Kael didn't sleep that night.
He kept staring at the glowing mark on his wrist, waiting for it to fade. But it didn't. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat—his, but somehow… older.
By morning, he returned to the orphanage on the edge of the forest. The halls felt colder, quieter. No one seemed to notice the fire in his eyes, or the way the shadows leaned when he passed.
Only Old Mara, the caretaker, stared at him too long. She reached for something beneath her robes and handed him a folded, singed letter.
"This came for you," she whispered. "It wasn't there yesterday."
Kael opened it. The paper smelled of ash.
The handwriting was sharp and slanted, like it had been written in haste—or fear.
If you've been marked, they will come for you. The Flame has chosen again. Go to the old ruins beneath Hollow Hill. The truth sleeps there, but not for long.
—E.C.
Kael looked up. "Who gave you this?"
But Mara had already walked away, muttering to herself.
He folded the letter, heart racing. Hollow Hill was a forbidden place—sealed long ago after something terrible had been found beneath it.
And now, it was calling him.