His father's fist connected with his jaw. Blood sprayed across marble floors. His mother stood frozen, one hand pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face but feet rooted to the ground.
"Weak!" Another blow. "Pathetic!" The voice thundered through the dining hall.
Cel tried to speak, to beg, but his father's hands were already at his back, nails digging into divine flesh, tearing away the Moon Goddess's mark—
His eyes snapped open.
Ash-covered stone ceiling. Broken walls. The hollow silence of the Ashlands pressing in from all sides.
His chest heaved, breath coming in short gasps. The nightmare clung to him like oil, coating his thoughts with remembered pain.
"You're awake."
Cel's body jerked, his left hand instinctively reaching for Silent Moon before his mind caught up. The weapon materialized halfway before he registered the speaker.
Raven knelt beside him, one hand extended toward Cel's torso. Something dark and viscous coated his fingers - a sticky black mass that glistened faintly in the dim light filtering through the ruins.
"Don't move," Raven said, his tone flat.
Cel's gaze dropped to his own chest. His armor had been partially removed - the mantle and cloak set aside, the tunic pulled up to expose his ribs where the Ashlurker's claws had torn through flesh.
The black substance covered the wounds in thick layers. It didn't smell like anything Cel recognized. Not medicinal herbs, not the acrid burn of cauterization. Just... earthy. Ancient, somehow.
"What is that?" His voice came out rougher than intended.
"Medicine." Raven's fingers worked with practiced efficiency, spreading more of the substance across a particularly deep gash. "Found it growing in the darker places. Don't know what it's called. But it works."
The matter-of-fact delivery was oddly reassuring - proof that survival was possible even here.
"How long was I—"
"A few hours. Maybe less." Raven's crimson eyes flicked to Cel's face, assessing. "You talk in your sleep."
Cel's jaw tightened. "What did I say?"
"Nothing clear." A pause as Raven applied more of the black substance to the wounds on Cel's shoulder. "Sounded like it wasn't a pleasant dream."
Cel looked away, focusing on the creature's corpse still coiled a few steps away.
"Your wounds looked worse than they are," Raven continued, his tone unchanged. "Bled a lot. But the cuts weren't deep enough to do real damage. You got lucky."
"Didn't feel lucky."
"Luck isn't about feeling." Raven sat back on his heels, examining his work. "You survived. That's what matters."
Cel's gaze tracked to his own body, really looking at it for the first time since the fight. The wounds were there - angry red lines where claws had opened flesh, burns from the worm's molten breath. But Raven was right. Nothing had been torn away. No exposed bone. No organs punctured.
The burns on his left arm, which should have charred muscle down to bone, showed only reddened skin beneath the black coating.
"Your body's good," Raven said, following Cel's gaze. "Even for a Chosen."
Although it was not his own accomplishment, a kind of satisfaction settled in Cel's chest. The Moon Goddess had forged him this body - a body that could apparently endure more than he'd given it credit for.
His gaze drifted to Raven's eyes. Crimson iris against black where white should be.
The question burned in his throat before he could stop it. "Your eyes. What happened to them?"
Raven froze.
The reaction was subtle - just a momentary stillness in his movements, a fractional widening of those red eyes.
"What?" The single word carried genuine confusion.
Cel's jaw set. "The black. Where white should be. What caused it?"
For a long moment, Raven simply stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy with something Cel couldn't name.
Then Raven's expression shifted - not quite a frown, not quite suspicion. Something caught between the two.
"You really don't know?" The question came quiet, careful. "You can't... feel it?"
"Feel what?"
Raven's eyes narrowed, studying Cel with an intensity that made his skin prickle. As if seeing him for the first time. As if everything that had come before had been surface observation and now Raven was actually looking.
"The aura," Raven said finally, each word deliberate. "The wrongness. The disgust that comes off me like heat off stone."
Cel blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Something flickered across Raven's face - too fast to identify, but there. Real emotion breaking through that carefully maintained neutrality.
"You seriously can't sense it." Not a question this time. A statement of dawning realization. "The corruption. The stain. The thing that marks me as—" He cut himself off abruptly.
"Marks you as what?"
Raven remained silent, his gaze locked on Cel's face as if searching for deception. Finding none seemed to disturb him more than anything else.
"Cursed," he said finally. The word dropped between them like a stone into still water. "I'm one of the Cursed."
The declaration hit Cel like a physical blow.
His breath caught. His body went rigid. Every childhood warning, every whispered story, every nightmare used to frighten disobedient children - all of it crashed through his mind at once.
'Behave, or you'll end up as a Cursed.'
The Cursed were the absolute bottom of society. Lower than slaves, lower than criminals. People - if they could still be called that - who bear marks of corruption - twisted flesh, cracked skin, signs that divine grace has left them forever.
Cel had never met one before. No noble child did. The Cursed were exiled from civilization, driven into the wilderness or hunted down by Chosen who believed killing them earned them the favor of their god.
And now one stood before him, had been applying medicine to his wounds with practiced hands.
The realization should have triggered fear. Should have sent Cel scrambling for Silent Moon, putting distance between himself and this corrupted thing wearing human skin.
But all he felt was... confusion.
"You helped me," Cel said slowly. "Even though you're—even though—"
"Even though I'm supposed to be a monster?" Raven's lips twisted. "Shocking, isn't it?"
The bitterness in those words cut deep. Cel had heard that same tone in his own voice, directed at his father, his family, everyone who'd judged him as worthless before casting him aside.
