The village square reeked of blood. Black ichor clung to the cobblestones in slick pools, steaming where it met the dying torchlight. Bodies of the beasts lay twisted and broken, their monstrous forms dissolving into foul smoke that drifted upward like curses released.
Kael sat slumped against the well, his cleaver lying inches from his trembling hand. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each breath scraping raw against his lungs. The mark on his arm still pulsed faintly, a crimson glow beneath his skin, as if mocking him with every beat.
Around him, the villagers emerged from their hiding places. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with terror—not of the beasts, but of him.
"He fought them," one woman whispered.
"He killed them all," another added, though her tone carried no gratitude, only dread.
A man spat on the ground. "Don't you see? He drew them here. It was him they wanted. He's cursed. He'll bring more upon us."
A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd. Fear twisted into suspicion, suspicion into anger. Pitchforks and axes that had been discarded in panic were retrieved, not to fight beasts, but to turn against the one who had fought hardest to protect them.
Serenya stepped forward, planting herself between Kael and the gathering crowd. Her bow was lowered, but her posture was taut, ready. "He saved your lives," she snapped. "If not for him, you'd all be corpses beneath those things."
The man sneered. "Saved us? He brought the shadows upon our heads! And what kind of man survives wounds like that? What kind of man fights like a demon?" His finger jabbed toward Kael. "He isn't human."
The words struck harder than any claw. Kael's hands curled into fists against the stone, nails biting into his palms. Not human. Was that what he was becoming? He could still hear the whispers, faint but insistent, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Eldran's voice boomed across the square. "Enough!" The old mage's staff struck the stones, a crack of light silencing the mob. His eyes, sharp despite the exhaustion etched across his face, swept the villagers. "Your fear blinds you. Yes, the covenant hunts him—but without him, you would not be standing here. You would be ash."
His words held the weight of truth, but the villagers' fear was not so easily dispelled. They muttered among themselves, their gazes darting toward Kael with unease, as if at any moment he might rise and turn on them.
Kael forced himself upright, though his body screamed in protest. He retrieved his cleaver, sliding it back into its sheath across his back. The whispers quieted slightly at the gesture, but they didn't vanish.
"Let them think what they want," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, heavy. "They're not wrong. The beasts came for me."
Serenya spun toward him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't you dare blame yourself. This isn't your fault."
But Kael only shook his head. "If I wasn't here, they wouldn't be in danger."
Eldran's gaze lingered on him, long and thoughtful. "Perhaps. But you are here. That cannot be undone. And running from it will not silence the covenant. You are marked. Until the covenant itself is broken, it will never stop hunting you."
The words sank like stones into Kael's gut. His whole life—since waking in this world—had been survival. Fight, die, rise again, fight once more. He had thought the system a gift, a cruel one perhaps, but still a chance. Now it was a chain, binding him to something older and darker than he could comprehend.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the thrum of the mark. "Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly.
Eldran's face softened, though his tone remained grave. "Endure. Learn. Fight. And when the time comes, choose whether to stand as yourself… or to fall as their vessel."
The weight of it threatened to crush him.
---
That night, the village burned the corpses of the beasts. The air filled with acrid smoke, drifting like a shroud over rooftops. Villagers gathered in small knots, whispering, casting wary glances at Kael from across the firelight.
Serenya stayed close to him, refusing to let him drift into the shadows. She sat beside him on the edge of the fire's glow, her bow across her knees, eyes never leaving the flames.
"You're quiet," she said softly.
Kael stared at the fire. The crackle of wood reminded him of the chains in the void, the whispers hidden in each spark. "What do you want me to say? They're right. I've died more times than I can count. Each time I come back, I'm… less myself. And tonight…" He trailed off, throat tightening.
"Tonight you fought," she finished for him. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. "You bled. You saved lives. That's who you are."
He turned to her, searching her face for doubt. But there was none. Only that unshakable fire he had come to rely on more than he wanted to admit.
"Serenya…" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "What if they're right? What if I'm not human anymore?"
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she reached out, her hand closing over his. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Humanity isn't in your blood, Kael. It's in your choices. And I've seen yours."
Her words cut deeper than any blade. For the first time since the battle ended, the whispers quieted. Not silenced, but softened, pushed back by the strength in her voice.
---
Later, as the fires burned low and the villagers drifted into uneasy sleep, Kael lay awake. His body ached, his wounds throbbed, but it was the mark that kept him restless. It pulsed faintly in the dark, glowing beneath his skin, as if alive.
When his eyes closed, he saw the chamber again. The throne of bone and ash. The figure cloaked in shadow. Chains rattling above, waiting to fall.
"You cannot defy forever," the voice whispered, curling through his thoughts like smoke. "Every death feeds us. Every breath binds you tighter. You are the covenant, whether you admit it or not."
Kael jolted awake, sweat cold on his skin. His hand clutched at his chest, nails digging deep as though he could claw the mark free. But it pulsed, mocking him, undeniable.
A soft sound drew his gaze. Serenya had shifted in her sleep beside the dying fire, her bow still within reach. Even in rest, her expression was one of quiet defiance, her hand resting near where his lay.
The sight steadied him. For a moment, the whispers faltered.
But as he lay back, staring into the darkness above, he knew the truth.
The covenant would not stop.
And one day soon, he would have to decide whether to surrender to its call… or burn himself alive resisting it.
---