The glyphs ignited.
Pale fire coiled across the heavens, symbols etching themselves into the sky like scars carved into air.
And then—voices.
At first faint, almost hidden in the crackle of fire.
Then stronger, sharper.
"Why…?"
My father's chest wheezed hollow in my ears.
"Why didn't you save us…?"
"My son…" My mother's brittle voice, dry as ash.
"You promised—but still you fed yourself."
My sister's slit throat sang, trembling on the edge of death:
"Why you, brother? Why did Heaven spare you, when we burned?"
And then the others.
Neighbors. Relatives.
The butcher with no hands.
The children turned to cinders.
Their voices wrapped around me like hooks:
"This is your fault."
"Your weakness cursed us all."
"We never wanted you here."
"We prayed not for your survival—
but for your death."
The words cracked me open.
And yet… they did not surprise me.
I had always been apart.
Even before the fire, I was hated.
Whispers have followed me since birth.
Eyes turned away.
Shadows clung too tightly.
Perhaps Heaven did not curse me tonight.
Perhaps it only finished what had begun long ago.
Aurexiel's voice dropped like a claw.
"Let his soul be bound to hunger unending.
Let his steps trail ash and famine.
Let his blood awaken what sleeps in shadow.
And let no god enchain him—
for he is mine now.
He shall be the cradle of ruin.
The heir to silence deeper than death.
This is the Mark of the Devourer."
The glyphs plunged into my chest.
Marrow seared. Soul split.
I screamed until my throat tore, but it wasn't for their deaths. It was for their voices — still clinging to me. Still blaming me. Even now, they won't let me breathe.
but the corpses screamed louder:
"You shouldn't have lived."
"Better if you died first."
"You are cursed. You always were."
The ground convulsed.
Ash rose like waves.
Stars bent away from me.
And beneath all the ruin,
a new rhythm thundered in my chest.
Not grief.
Not despair.
Hunger.
Not for food.
Not for comfort.
Something vaster.
A hunger to consume.
To devour.
To end.
To make it whole.
My body burned.
My soul hollowed.
And still—my heart laughed.
Aurexiel's gaze lingered, vast and merciless.
My voice came broken, but sharper than any blade:
"I… will kill you for this."
Golden eyes drowned me.
His voice tore both sky and marrow apart:
"Perhaps you will kill me.
But first, you will drown in solitude.
You will starve until you pray ten thousand times for death,
and still death will not come.
The mark upon your soul—
It is not a scar but a chain.
Not punishment, but my gift.
The Mark of the Devourer."
Wings split the storm.
Thunder peeled the sky.
Before he vanished into the void,
his final words burned deeper than his curse:
"If vengeance drives you…
claw your way upward.
Suffer. Devour. Survive.
Seek me in the Divine Realm.
There—
only there—
Will you have the chance to kill me."
Then the heavens swallowed him.
And silence returned.
The corpses gave no more voices.
The winds carried no more sound.
Only I remained.
Alone.
Marked.
But not empty.
Because I knew one truth:
This mark was not born in fire.
This hunger was not Aurexiel's gift alone.
No.
It had been inside me long before.
Long before I knew his name.
And as the sigils burned across my flesh,
as ash filled my lungs and famine filled my veins,
I understood—
Aurexiel had not cursed me.
He had recognized me.