The road stretched out ahead, cracked and forgotten. Trees bent inward like they were trying to hide the sky. The wind had a smell to it—ash, old blood, and something deeper.
Kairo walked in silence.
Iri was behind him, her rabbit clutched tight to her chest. Lira walked on the far side, her eyes scanning every shadow.
They hadn't spoken since morning.
Not after the dream.
Not after the vision.
Every cursed mark was waking. And all of them were being pulled to the same place.
Kairo could still hear the voice from the dream.
"Come find me…"
He didn't know who—or what—it was. But it knew his name.
And it was waiting.
They reached an abandoned crossroads by nightfall. There used to be a watchtower here, but all that was left were stone bones and broken wood.
Lira set up a fire. Iri curled up near the wall, her back to the cold stone.
Kairo sat a little farther away, staring at his hands.
His skin had changed. The black veins were now permanent. Not cracks. Not lines. They pulsed. Slowly. Like they were alive.
He flexed his fingers.
The power answered, warm and quiet.
But not kind.
It was never kind.
Lira approached and sat beside him.
"You saw something else, didn't you?"
He nodded. "A throne."
"Of what?"
"Bones."
She tilted her head. "You think it's real?"
"I don't think it was a dream."
She said nothing for a while. Then asked, "Do you want to go to it?"
"I have to."
She raised an eyebrow. "Even if it kills you?"
Kairo looked at her. "If I don't go, more people will die."
"And if you do go?"
He didn't answer.
She understood.
Midnight came.
And with it, the whispers.
They didn't come from outside.
They came from under the ground.
Kairo stood up immediately.
Lira was already drawing her dagger.
Iri sat up, terrified. "It's them again."
The ground split in front of the fire.
A thin black hand crawled out first. Then another.
A creature rose from the crack—no face, no eyes, just long limbs and a hollow chest.
It moved like smoke. Fast. Hungry.
Kairo stepped forward and raised his hand.
The creature froze.
It tilted its head. Then knelt.
Lira stared. "What is it doing?"
"It's… bowing," Kairo whispered.
Another whisper passed through the air.
"Throne-bearer."
"Cursed child."
"He hears us."
"He sees."
More creatures rose.
Six. Ten. Twenty.
All bowing.
Iri clung to Lira. "What do they want?"
Kairo felt something tighten in his chest.
"I think they're following me."
The nearest one lifted its head. A voice came—not from its mouth, but from the space around it.
"The Bone King waits."
"The throne calls."
"You are the first. You will awaken the rest."
Kairo's voice was low. "Why me?"
"You broke the chain."
"You carry the mark of origin."
"You are not cursed."
"You are chosen."
Lira stepped forward. "He didn't choose this."
The shadows shifted toward her, but stopped when Kairo raised his hand.
"I want answers," he said.
"Then come."
"North. Through the fields of dusk."
"Beyond the broken pass."
"To the heart of the forgotten."
The creatures sank into the earth, vanishing without a sound.
The crack sealed itself.
Only the fire remained, weak and flickering.
Kairo sat down again.
Lira stared at him. "You're not just some cursed boy anymore."
"No," he said.
"I think I'm something worse."
Far away, beyond the border of any known map, something stirred.
The Bone Throne sat in a hollowed mountain. Skulls stacked high, carved with ancient runes.
The figure on the throne opened its eyes.
And smiled.