The mark hums. The wind whispers. And Ethan Cross walks the path no hunter dares take.
---
The forests beyond Arx were called the Dead Veil for a reason.
No Guild patrols. No signal flares. No backup if you screamed.
And yet Ethan walked it with a blade on his back and only the weight of his guilt to guide him.
Leaves crunched underfoot, damp with yesterday's rain. The sun barely filtered through the gnarled canopy above. Shadows moved in ways they shouldn't, like the forest itself was breathing.
He paused to catch his breath near a fallen tree, wiping sweat from his brow.
Two days since he vanished from the Guild compound. Two days of dodging tracking drones and corrupted wildlife. Two days of chasing a whisper only he could hear.
Come find me…
It hadn't spoken again since the night he escaped, but the pull in his mark grew stronger the deeper he went. Like something just beyond his reach was calling to him—something ancient.
Or something monstrous.
He unwrapped his glove briefly. The mark glowed a pale blue now, no longer pulsing in pain but... guiding.
It almost felt alive.
Not dangerous, Ethan told himself. Not yet.
Then he heard it.
A twig snapped to his left. He ducked behind the log just as a low growl echoed through the trees.
He unsheathed his blade, crouching low. The forest hushed. Even the wind held its breath.
And then it stepped into view.
A Rift Beast—low-class, but mutated. Its body was thin and long, too many limbs bent in the wrong places. Its head twitched like a marionette's as it sniffed the air.
It can smell the mark.
Ethan waited. One breath. Two.
The beast screeched—and pounced.
He rolled to the side, slashing upward as he moved. The blade sang, cutting through one of its forelegs. It screeched again, more in rage than pain.
Ethan didn't wait.
He surged forward, blade spinning in a quick arc, striking the beast across its chest. Sparks and dark blood flew. The creature staggered, then lunged blindly.
A mistake.
Ethan ducked under its swipe, drove the sword through its throat, and twisted.
The body collapsed.
Panting, he wiped the blade on his coat. That made the third beast today. Something was wrong with them—more aggressive, more erratic.
As if the forest itself was sick.
"Nice form," a dry voice said from the trees.
Ethan whirled, blade raised.
A figure dropped down from a branch, casual, cloak fluttering. A woman—tall, lean, with dark reddish hair tied in a messy knot. A scar ran across her cheek like lightning. One eye glowed faintly gold.
"Relax," she said, lifting her hands. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be bleeding."
Ethan didn't lower the sword. "Who are you?"
"Juno. Rogue hunter. Like you."
He blinked. "You know who I am?"
"Of course. Whole Guild's hunting your face right now. And that mark on your hand?" She pointed lazily. "That thing's screaming Rift energy. I could sense you from miles away."
Ethan hesitated. "Then why help me?"
"Because you're walking into your own funeral." She gestured toward the deeper woods. "That direction leads to an old Rift site. Everyone who goes near it either vanishes or loses their mind."
Ethan said nothing. His mark burned faintly beneath his glove.
Juno sighed. "Look, kid. I don't care what the Guild told you, but if you've got a Beastmark, you need answers. Real ones. Not Church-fed propaganda. Come with me. I know a place."
Ethan stared at her, weighing his options. She was dangerous. That much was clear. But she knew something.
And he was running out of leads.
"…Fine. Lead the way."
---
Juno's hideout was built into the remains of an old armored transport—half-buried, rusted, and shielded with branches. Inside was surprisingly cozy. A fire pit, worn bedrolls, maps with scribbled notes, and walls plastered with Beast sketches and Rift glyphs.
She tossed Ethan a canteen and sat cross-legged by the fire.
"You know why I left the Guild?" she asked without looking at him.
He didn't answer.
"They lied. Not just about the Beasts. About the marks. About us."
"Us?"
She held up her arm. Pulled back her sleeve.
A mark, different in shape but pulsing faintly red, covered her forearm like veins of fire.
"I got mine during a Rift collapse five years ago. The Guild branded me cursed. Tried to kill me before I could even understand what it meant."
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"My team didn't make it," she continued. "But I survived. And I heard the voice, too."
He looked up. "What did it say?"
Her eyes flicked to his, serious now. "It didn't say anything. It screamed. Said the world would burn when the Beast King returned. That the marked ones were his chosen."
"…Chosen for what?"
Juno didn't answer. Instead, she stood, walked to a drawer, and handed him a cracked book. Inside were sketches of ancient runes, maps of Rift zones, and an old page labeled:
"Beastmarked: The Curse of the Riftborn Heirs."
Ethan ran his fingers over the page. The sketch of the mark matched his almost exactly.
"That's why they want you dead, Ethan," Juno said. "You're not just a hunter."
He looked up.
"You're a key."
---