The forest loomed like a wall of shadow, trees bent with age and secrets. Erynn stumbled through brambles and roots, torchlight flickering against damp bark. Smoke still curled in the sky behind him, a crimson smear marking where the village once stood.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
Every breath burned. His legs ached. The mark on his chest throbbed beneath torn fabric, glowing faintly like a coal buried under skin. It pulsed with every heartbeat—no, it led his heartbeat, like a drum guiding a soldier through fog.
He was no soldier.
He was a miner.
And yet… something inside him had changed.
---
Hours passed. Maybe more. Time felt soft, strange. At some point, the torch burned out and the rune on his chest provided enough light to see by. That alone terrified him.
By dawn, he reached the ruins.
They weren't on any map. He'd heard stories, of course—old foundations deep in the woods, swallowed by moss and vine, where stone didn't stay still and voices whispered when the wind died. Children dared each other to find them. Most never tried.
He had nowhere else to go.
The stone archways were broken but still stood, choked in ivy. As Erynn stepped inside, the air shifted—cooler, older, like exhaled breath from something sleeping just beneath.
And then a voice.
"You're bleeding magic."
Erynn whirled. A figure emerged from the shadows—slim, hooded, leaning on a crooked staff made of bone and blackwood. A girl. No older than him.
Her eyes glowed faintly silver.
"Who are you?" Erynn asked, too hoarse to sound brave.
"I should ask you," she said, tilting her head. "The Rune chose you, didn't it?"
He backed up a step. "I—I don't know what it chose. I touched a stone, and now people are trying to kill me."
She raised her brows. "Then it definitely chose you."
---
She led him deeper into the ruins, through broken chambers and overgrown stairways. He followed, unsure why. Maybe because she hadn't tried to stab him. Yet.
They stopped in a circular hall open to the sky. At its center was a pool of still water, ringed with carved symbols.
"I'm called Maerin," she said, kneeling. "I was Runeborn too. Four years ago."
Erynn stared. "Then… you know what's happening to me?"
"Some," Maerin replied. "But every Rune is different. Yours woke with fire. Mine woke with frost."
She lifted her hand. A faint shimmer of ice coiled around her fingers, delicate as breath.
Erynn said nothing.
"You'll feel it soon," she went on. "The hunger. The pull. The Rune wants something from you. They always do."
"What if I don't want it?"
Maerin gave a small, sad smile. "It doesn't matter."
---
They sat in silence for a while.
Finally, Erynn asked, "Why did the Order destroy my home? Why kill for this?"
Maerin's expression darkened. "Because the Rune Order doesn't serve the Runes. Not anymore."
She looked up at the pale light rising through the trees.
"They serve the Hollowfire King."
Erynn's heart skipped. "He's real?"
"He was locked away centuries ago. Bound by seven Runeborn at the cost of their lives. But the Oath that sealed him is unraveling. And if your Rune truly woke without their permission…"
She met his eyes.
"Then you're not just an accident, Erynn. You're a threat."
---
To be continued…