The air reeked of charred stone and blood.
Kael stood frozen amid the silence that followed the beast's fall. The carcass twitched once, then stilled, its black ichor pooling like tar around broken rubble. His cleaver was slick with the same substance—though more troubling was the darkness still crawling beneath his skin. Veins blackened, pulsing toward the mark glowing faintly at his chest.
The villagers whispered behind him.
"Did you see his hand?"
"That wasn't human…"
"He killed it, but—"
Fear laced every word.
Serenya pushed forward, her bow lowered but her gaze sharp, daring anyone to speak louder. "He saved you," she said coldly. "If not for him, that thing would have torn through all of us."
But her voice didn't cut the whispers. It only sharpened them.
Eldran stepped between Kael and the crowd, his staff grounded in the soil, his tone commanding. "Enough. This battle is finished. We return to the village."
Kael wanted to protest—wanted to demand answers about the ruins, the pact, the mark burning in his chest—but the look on Eldran's face silenced him. The elder knew something. But not here. Not now.
So Kael sheathed the cleaver, though his hand still trembled. The black veins beneath his skin had faded… but not entirely.
---
The return march was quiet. No songs of triumph, no cheers of survival. Only heavy footsteps and eyes that flicked too often toward Kael.
When they reached the village gates, the elders pulled Eldran aside. Kael caught fragments of their voices, low but urgent.
"He's dangerous."
"You saw the corruption."
"Keep him away from the children."
Kael's chest tightened. He wasn't deaf. He wasn't blind. They looked at him the same way they looked at the ruins—like something cursed, something that should have stayed buried.
Serenya noticed too. She shoved past the elders and grabbed Kael's arm. "Come with me."
---
Her hut smelled faintly of herbs and oil, a sharp contrast to the ruin's ash. She shoved a stool toward him. "Sit."
Kael obeyed, though his body was restless, twitching with leftover energy that wasn't his own. He stared at his hands—normal now, the black fading—but he could still feel it. The ichor hadn't burned him. It had… welcomed him.
Serenya knelt, pressing cool cloth to his forearm where the veins had darkened. "Does it hurt?"
"No." He swallowed. "It feels… worse. Like it's not leaving."
Her hands stilled. For a moment, she looked at him not as a comrade, but as something she didn't fully recognize. But then she shook her head, firm again. "Listen to me. Whatever it is, you're still Kael. You're still the one who fought for us. Don't let them make you forget that."
He wanted to believe her. But outside, the murmurs rose louder.
---
By nightfall, the village had split into two camps. One gathered in the square, voices rising with anger and fear.
"He's marked by the same power as those beasts!"
"Eldran hides the truth!"
"We can't risk him staying here!"
The other—smaller, quieter—argued back.
"He saved us!"
"Without him, the ruins would have spilled over already!"
"You'd throw away the only one who can fight them?"
The arguments clashed in the torchlight, echoing through the night like thunder.
From the shadows of Serenya's hut, Kael watched. His jaw tightened until his teeth ached. He didn't want their worship, but their fear burned worse. It was the same look he remembered from the day his parents left him at the village edge, a burden they no longer wanted to carry.
Serenya closed the shutters with a snap. "Ignore them."
"I can't." His voice was rough. "They'll tear each other apart because of me."
She looked at him for a long moment, then asked quietly, "And if you left?"
The words cut sharper than any blade. He stared at her, searching her face. But there was no malice there—only worry.
"If you left," she continued, "they might calm. But…" She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "I don't want you to."
Kael exhaled, heavy. He didn't want to either. But the mark pulsed again, faint light leaking through his shirt. The whispers stirred.
"They will cast you out. Better to go before they decide to hunt you."
He squeezed Serenya's hand, trying to drown the voice.
---
Later that night, Eldran entered the hut without knocking. His presence filled the room, solemn and heavy.
"We need to talk," the elder said.
Serenya bristled. "If this is about driving him out—"
"It isn't." Eldran's gaze fell on Kael. "It's about the truth."
He lowered himself onto the opposite stool, setting his staff across his knees. "The mark on your chest is not new, Kael. It is ancient. It is the brand of the covenant forged in the ruins long before our time. Men sought power they could not control, and what they bound themselves to was not mercy, but hunger. That hunger still lingers in you."
Kael's throat went dry. "So I'm… cursed?"
Eldran's eyes softened. "No. You are the knife forged from the curse. Whether you cut to protect or destroy—that choice has yet to be made."
The words did not soothe him. They only deepened the weight pressing on his chest.
Serenya stood, defiant. "Then we use it. We use him. Whatever power it is, he can fight with it. Isn't that what matters?"
Eldran looked at her, tired but unwavering. "You speak as though power does not shape its wielder. But I have seen men swallowed whole for less."
His gaze returned to Kael. "The village is already breaking over you. Some will beg me to banish you. Others to bind you. Neither will save you. The choice must be yours."
Kael stared at the floorboards. He could still taste the ichor, feel its heat in his blood. He thought of the villagers' fear, of Serenya's grip, of the ruins calling to him like a second heartbeat.
What choice did he have?
---
The shouts outside rose into chaos. Wood cracked, pottery shattered.
Serenya dashed to the door, yanking it open. In the square, two groups of villagers had turned on each other. One held torches, shouting for Kael's exile. The other clutched tools and hunting spears, screaming back that they would protect him.
And in the chaos, no one noticed the shadows lengthening across the ground, spilling unnaturally from the forest's edge.
Kael's mark flared. His body went rigid. He felt it before anyone else—the hunger. The ruins had not slept. Something else had come.
The torches flickered, then snuffed out all at once.
The square plunged into darkness.
And from that darkness, a voice deeper than thunder rolled across the village.
"The covenant is broken. The marked has awakened. Return what is ours."
Every villager froze. Some screamed. Others dropped to their knees.
Kael staggered back, the mark searing like molten iron. His vision swam, the whispers now a chorus.
"Yes. Yes. Return."
Serenya grabbed his arm. "Kael—what is it?"
But he couldn't answer. Because in that moment, he realized something terrifying.
The voice wasn't speaking to the villagers.
It was speaking to him.
---