Sleep was impossible. Raine lay beneath her blanket, staring at the ceiling, every sound in the house magnified by her restless thoughts. Her body begged for rest, but her mind replayed the forest again and again—the whisper of her name, the fox bowing, the feather that burned without ash.
And the mark.
Her palm tingled as if the sigil had been etched not just into her skin, but into her very blood. She pulled her hand out from under the covers and studied it in the moonlight. It glimmered faintly, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
"What are you?" she whispered to herself.
The mark didn't answer. But deep down, Raine felt it wasn't meant to.
By dawn, she dragged herself into the kitchen, her golden eyes shadowed by exhaustion. The smell of warm broth filled the air, and her mother hummed softly as she stirred the pot. The normalcy of it all almost soothed her—until her mother turned, saw Raine's face, and her humming stopped.
"You look pale," her mother said, frowning. "Did you dream again?"
Raine hesitated. Normally she would lie—say she was fine, change the subject, let her mother worry about something else. But today, the words fought their way out.
"Something happened in the forest."
Her mother's spoon clattered against the pot.
Raine continued, her voice trembling despite herself. "A feather fell… it burned, but didn't turn to ash. And then this appeared."
She turned her palm upward. The faint ember mark glowed under the morning light.
For a moment, silence. Her mother's face drained of color, her eyes wide with a fear Raine had never seen before.
"No…" The word slipped out, barely a breath.
Raine's stomach twisted. "You know what this is, don't you?"
Her mother pressed a trembling hand to her lips. "It's nothing, Raine. Just—just a trick of the light. Dirt. A scratch. Forget about it."
"Don't lie to me." Raine's voice cracked, anger breaking through her fear. "You're scared. Why? What do you know?"
But her mother shook her head violently, tears brimming in her eyes. "Please, Raine. Some truths are more dangerous than lies."
The words sank like a stone in Raine's chest.
The rest of the day passed in uneasy silence. Her mother hovered over her, fussing over chores, talking too quickly, smiling too brightly—every gesture a flimsy shield against the truth she refused to share.
But Raine couldn't ignore it. Not the feather, not the voice, not the mark glowing faintly every time she brushed her fingers over it. The forest was inside her now, whispering in her blood.
That night, she sat by her window, the village quiet around her. Beyond the rooftops, the forest loomed, vast and dark, every shadow beckoning.
She opened her palm. The sigil glowed brighter, as if answering the call of the woods.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her fist to her chest, trying to steady her breathing.
And then she felt it—the weight of a gaze.
Her head snapped toward the trees. She couldn't see him, not clearly, but she knew. Somewhere out there, the golden eyes had opened again. Watching. Waiting.
Her heart pounded. Fear laced with something else she couldn't name. Something that made her blood hum like fire in her veins.
The whisper slid through her mind, softer this time, but certain.
"Soon, Raine. Soon."
She shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. But no blanket could protect her from the truth pressing in on all sides:
Her mother was hiding something.
The forest was calling.
And the mark was only the beginning.