Erynn awoke to birdsong and the scent of wet moss. He blinked up at a sky mottled with early sunlight. For a moment, he forgot everything—the fire, the rune, the pain.
Then the mark on his chest pulsed.
Right.
He remembered.
He sat up slowly. His shirt was folded beside him, cleaned and patched. A worn blanket covered his legs. Across the clearing, Maerin crouched near the edge of the ruin, tracing runes into the dirt with the tip of her staff.
Erynn's voice cracked as he spoke. "You stayed."
Maerin didn't look up. "Of course I did. You were shaking in your sleep. Fever. Rune-sickness."
"Is that going to kill me?"
She shrugged. "Not yet."
---
They shared dry bread and bitter tea, brewed from something Maerin called "skyroot." It tasted like burned bark. Erynn drank it anyway.
Between sips, he asked, "How many of us are there? Runeborn, I mean."
Maerin didn't answer at first. "There used to be many. In the old ages, before the Runes were hidden. But now? We don't know. Some get taken by the Order before they awaken. Some die when the Rune marks them."
Erynn touched his chest, where the symbol still faintly glowed beneath his skin.
"And some?" she said, voice lower. "Some go mad."
A cold breeze stirred the leaves.
---
Later, Maerin took him to an old stone vault half-buried in the hillside. Inside were scraps of parchment, cracked tablets, and a single wooden chest sealed with copper wire and bone clasps.
She opened it with care.
Inside lay seven objects, each resting in its own slot: a broken blade, a sealed vial, a black feather, a ring, a lock of ash-white hair, a burned coin, and a curved piece of obsidian etched with sigils.
Erynn stared. "What… are these?"
"Relics," she said softly. "What remains of the ones who bound the Hollowfire King. The First Seven."
He swallowed. "This is real. All of it."
Maerin nodded. "And now it's your turn."
---
That night, Erynn dreamt of fire.
He stood at the edge of the mines, but the sky above was wrong—crimson clouds boiling, stars vanishing. The village below was silent, frozen in time. And from the darkness came a voice, low and thick like tar.
"You wear my mark."
Erynn turned. A figure stood in the flames. Cloaked in shadow, face hidden behind a crown of smoke and embers. No eyes. No mouth. Only heat.
"You will come to me."
The Rune on his chest flared.
Erynn screamed.
---
He woke gasping. Maerin was beside him, holding his shoulders. The rune on his chest glowed violently, brighter than ever before.
"You saw him," she whispered.
"The Hollowfire King," Erynn choked out. "He spoke to me."
Maerin's eyes were wide with fear.
"Then we don't have much time."
---
To be continued…