At dawn, he followed the strangers — two cloaked figures — into the marsh. He kept low, his bare feet silent on the wet earth.
Hours later, mist wrapped the world in grey, and the strangers' voices became strained.
Then he saw it: an altar, half-swallowed by mud, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly as though breathing.
The taller figure knelt, placing a crystal on the altar. The air thickened. The boy's skin prickled.
He didn't know why he stepped forward. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps the altar called to him.
Either way, the moment his hand touched the crystal, the mist turned black. The strangers screamed.
And when the darkness cleared, only he remained — with the crystal in his hand and a warmth in his chest that was not his own.
That night, someone else noticed him for the first time.
A woman in crimson silk, leaning against the inn's doorway. Her smile held secrets.
"You've found something dangerous, boy," she said. "I like dangerous."