The market was alive with the usual chaos: merchants shouting prices, children chasing each other through the stalls, and the scent of roasted nuts and fresh bread thick in the air. Lyra Venn tried to weave through the crowd without drawing attention. She preferred her errands quick and quiet, like always.
But today felt… different.
A strange chill pricked her skin. She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Just the familiar bustle of Eldoria's capital. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the uneasy feeling. Magic was always in the air here, but something tonight felt sharper, darker.
Lyra clutched her satchel tighter as a shadow passed across her peripheral vision. She froze. The people around her didn't seem to notice. The shadow… it moved. Fast. Too fast.
Before she could react, a figure lunged from the alley beside the spice stall. A creature, unlike anything she had ever seen, with jagged claws and eyes glowing like molten silver, grabbed for her.
Lyra screamed and stumbled back. Her heart hammered. She tripped over a loose cobblestone, sending her sprawling to the ground. The creature's claws reached her ankle. Cold, paralyzing fear ran through her veins.
And then—
A presence slammed into the creature with a force that made the air shudder. The monster hissed and recoiled, retreating into the shadows.
Lyra blinked up at him.
Tall. Dark. His hair fell like midnight over his shoulders, and his eyes… they burned. Not with kindness. Not even with fury. But with something terrifying, something magnetic.
"You… you're hurt!" she stammered, scrambling to her feet.
He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze swept over her, piercing, heavy. A strange energy crackled in the air. Lyra felt it brush against her chest, sharp and electric. Her pulse spiked, and a jolt of pain shot through her side.
She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of a stall. The world seemed to blur. The warmth of the market, the noise, the smells—they all dulled. The only thing she could feel was him, the stranger whose mere presence seemed to press against her very heart.
"Who… what are you?" she whispered.
His lips curved into a shadow of a smile. "You should be more careful," he said softly, almost a murmur. "Not everything that saves you is safe."
Lyra blinked. "I—I don't understand…"
He stepped closer. The space between them seemed charged, like static before a storm. She should have stepped back. Every instinct screamed at her to flee. But she couldn't. Her body refused.
Then came the searing pain in her chest—a sudden, burning pressure that made her gasp. Her vision darkened at the edges. She stumbled again.
"What's happening to me?" she cried.
He reached out a hand, but instead of touching her, it hovered inches away. The air between them shimmered unnaturally. "You've been marked," he said.
Lyra's mind raced. "Marked? By what?"
He didn't answer. He only stared, eyes unreadable, and the shadows around him seemed to deepen.
A sound—a whisper, soft and chilling—echoed in her head. Your heart is mine.
Lyra fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The market noise faded entirely. The people, the stalls, the smells—they vanished in her dizzying haze.
When she finally dared to look up, he was gone.
But the pain remained. And in its place, a new, terrifying awareness: she was no longer safe. She was caught in something far bigger than herself. Something dangerous. Something… cursed.
And she knew, with a sick thrill of fear, that her life had just changed forever.