By dawn, Kaelen's legs felt like lead, but he didn't dare stop moving. The Rune Sovereignty didn't give up on prey — especially not if they called him "vessel."
The sun crept over the horizon, a pale disc through the sky's perpetual haze. From the rope bridge he crossed, he could see Duskport Isle ahead — a place that never truly slept, where the air reeked of salt, sweat, and old magic.
The Bone Markets were buried deep inside the island's belly, a warren of tunnels carved through ancient titan bones that jutted from the rock like ribs. Merchants there sold things the legal ports wouldn't even whisper about: illegal runes, mist-distilled toxins, charms made from the feathers of extinct sky-serpents.
Kaelen descended the spiral bone stair into the market's heart. The crowd pressed close, hoods drawn, eyes darting. Nobody came here for company; they came to vanish.
He kept his glove on his rune-marked hand, but even so, the hum of magic in the air seemed to gravitate toward him. Stalls flickered with rune-light, each shard of titan bone carved with patterns that made Kaelen's skin crawl.
A crooked old man, face hidden behind a veil of brass chains, called to him.
"Looking for something… or looking to sell, boy?"
Kaelen hesitated. "I have a shard."
The merchant's chains swayed as he tilted his head. "Show me."
Kaelen peeled off his glove. The man's intake of breath was sharp.
"Not a shard. A bonded mark. You're carrying something old… older than the markets, older than the Veil itself."
"I just need it removed."
The merchant laughed, dry and cruel. "You don't remove what's chosen you. You either feed it… or it feeds on you."
Before Kaelen could reply, the market's din shifted. People were moving aside, whispering. At the far end of the bone tunnel, a figure in ash-gray robes strode forward, flanked by guards.
The Ash Wraith.
Even Kaelen had heard the stories — an assassin who could melt into the Veil itself, leaving only silence where a person once stood.
The merchant hissed under his breath. "If she's here, she's hunting. And pray it's not you."
Kaelen turned, ready to melt into the crowd — but the Ash Wraith's masked gaze found him instantly. She began walking straight toward him, every step measured.
The rune in Kaelen's palm flared hot, as if recognizing something in her.
The crowd melted away. The market had learned long ago not to stand between the Ash Wraith and her mark.