The night returned faster than it should've. Sunlight didn't even say goodbye—it just fell behind the hills like it was runnin'. The trees in the forest twisted in place, their branches curling like fingers that forgot how to reach. And somewhere deep in that trembling quiet, Coker stood under the weight of a second name burned into his skin, staring at his shaking hands like they were no longer his.
The new mark wasn't just inked. It throbbed. It pulsed like a second heart inside his body, like it was alive, and every few seconds it whispered something—words he didn't understand yet, but felt deep in his ribs. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. But he didn't. He just stood there, letting the cold take him.
Dogo had gone silent for too long now. Not scared. Just confused. Lost. He stared at Coker like looking at a stranger wearing his friend's skin. That bond between them—that slight thread of trust—they both felt it stretch, and maybe snap.
"You didn't summon that thing, right?" Dogo finally asked, his voice low, soft, like it might break if it spoke too loud.
Coker didn't answer right away. How could he? He didn't even know what he did. His fingers still trembled. His heart kept changing rhythm like it was syncing to something older. The shadows around him had stopped being afraid of him—they were gathering. Watching. Waiting.
"I didn't call it," Coker finally said, his voice raw. "It's been waitin'. It knew me. Before I was even born, I think it knew."
Dogo stepped back. Not out of fear. Out of instinct. He wasn't looking at Coker anymore. He was looking at what chose him.
That night, Coker walked alone. Deeper into the forest, following a path that only his new mark could see. It burned when he was wrong, and it quieted when he was right. That's how he moved—like a puppet pulled by something in his blood.
And then he found it.
A circle of stone ruins, older than the village, older than the Beast Schools. The pillars were broken, moss-covered, and the symbols carved into them were the same ones that bled from his skin. The place wasn't just ancient—it wasn't meant to be found. Not by humans. Not by the living.
Inside the circle stood a statue—headless, armless, but still towering. Even broken, it felt divine. It was wrapped in black vines that twitched softly, like veins pumping sleep into a god. Coker stepped closer and his mark burned harder than fire. Something inside the statue stirred.
"You've returned."
The voice was not spoken. It was carved into the air, deep, layered with thousands of echoes, male and female and something else. The mark on Coker's arm glowed violently, and his body dropped to his knees.
"You were the last. My breath is yours now."
The shadow beast within him trembled, not in fear—but in respect.
The statue cracked.
A single eye opened where no eye should be. A pale light blinked into the world, soft but sharp enough to cut bone. It looked into Coker and saw every dream he abandoned, every fear he still carried. And it smiled.
"You are mine now," it whispered—not as a threat, but as a truth already written.
Coker didn't fight it. He didn't even cry. He just let it in.
That night, the forest changed. Trees leaned away from the stone circle. The wind died. The stars refused to look down. And somewhere beneath the dirt, the roots of the world shivered because something old had just taken its first breath again.