The night's breath was thick with silence and smoke, a choking shroud that clung to the narrow alleys of Erebus like a living thing. The figure from the shadows loomed, a wraith-like specter whose intent was as inscrutable as the void between the stars.
Cael's senses sharpened, every nerve aflame with primal awareness, yet he held his ground—a slender reed in the gale of fate.
The wounded man beneath the flickering lantern light gasped a single word, fragile as a dying ember: "Beware."
The sigil upon his palm, faintly glowing, was no mere mark but a cipher of ancient dread—a key to secrets buried beneath layers of forgotten time.
The shadow drew closer, voice a sibilant murmur that slithered through the gloom. "You are marked by the Horned Star, child. Few possess such a burden, and fewer still survive its gaze."
A thousand questions surged unbidden, but Cael's tongue was bound by fear and wonder alike.
"Why me?" he breathed, the words barely more than a ghost upon the night air.
The shadow's smile was a cruel fracture of darkness. "Because you bear the North Star's inverted twin. A balance long broken. Your path is writ among the heavens, and the stars watch with merciless eyes."
Footsteps echoed in the distance—harbingers of danger, or perhaps salvation veiled in shadow. The night tightened its grip, and Cael stood at the crossroads of destiny and oblivion.
The footsteps halted—silence, then a whisper: "Show yourself, marked one."