crescent-shaped symbol almost identical to his. The notes beside it were written in ancient script, but Lira translated aloud.
"Beastmark. Sign of a soul-bound tether forged during contact with a primordial-class entity. Rare. Highly unstable. Fatal in most cases."
Ethan's stomach turned. "Fatal?"
She nodded. "It means you weren't just near a Rift. You were chosen. Or claimed."
Ethan backed away, jaw clenched. "No. I didn't choose this. That thing—it killed my family."
"I know. But whatever happened that night... it didn't finish the ritual. You're still alive. That means it's incomplete."
He looked at his hand again, breath catching.
"So what happens when it is complete?"
Lira didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
---
Hours passed. Ethan sat alone on the library steps, the cool stone grounding him. His thoughts were spinning. His entire life, he'd believed the Guild existed to protect people from Beasts.
Now he wasn't so sure.
The mark.
The silence about his parents' death.
The cover-up in Sector C.
It was all connected.
He took out a small photo from his inner coat pocket—old, slightly wrinkled. His mother smiling. His father standing behind her, sword on his back. Protectors. Hunters. But not just any hunters.
He remembered something.
The night they died, his father had said, "Don't let them find you."
Not the Beasts.
Them.
The Guild?
The Church?
Who was "they"?
The wind picked up. For a moment, it whispered like a voice.
Come find me… Ethan Cross…
He shot to his feet.
The voice was the same as before. Soft, echoing—but not hostile.
He looked toward the outer gates.
Something was calling him from beyond the wall.
---
At dawn, Ethan didn't show up for the debrief.
By then, he was already slipping past the northern checkpoint, dressed in scavenger's gear, hood drawn low.
He didn't care about his rank anymore.
He didn't care about the Guild.
He needed answers. And they weren't going to be found in boardrooms and training halls.
They were in the Wilds.
Where Beasts whispered in tongues older than men.
Where Riftstorms carved truth into the earth.
Where the one who marked him still waited.
---