The world was dead.
And yet, Orien breathed.
Each breath tasted of ash and iron.
The sky was nothing but an open wound, a gray gulf without horizon.
Nothing moved.
Not even the wind.
Then, in that stillness, something stirred.
Not a voice.
A presence.
Cold. Smooth. Sharp.
It slipped into his mind without warning, without form.
"Congratulations…"
The word slid into his head like a blade over glass —
every syllable glimmering, poisonous, alive.
"At last, you've passed, little hunter."
"Such… a singular performance."
Orien tried to speak, but the presence coiled around his throat.
It breathed with him —
each word matching the rhythm of his heart.
"The Voice of Wisdom has abandoned you."
"But I've seen you."
"And I am… intrigued."
A chill crept down his spine.
The thing sounded amused.
"Three gifts for three instincts."
"Hunt. Sight. Breath."
Three sparks of light appeared in the air.
Golden. Gray. Crimson.
They circled him once before plunging into his chest.
"The Mark of the Hunt — so that nothing escapes you."
"The Sense of Prey — so you may hear the world's heartbeat."
"And lastly… the Dragon's Legacy. Fire and breath, united."
The voice chuckled softly, cruelly.
"Oh, and a title, of course. The shadows must know your name."
"Heir of the Primeval Hunt."
---
Then came the pain.
It didn't begin — it detonated.
A raw, merciless agony.
His body convulsed.
Bones cracked, then fused again.
Muscles twisted, veins burned.
His blood turned to flame.
He fell into the ash, a soundless scream tearing his throat.
"Breathe, hunter."
"Breathe… or let the wind devour you."
He inhaled.
And the world moved.
A gale rose from nowhere, swirling around him.
Ash turned into a storm.
The air itself seemed alive — drawn to him, like prey to a predator.
---
When the storm faded, he saw them.
Two lights hovered in the air.
The first — a golden flame, soft, regal, burning without heat.
The Dragon's shadow.
The second — a white glow, delicate, pure, trembling like laughter remembered.
Atalanta's essence.
They faced one another, twin moons born of opposite worlds.
The voice fell silent.
Then it spoke again, quieter now —
its tone edged with something rare.
Curiosity. Awe.
"The Dragon's Breath…"
A pause.
A low, thoughtful laugh.
"And the Light of Atalanta."
"Two forces that should never coexist."
"Two flames that have hated each other since the world's first dawn…"
Its tone changed — almost fascinated.
"And yet, here they dance around you."
"How… deliciously ironic."
A whisper brushed against his mind, warm and intimate.
"Two flames watch you, little hunter."
"One will burn you. One will save you."
"Choose… or be consumed by both."
---
Silence.
Then laughter.
Low. Long. Amused.
>"Look at you…"
"A corpse of flesh that refuses to die."
"You amuse me."
Heat climbed up his left arm.
First warm.
Then searing.
Then unbearable.
"Here. A gift."
"To celebrate your rebirth."
The burning exploded.
His blood spun wildly beneath his skin, tracing spirals of living darkness.
Symbols took form — shifting, breathing, pulsing.
And the voice whispered, almost giddy with delight:
"Interesting… very interesting."
"You've been marked by something I will not name."
"Let's just say… you now carry the blessing of ???."
The name collapsed into silence, devoured by the void.
Even the ash seemed to stop falling.
---
The mark pulsed once.
Orien felt a heartbeat beneath his skin —
not his own.
Then the pain died.
"We'll meet again, hunter."
"And when that day comes… you'll learn what it is you truly carry."
---
The wind faded.
The world went still.
Orien knelt in the dust, trembling, soaked in sweat.
Each breath left golden trails in the hot air.
Beneath his skin, four rhythms pulsed in unison:
the fire of the Dragon,
the light of Atalanta,
the wind of the Hunt,
and… something nameless, hiding deep inside.
He lifted his head slowly.
His slit pupils gleamed like molten amber.
