Chapter 1: The Boy with the Mark
The wind over the northern cliffs howled like a dying god.
Wrapped in rags and frost, the boy ran through the snow, barefoot. His breath came out in short, desperate bursts, turning to mist in the frigid air. Behind him, torchlights danced like hungry beasts, drawing closer. Voices shouted. Steel clashed. Dogs barked.
He didn't know why they were chasing him. He only knew they always had.
The mark on his forehead burned again—hot, alive. Like it was calling to something in the sky, or beneath the earth.
He stumbled. Fell.
The world spun. Then silence.
When he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.
A cave. Silent. Endless. The air thick with ash and memory.
At the far end, a figure stood cloaked in crimson shadows. Not man, not beast. Its face was a mask of gold, smooth and blank. Its voice was not sound, but certainty.
"You bleed what was forgotten. And what is forgotten… will awaken."
The boy's voice shook. "Who are you?"
"You are the question. I am only the answer waiting to be asked."
The figure raised a hand. A light bloomed from nothing. Shapes moved within it: cities burning, kings kneeling, skies torn apart by fire.
"You must choose, child. To hide, or to become."
The boy tried to speak, but the world cracked like glass. His scream echoed through the void—
And he woke.
---
The dogs were gone. The snow was quiet. The torches no longer burned.
He lay alone, staring up at the stars.
But the sky had no stars.
Only the mark, still warm on his skin.
Only the silence, waiting for him to move.