The night in the cave was restless. Alpha lay awake on the cold stone, watching the faint shimmer of blue flame from the Nameless Knight's helm across the darkness. The knight hadn't spoken since that word had escaped him— 'Feylith.'
The sound of it still echoed in Alpha's mind. He pressed his hand against the scar burned into his back. It felt… alive now. As if the ink itself was listening, waiting.
He hated it. He feared it. Yet, in some strange way, he needed it.
The knight's voice finally cut through the silence, low as gravel.
"Rest. Tomorrow, we descend."
---
The next day, the waterfall's roar faded as they pressed deeper into Viren's labyrinth. The corridors shifted—walls narrowing, ruins reshaping into broken towers that jutted from the stone like ribs. The air grew colder, every breath burning in Alpha's chest.
It wasn't long before the silence broke.
A sound like rattling bones, multiplied a hundredfold, rose from the mist. Shapes lurched out of the fog—skeletal warriors clad in rusted armor, their blades still caked with blood that had dried centuries ago.
Alpha gripped his sword tighter, jaw set.
"There are too many," he whispered.
The knight stepped forward, shield raised, the blue fire in his helm burning brighter. "Then cut them down. Remember what I told you. Watch the body. Not the blade."
The first skeleton charged. Alpha lunged to meet it, swinging hard. His strike shattered its ribcage, bones scattering, but another came immediately, sword cleaving downward. He ducked too slow—the blade kissed his shoulder, ripping through flesh.
Pain screamed in him. He staggered back, blood dripping fast.
The knight blocked two more, his shield slamming outward, but Alpha was left open. The horde was splitting them, pressing harder.
Alpha's chest burned. His vision swam. He knew he was too slow—too weak.
And then the scar on his back moved again.
Heat spread across his body like a second heartbeat. The world slowed—not stopped, but slowed. The skeleton's movements stretched into arcs he could read. He saw the tilt of its skull, the bend of its knees, the twitch of its wrist before the sword even fell.
He moved before thought, ducking low and driving his blade upward. His sword pierced through the skull, splitting bone clean in two.
The scar pulsed again. His vision sharpened. The next skeleton came. He saw its weight shift to the left—its strike already written in its stance. Alpha spun right, countering with a slash that tore through its neck.
The bones collapsed in a heap at his feet.
The knight's helm turned, watching him. "Good. You see."
Alpha panted, sweat running down his face. His body trembled, the scar still burning, whispering something he could not hear. He didn't know if it was strength or curse.
The horde pressed harder. More skeletons poured from the mist. Alpha's arms shook, but the scar carried him—each time it flared, his instincts grew sharper, his strikes cleaner. Yet each time, it drained him. His breath grew ragged, his muscles threatening to tear.
Finally, one of the skeletal warriors towered above the rest—its body twisted, reinforced with jagged plates of bone fused into armor. Its weapon was not rusted steel but a massive cleaver of bone, dripping with black mist.
Alpha froze. The scar seared, flaring hotter than ever.
The knight stepped forward, but Alpha's hand shot out.
"No… this one's mine."
The knight hesitated, then stepped back, letting the boy walk forward.
The armored skeleton roared, swinging its cleaver in a wide arc. Alpha's vision blurred—the world narrowed to blade and bone. The scar lit fire through his nerves, and he saw it. The moment before the strike. The shift of weight.
He ducked low, the cleaver slicing the air above his head, and slashed across its ribs. The blade bit deep but didn't shatter the armor.
The monster turned, cleaver rising again. Alpha's body moved before thought, rolling beneath it, his blade stabbing upward into its jaw. Bone cracked—but the thing didn't fall.
It brought its cleaver down in a killing arc. Alpha raised his sword—too slow. Too weak.
The scar blazed white-hot. His body twisted, a movement he hadn't chosen. His blade shot upward, intercepting the cleaver with impossible precision. The force rattled his bones, nearly broke his arms—but it held.
Alpha screamed, shoving forward, and the scar surged once more. His blade drove through the skeleton's skull, bursting out the other side in a storm of bone and black mist.
The beast collapsed, lifeless.
Alpha fell to his knees beside it, chest heaving, sweat pouring. The scar dimmed, returning to silence.
The knight stepped closer, his voice low and unreadable. "You touched something you should not yet touch. But… you survived."
Alpha clenched his fists, trembling. "What is happening to me?"
The knight's visor burned with quiet flame. "The world remembers you, Feylith. And whether you remember yourself or not… the Labyrinth will not let you forget."
Alpha looked down at the remains of the monster, his breath unsteady. His scar no longer hurt, but he could still 'feel' it. Alive. Waiting.
The battlefield was silent again, but within him, the war had only begun.