The sound of branches snapping beneath their boots was the only thing accompanying Aray and his mysterious savior as they made their way through the forest. The woods felt darker than before, as if the shadows themselves stretched out deliberately, wrapping around them like smoke.
Aray tried to speak several times, but the man's stern gaze stopped him. There was something in the way he walked, in how his hand hovered near the hilt of his scimitar, that made Aray think twice before saying anything.
Eventually, the traveler broke the silence.
"What kind of creature gave you that wound?"
His voice was calm, but there was no softness in it. It was the kind of question that left no room for lies or excuses.
"It was… a reptile, I guess. Like a snake," Aray replied, trying to recall the details. "But it wasn't normal. It had legs—like a spider."
The man came to an abrupt stop, turning to face him directly.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! I saw it up close!" Aray snapped, raising his bandaged arm. "It bit me. What kind of question is that?"
The traveler studied him for a long moment, eyes sharp and unreadable, like he was searching for something deeper than just words.
"And where did you find it?"
"In those ruins. The ones we barely escaped alive. It was... asleep, I think. Until I woke it up."
The man let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. His expression was a mix of frustration and weary resignation.
"Of course. There's always someone curious enough to mess everything up."
"Hey!" Aray stepped forward, defensive. "I didn't know what I was doing. I was looking for Muffin, and—"
"Muffin?"
"My cat."
The man blinked, then let out a short huff—possibly a laugh.
"A cat. You nearly got yourself—and probably your entire village—killed... for a cat."
"I didn't know any of that would happen!" Aray's cheeks flushed with heat. "If you're not going to help me, then just don't bother."
The man raised a hand to silence him.
"Listen, kid. You're in deep enough already. I don't need you making things worse."
Aray bit back the rest of his words, though frustration simmered beneath the surface.
The traveler took a step closer and gestured toward his arm.
"That mark you're carrying... it's not just a wound. It's a tether. And while that creature still lives, others like the ones from the ruins will keep hunting you. They won't stop. Not until you're dead."
Aray's heart hammered in his chest.
"So… it's all because of that thing?"
"Partly." The man folded his arms. "But you're not helping matters. That mark won't go away just because you wish it would. And if you're not careful, it's going to kill you anyway."
Aray swallowed hard, the weight of those words sinking into his gut.
"What do you mean, 'kill me'?"
The man hesitated for a moment, then raised his own hand. Dark lines, like roots or veins, crept from beneath his shirt, slithering toward his neck.
"It spreads. And when it fills every inch of your body, it'll tear you apart from the inside."
The cold truth hit Aray like a slap.
"So I'm… doomed?"
The man looked at him with something between sympathy and warning.
"No. Not if you learn to control it."
"Control it?"
"Yes. And for that, you're going to need to listen. Do exactly what I say, and maybe—maybe—you'll have a chance."
Aray wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or more terrified.
"Why would you do that?" he asked softly.
The man's gaze drifted toward the trees. His face hardened again.
"Because I thought I was the last one."
"The last what?"
No answer. The traveler turned and began walking again, leaving Aray with more questions than ever.
They moved in silence. The man led, eyes forward, hand near his blade. Aray followed close behind, teeth clenched, a storm of questions boiling in his head.
Then the traveler slowed, glancing back.
"What's your name, kid?"
Aray blinked, caught off guard.
"My… name? It's Aray."
The man nodded, as if the name didn't matter.
"Fine. Aray. Listen carefully, because I won't say this twice."
His tone left no room for argument. He pointed toward a small stream threading through the forest.
"We rest here."
Both of them knelt by the water. The man splashed his face, and Aray followed suit, grateful for the cold touch on his skin. But he couldn't help noticing how the shadows still clung to the man's frame, even under sunlight.
"You said those things will follow me because of the mark…" Aray ventured.
"It's not just the mark," the man cut in, still staring at the water. "It's the thing that made it."
Aray frowned.
"That monster?"
"Exactly." The man turned to meet his gaze. "That wasn't just a bite. The Reborn used to choose to be marked—by letting juvenile ones bite them."
"The Reborn?" Aray echoed, confused.
"That's what we called ourselves." The man sat down on a nearby rock. "Bearers of the Shadow. People who wanted power to change their fate."
"Bearers? Power? What are you talking about?"
"Questions like that are better saved for when we're not being hunted," he replied, voice cold as his steel.
Aray clenched his fists.
"Fine. Then explain this—why me? Why is this happening to me?"
The traveler stared at him for a beat.
"That's what surprises me. You survived. The bites of adult umbryss… don't make Bearers. No one survives those."
"No one?"
The man nodded slowly.
"When an adult umbryss marks you, it leaves behind a signal. Others can sense it—like you're screaming 'come find me' without opening your mouth. And they will come."
Aray shuddered.
"So I'm marked... forever?"
"Not necessarily." The man's voice lowered. "But until we kill that umbryss… you'll never know peace. And neither will the people around you."
Aray stared into the stream, watching his reflection break and shift with the ripples. The idea of facing that monster again made his blood run cold—but what choice did he have?
