Consciousness returned slowly—as if someone were turning it on piece by piece. First—silence. Then—a hollow dripping sound. Cold. Stone beneath his back. And a crushing weight on his hands and feet.
He tried to move—but something restricted every movement. Chains. Thick, rough, with locks as if for a monster, not a man.
He opened his eyes. Dark. Only the dim light of a torch, reflected from the damp ceiling, flickered in the corner of the cell.
"Where am I...?"
Trey blinked, trying to remember. The last thing he saw was a flash in the sky. Darkness crawling out of a rift. A girl with a sword. A red light on his chest—like a burn, like a brand.
He lowered his eyes. The symbol was still there. Embedded in his flesh as if it had long been a part of his body. It glowed faintly—a steady, flickering heat. He felt it was alive. As if something beneath his skin was watching him, studying him.
The door creaked open. Voices.
"Has he awakened?"
"Yes. The mark is active. He's dangerous."
Two silhouettes entered the dungeon. One—in a long hooded robe, face hidden. The second—the girl. The same one. Kyra.
"He can't be kept here," said the man. His voice was like stone, hoarse, dull. "The Marked awaken unpredictably. We risk the entire Temple."
"He didn't know about the mark," Kyra said firmly. "I was there. He was in shock. He's not like the others."
"They all say that. Until they flare up and burn half the city. Or open a rift."
Trey chuckled, hoarsely.
"Maybe someone will explain what the hell is going on? Why am I in chains?"
The man strode closer, grabbed his chin, lifting his face.
"You don't understand what you've gotten yourself into, outsider. This sign—is the sign of the Branded. You came from beyond the veil. And even if you didn't know you were a carrier... the mark will still open."
"I didn't come. I woke up here. Where is this place anyway?"
"A world that almost perished once because of the likes of you," the priest hissed. "And we won't let it happen again."
He stepped back. He made a gesture—one of the guards in the corridor raised a crossbow. Kyra darted forward, standing between him and Trey.
"You touch him—and I won't be silent. He's my witness. I'll take him to the High One. He will decide."
The priest was silent for a moment, then said softly:
"One chance. One. If he begins to awaken—no one will save you."
He left, leaving them alone. Behind the door—a click, a lock, footsteps.
Trey looked at Kyra.
"Should I thank you?"
"Better not," she sighed wearily. "It's too early. I'm scared too. But... you should know. The mark on you isn't just a sign. It's a key. Or... a lock. No one knows what to do with them. But everyone is afraid."
"Nice to be needed," he muttered.
She crouched beside him, quietly:
"Soon you'll be taken to the Hall of Trials. If you're really not lying—we'll try to prove it. But if... if something gets out of control... I don't know if I can protect you again."
Trey turned away to the wall.
Somewhere deep in his chest smoldered... a feeling. As if he wasn't alone in this body. Something inside whispered. Pulsated with the mark.
I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to...
But he felt: this was only the beginning.
...
Dark. Quiet. Only the drips somewhere deep in the corridor break this deathly silence. It feels alive. As if it's listening to me.
My name is Trey...
Is it? Is it my name? Or was it? Who am I anyway?
I feel this name receding, like a shadow in water. With every minute, it sounds weaker inside. More and more often I hear not my name—but a pulse. The pulse of this... thing on my chest.
He lowered his gaze. The mark pulsed with a faint light, as if breathing.
What do you want? Why did you choose me? I'm just ordinary. I didn't ask. Didn't call. Didn't want to...
Although... is that true?
He remembers the moment of awakening. How his body knew what to do on its own. How a shield grew out of thin air, and a power, unknown before, obeyed not reason, but instinct.
What if I lied to myself? What if I always wanted power... at any cost?
Maybe the mark came because I called it. Silently. In dreams. In fears. In weakness.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
But if so... if I let it in myself... then everything that happens will be on my conscience.
If I lose control... if this power breaks free... Kyra will die. And everyone around. Everyone.
Here it is, my choice. Either I become its master—or it will make me a weapon. Without will. Without a name.
So yeah... now I'm really scared.