"I don't understand," Cel admitted. "The stories say the Cursed are... wrong. Dangerous. That losing divine favor corrupts more than just the body."
"Stories tell a lot of things." Raven moved to the broken wall, his silhouette sharp against the gray light filtering through.
"But the marks—the corruption—"
"Are real." His jaw clenched. "But it doesn't make us monsters. Just... abandoned."
The word resonated in Cel's chest. Abandoned. He knew that feeling intimately - the crushing weight of being cast aside by those who should have protected you.
"How?" The question escaped before Cel could stop it. "How do people become Cursed?"
Raven's gaze grew distant.
"Different ways."
The silence that followed made it clear - this topic was not open for discussion. Whatever had happened, whatever had led to Raven becoming Cursed, he had no intention of sharing.
Cel recognized that wall. He'd built enough of his own.
He shifted against the wall, trying to find a more comfortable position. The black medicine pulled at his skin where it had begun to dry.
Raven's gaze fixed on him, those crimson eyes sharp. "You didn't."
"Didn't what?"
"Didn't sense it." Raven tilted his head slightly.
He moved closer, studying Cel with unsettling intensity. "The wrongness. The revulsion. You don't seem affected at all."
'Shit.' Cel's mind raced.
"I'm just—" Cel forced his expression neutral. "I'm controlling it. The reaction."
The lie felt weak even as it left his mouth.
Raven's eyes narrowed. "Really?"
"Yes."
"You're not even trying to maintain distance." Raven's tone remained neutral, but pointed. "Most Chosen can barely stand being in the same room. Need space. Fresh air. Something to cut through the wrongness."
Heat crawled up Cel's neck. His hands curled into fists.
"Maybe I'm just better at controlling my reactions than most."
"No," Raven said slowly, "you can't sense it at all."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Raven gestured to himself. "You asked what happened to my eyes. If you could sense the aura, you wouldn't need to ask. You'd know what I was the moment you saw me."
"I was just—I didn't want to assume—"
"You're a terrible liar." Something that might have been amusement flickered across Raven's face.
Shame burned in Cel's chest. Even this - even the simple act of hiding his deficiency - was something he couldn't do properly.
"So what if I can't sense it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" Raven's expression shifted, genuine curiosity replacing accusation. "Every human can sense the Cursed. It's not learned. Not trained. Just… part of what makes one human." He paused. "But you can't."
Cel looked away, fixing his gaze on the creature's corpse across the room. Anywhere but those crimson eyes that saw too much.
"What about Divine Energy?"
"I can sense it," Cel answered quickly. Too quickly.
"You should really work on your acting skills." Raven's voice came quieter now.
Cel let out a long sigh, giving up on his miserable attempt to hide it.
"It's pathetic, isn't it?" The words came out bitter. "A Chosen One who can't even sense the most basic thing every human has."
"That's not the word I'd use."
"Then what would you call it?"
"Impossible." Raven moved to lean against the opposite wall, his posture relaxing slightly. "You're blessed by the Moon Goddess. Can manifest divine artifacts. But can't sense the energy that powers them." He shook his head. "That shouldn't work."
"But it does." Cel's jaw clenched. "Somehow."
"Yes. Somehow." Raven studied him with that unsettling intensity.
"Does this mean something's wrong with me?" Cel's voice came flat.
"I don't know." Raven's honesty was brutal. "I've never heard of a Chosen who couldn't sense Divine Energy. It should be impossible."
"Everything about me seems to be impossible lately."
Raven simply stared at him. Then he exhaled slowly - not quite a laugh, but close.
Silence pressed heavy between them.
Cel studied the young man before him - the exhaustion carved into his features, the way he held himself like someone perpetually ready for violence. A year alone in this nightmare. Hunted by monsters and abandoned by the divine.
And yet he'd still helped a stranger.
"Why did you help me?" Cel asked finally. "Even though I'm a Chosen One. Even though most Chosen would hunt you."
Raven was silent for a long moment, those crimson eyes unreadable.
"Because you looked at me and saw a person." His voice came quiet. Raw. "Not corruption to be destroyed. Not a threat to be eliminated. Just... another human trying to survive." He paused. "Not even my family did that."
The honesty in those words struck deeper than any blade. A glimpse beneath the careful neutrality Raven maintained like armor.
Cel understood that loneliness. Had felt it himself beneath his father's rage while his mother and brother watched in silence - present but absent, seeing his suffering but not seeing him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For what happened to you. For what you lost."
"Don't be." Raven's expression hardened again. "Sorry doesn't change anything."
"No," Cel agreed. "It doesn't."
Another silence. But this one felt different. Less heavy. More like an understanding passing between two people who'd both been broken by circumstances beyond their control.
"Your wounds will heal faster with the medicine," Raven said, breaking the quiet. "But you need rest. Let your body recover."
Cel glanced down at the black substance coating his injuries.
"Thank you."
Raven paused, looking back at him. For a moment, something almost like warmth crossed his features. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar neutral mask.
"Rest," he said. "I'll keep watch."
Cel wanted to protest, but exhaustion pulled at him like an undertow.
"Call me if something happens," he said instead.
Raven nodded once, moving to position himself near the entrance gap where he could see approaching threats.
Cel leaned back against the wall, feeling cool stone against his spine. His eyes tracked to where Raven stood silhouetted against the gray light beyond.
Cursed. Abandoned by the gods. Hunted by society. Marked with corruption.
Yet for the first time since entering this cursed realm, Cel felt something close to safety.
Not because the danger had diminished.
But because he was no longer facing it alone.
'Maybe the gods make mistakes too.'