He pulled the thin volume from the shelf, before dropping into a creaking chair, the wood groaning under his weight. Lucian wiped dust from the cover with his sleeve. The title, An Introduction to Marks, was embossed in faded silver.
He flipped it wide. The scent of rotting paper rose to meet him. He scanned the text, his eyes devouring the diagrams. The book described a black emblem appearing at birth, a conduit for Mana, the vital energy of all living things. It detailed how these Marks evolved based on personality and trauma. Most formed between ages twelve and fifteen, determining a human's potential.
Lucian flipped through the pages, heart hammering against his chest. The text was clear. This was the power system. Marks were universal. Every human had one. Period.
He let the book fall onto his lap. A muffled thump followed. "Universal," he muttered. That meant he couldn't be an exception. He looked down at his own body, at the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin. Somewhere on this vessel, he had to have it. A mark of his own. He just had to find it.
Lucian abandoned the library and hurried to the bathroom, locking the door with a sharp click. He stripped off his sweat-dampened shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and turned to face the mirror.
His eyes swept over the flesh, searching. He twisted his neck, craning to see the back.
There, on the nape, was a black lotus. It looked etched in ink, stark against the skin, its petals unfurling as if alive. Lucian traced it with a finger; the skin felt normal.
Puzzled, he spun around, peering over his shoulder into the glass. He looked lower. On the lower section of his back, a second mark coiled near his spine. It was a segmented spiral, winding tight like a caged snake.
He froze. The book hadn't mentioned duplicates. "One for the original Lucian," he whispered, "and one for me?" He stared at the twin emblems, the silence of the room pressing in.
Lucian traced both marks once more before pulling his shirt back on. Two marks, one seemingly born with him in this world, the other gifted, perhaps. Answers might lie in that book, and he needed them.
He slipped out of the bathroom, padding down the hallway toward the library, mind racing with possibilities.
Rounding a corner, a figure materialized, blocking his path. Tall, slim, perfect posture, blonde hair neatly combed. Lucian stopped short, momentarily startled. The family resemblance was unmistakable, another Kraus brother.
"Where are you going little man?" the man inquired, tone level.
"The library," Lucian said, studying the unfamiliar face. This had to be the oldest son. Sharper features than the younger brother, expression measured.
Aldrich's eyebrows lifted slightly. "I didn't take you for the reading type."
"There may be a lot you don't know about me, then," Lucian replied, shifting his weight.
Aldrich's eyes narrowed, head tilting just slightly. "Was that attitude I just heard?"
Lucian met his gaze evenly. "That's open to interpretation."
A hint of surprise, perhaps even amusement, flashed over Aldrich's features. The corner of his mouth twitched into a ghost of a smirk. He studied Lucian a long moment, as if seeing something unexpected, then stepped aside without another word and continued down the hallway.
Lucian watched him go, wondering if he'd just fucked up. It was impossible to tell with this stoic demeanor. One thing was certain, the dynamics within the Kraus family were… complicated at best.
Lucian pushed open the oak doors of the library. He returned to the same chair, the wood groaning in protest, and opened the thin volume to the chapter titled Basic Mana Circulation.
The text was explicit. Mana was the vital energy sustaining life, a river of power flowing through veins. The Mark acted as a gate, shaping that chaotic flow into usable forms. Without a Mark, a human mana was stuck inside. The exercise was simple, almost insultingly so. Visualize the internal energy, pull it toward the Mark, and force it out through the gate, then direct it into your palm.
Lucian closed the book and stood. He held his right hand out, palm flat, fingers trembling slightly from the residual exhaustion of the morning's sparring. He closed his eyes.
Which one?
The question nagged at him. He had two distinct marks. The lotus on his neck and a spiral on his lower back. He had no idea which was the original of the obese Lucian Kraus. Which was the correct gate? The body's original hardware or the new soul's intrusion?
Split the difference, he thought. Focus on both.
He exhaled slowly, centering his will. He visualized the vague heat in his gut, that sluggish warmth he assumed was mana, and tried to drag it upward. He pictured it splitting into two streams, one shooting toward the lotus, the other toward the spiral. He commanded them to exit through his palm.
Five minutes passed. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Nothing happened. His hand remained empty, the air still and dead.
He opened his eyes and stared at his palm. It was just flesh and bone. Without a hint of… anything.
"Am I just… stupid?"
He clenched his fist, a surge of frustration hitting him. Was the body's mana too low? Was his technique wrong? Or were the two marks fighting each other, cancelling out the flow? He dropped his hand and stared at the wall, the silence of the library pressing in.
He held the stance for a moment longer, expecting a flare, a spark, anything. His hand remained empty. Lucian lowered his arm, the limb trembling from the tension.
"Done," he muttered. "Day one is done."
He shoved the heavy chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the stone floor. His lungs burned, and exhaustion settled into his bones. He walked out of the library without looking back.