"Even the smallest flame can defy the darkest night."
The village of Elyndra stirred awake beneath a pale dawn. Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys as the first light touched the dew on the fields. Lior followed Elder Thane along a narrow dirt path that wound between cottages. Each home was built from stone and timber, patched with moss and age. The air smelled of bread baking and damp earth.
"Keep your hood low," Thane murmured as they passed a group of farmers. "Your mark might draw eyes you do not want."
Lior nodded, his hand instinctively brushing over the faint glow beneath his sleeve. He had tried washing the symbol away the night before, but it remained etched into his skin like a secret the world refused to forget.
They reached the heart of the village, a small square where merchants displayed baskets of fruit, woven cloth, and charms carved from bone. Children ran barefoot between the stalls, their laughter echoing like wind chimes.
Thane stopped at a well and turned to him. "Listen carefully, Lior. This world, Valenreach, is not gentle to strangers. Here, magic breathes in the soil and the sky, but so do the things that hunt it. You must learn to balance both."
Lior watched a young boy toss a coin into the well, whispering a wish before it splashed into the water. "Magic," Lior repeated softly. "Is that what this mark means?"
Thane's gaze lingered on him for a long moment. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a curse. Time will tell."
They continued toward the outskirts where an open field spread wide like a sea of green. A small group of young villagers trained there, swinging wooden swords and laughing between strikes.
One of them noticed Lior and grinned. "New face! Come to learn how to hold a sword, city boy?"
Thane chuckled. "Kael, show some manners. This boy saved a child's life before he even knew where he was. He deserves a welcome, not your teasing."
Kael's grin widened. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sun-browned skin and eyes that gleamed with mischief. "Is that so? Then maybe he has more courage than I thought." He tossed Lior a wooden blade. "Show me what you can do, hero."
Lior caught it clumsily, nearly dropping it. He had never fought anyone in his life. In his old world, the closest thing to danger had been crossing a busy street in the rain.
Kael laughed. "Do not worry, I will go easy on you."
Their swords clacked together. The first swing nearly knocked the weapon from Lior's hands. His palms burned, his heart raced, and his breath came fast. But he refused to step back. Each strike made him move faster, learn quicker.
Kael's grin faded as Lior began to anticipate his attacks. He ducked low, twisted aside, and swung with surprising precision. Their blades met again, and this time Kael was the one who stumbled back a step.
"Well now," Kael said, panting slightly. "Looks like the hero is not all talk."
Thane smiled faintly. "Instinct," he said. "That mark may be more than decoration."
The rest of the group gathered around, clapping and cheering. Lior felt his cheeks flush. For the first time since his arrival, he felt seen. Not as an outsider or lost soul, but as someone who belonged.
Later that evening, Thane led him to a small hut near the stream. "You will stay here," he said. "It is quiet, and the water nearby will help you focus. Meditation will teach you how to listen to the pulse of this world."
Lior looked around. The hut was simple, with a straw bed, a clay lamp, and shelves lined with herbs. Through the open window, he could see the stars mirrored in the stream below.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Thane nodded. "Rest, Lior. Tomorrow, your training begins."
The old man left, and silence filled the room. Lior lay on the straw bed, staring at the ceiling. The events of the day spun through his mind, the fight, the laughter, the way the air itself seemed alive.
He reached for his left hand. The mark pulsed gently, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.
"What are you?" he whispered.
For a moment, he thought he heard an answer, a whisper that was not his own, soft and distant like an echo in a dream.
Power is never given freely. It must be earned.
The glow faded, leaving him in darkness.
Sleep claimed him slowly, carrying him into dreams of endless plains and a shadowed figure standing at their edge, watching, waiting.
And somewhere in the far north, beneath the crimson clouds, something stirred.