"Why were there Bearers in the first place?" he asked after a while.
"Because the world used to be different." The man shrugged. "There were many of us. People who sought shadow-born power for reasons that no longer matter. Now, we're just stories whispered around firelight."
"And you?" Aray asked, cautiously. "Why… why did you do it?"
The man let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You're persistent, kid. But that story's not for you."
"Not for me? I've got this curse on my arm, and you're talking in riddles! How is it not for me?"
The traveler stood abruptly, his eyes flashing with something fierce. Aray instinctively took a step back.
"What is for you to know is this: if you want to live, you'll do as I say. We'll train. You'll learn to control the piece that's already waking inside you. And then we'll kill that thing."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm. Finally, the man adjusted his cloak and turned.
"Now, let's get back to your home. You'll need rest before we begin."
Still stunned, Aray followed without argument.
When they reached the village, Elisa stood waiting at the door. Relief flooded her face at the sight of her brother—but then quickly shifted into suspicion as she noticed his companion.
"Aray! Where the hell have you been? You had me worried sick! And who is this man?" she demanded, arms crossed.
The stranger, unbothered, offered her a charming smile and a slight bow.
"Larian," he said smoothly. "At your service."
Aray blinked. It hit him then—he'd never even asked the man's name.
"Of course. Now he tells me," he muttered.
***
The inn at the heart of Arico was a modest building—small, weather-worn, and brimming with the warmth of familiarity. Wooden walls bore the marks of time, creaking softly with every gust of wind. The air inside carried the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, thick stew, and the ever-present tang of old ale. It was a place where tired farmers gathered after long days, where hunters traded stories by the hearth, and where strangers were met with cautious eyes.
That caution now simmered in Elisa's gaze as she sat across from the newcomer, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. The table between them seemed to carry the weight of her suspicion. Aray sat nearby, silent, nursing his bandaged arm and glancing nervously between the two.
Elisa poured a cup of herbal tea, her movements precise but guarded, and placed it in front of the stranger without a word.
"So... you're a healer, are you?" she said finally, her tone measured, like someone testing the depth of a frozen lake. "From far away, you claim."
Larian accepted the cup with a slight nod, his gloved fingers delicate against the porcelain. He took a sip before responding, his voice calm, unhurried.
"That's right. I've spent most of my life traveling—assisting those who can't afford the luxury of academies or temples. I go where I'm needed. And when I found your brother in the ruins, near death, with a mark that doesn't belong in this world..." His eyes flicked briefly to Aray. "I knew I had to act."
Elisa's eyes narrowed.
"A healer... and a swordsman. Convenient mix."
Larian leaned forward slightly, placing the teacup gently back on the wooden surface. His expression softened, but his voice didn't lose its weight.
"I'm not here to impress you, Elisa. And I understand your doubts. But Aray is carrying something dangerous—something that no village tincture or salve can mend. He needs more than care. He needs control."
"Control?" she echoed, lips tightening.
"Yes," Larian said. "What he's dealing with isn't just poison or infection. It's a curse that seeps into the body and twists it from within. If left unchecked, it'll devour him. Slowly. Silently."
Elisa's hands tensed around the teapot.
"And you're telling me you've seen this before? You know how to fix it?"
"No one truly knows how to 'fix' it." His tone lowered. "But I've seen men survive it—barely. And I've seen far more die from it. Your brother was marked by something ancient. Vile. He shouldn't have lived."
Aray flinched, and Elisa's eyes flicked toward him with a brief flash of concern.
"So what do you propose?" she asked after a long pause. "What does this… 'specialized attention' involve?"
Larian exhaled slowly and leaned back, crossing his arms.
"Training. Conditioning. Isolation, if needed. The mark is part of him now, and that won't change. But if he learns to harness it—if he builds the strength to fight the pull of what's inside him—he might have a chance."
Elisa stared at him, her jaw clenched.
"He's just a boy."
"He doesn't have the luxury of being 'just a boy' anymore."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the creak of the inn's old beams and the distant crackle of the hearth. Aray shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. He didn't know what to say.
Finally, Elisa sighed and looked down at the table, her voice quieter now.
"I've done everything I can. Poultices. Infusions. Even the old rites passed down from our mother. Nothing helped. That thing... it's like it's spreading beneath his skin. Every day, a little more."
Larian nodded, his expression solemn.
"Then let me help. I won't promise a cure—there isn't one. But I can teach him to endure. To push back against the darkness instead of letting it drown him."
Elisa studied him for several seconds more, then finally gave a reluctant nod.
"Fine. You can stay. You can help." Her voice grew colder. "But if I find out you're hiding anything—anything at all—"
"You won't," Larian said, meeting her gaze evenly. "I'm not here for secrets. Only survival."
The fire snapped loudly in the hearth, as if punctuating his words.
Aray looked at both of them, heart pounding. For the first time since this nightmare began, the path ahead, while steep and shrouded in shadow, no longer felt entirely hopeless.