"What… have you done to me?" he whispered.
There was no reply.
Only the faint murmur of the wind.
And somewhere in the ashes,
a quiet, satisfied laugh.
***
The silence lingered long after the voice vanished.
No whispers.No laughter.Only the sound of Orien's breathing, rough and uneven.
His body was his again, but his mind…wasn't.
Something lived there now.Something that watched him from within.
He closed his eyes.And the world around him fell away.
Dark light unfolded beneath his eyelids.Not a dream.Not an illusion.It was his inside.
A vast expanse of mist and wind, weightless and endless.Above him floated two flames —
One, golden, burning slowly and royally,each spark pulsing like a heartbeat of thunder.It didn't illuminate; it commanded.The Flame of the Dragon.
The other, white, gentle, fragile, swaying in silence.It flickered like the memory of a star, delicate but unyielding.Atalanta's Light.
Between them, the air trembled —two forces locked in eternal tension,the balance of predator and protector.
Beneath those twin fires turned four symbols,floating lazily in the dark wind.They pulsed softly, alive, breathing —as though each one were a living fragment of his soul.
Orien stepped closer.And as he did, the symbols stirred,opening themselves to his gaze.
The Mark of the Hunt
The first symbol pulsed faintly.A circle, perfect and broken down the middle.He didn't read it.He felt it.
To mark is to bind.Once the trace is laid, the prey can never vanish.
A weight pressed against his chest.He felt the echo of it — the connection between hunter and hunted.A thread of invisible instinct, a whisper in his blood.
He understood it completely.And yet, in that understanding, something darker stirred.
Those who mark will hunt.And those who hunt… must kill.
The Sense of Prey
The second symbol opened like an eye.Winds began to flow around it, full of murmurs and heartbeats.Every pulse was a whisper.Every silence, a death.
The world speaks through its beating hearts.The weak whisper. The strong thunder.
For an instant, Orien felt everything —the faint vibrations under the ash,the tremor of tiny creatures hiding in the dust,the distant echo of something alive far beyond the ruins.
He exhaled slowly.And for the first time, he felt what it meant to be a true predator.The entire world was a hunt waiting to begin.
The Dragon's Legacy
The third symbol ignited —a spiral of fire and wind folding into itself.At his approach, the heat grew unbearable.Not physical heat, but something far deeper.An ancestral flame.
The Dragon did not pray. It consumed.It offered nothing. It devoured to understand.
The meaning hit him like instinct — raw and absolute.
The marked ones you slay will not die in vain.Their strength, their instinct, their essence…will be woven into your blood.
Visions struck his mind —creatures falling beneath his blade,their shadows dissolving into him,their cries becoming part of his breath.
Power.And hunger.
It was not a blessing.It was a cycle.
The more you take… the less of you remains.
He felt it — the echo of the Dragon's truth.A being that had once devoured the world to understand it,and in doing so, had forgotten itself.
A faint smile twisted his lips.Somehow, he understood that part all too well.
The Unknown Mark
The last symbol waited in silence.Neither bright nor dark —a void that breathed.
It was a circle of shifting shadows streaked with faint traces of silver and red.
He stepped closer.And the moment he did, the space around him tightened.
The symbol pulsed once.No words.No sound.Just awareness —something immense… awake.
It looked back at him.
And for an instant, he wasn't sure which one of them stood inside the other.
It's alive.And it's waiting.
He didn't understand it.But every instinct in his body screamed that this mark wasn't dormant.It was patient.
He opened his eyes.
The vision faded like smoke.The world returned — gray, cracked, and silent.
Above him, faint but unwavering, the two flames still glowed.The golden flame of the Dragon.The white flame of Atalanta.
They turned around him slowly,neither touching, neither yielding.
Orien placed a trembling hand over his chest.His heart beat slower now —but each pulse rumbled like a distant roar.
He was not merely alive.He was becoming.The hunter, the prey, and the flame that devoured both.