The wind didn't blow anymore. It breathed. Slow. Heavy. Like something ancient had finally opened its mouth beneath the soil. All around Coker, the forest didn't whisper like it used to—it listened. Every tree, every leaf, every stone… listening to the footsteps of a boy no longer bound to the world he once belonged to.
Coker walked out of the stone circle changed.
The mark on his arm had stopped glowing, but the warmth stayed in his chest—too deep to reach, too alive to ignore. His body moved like it remembered steps he never learned. His shadow had grown longer, even though the moon hadn't. And behind him, that ruined statue stood still, but the eye—it was still open. Still watching.
And it was still smiling.
He didn't know how long he walked. Minutes melted. Hours blurred. But his path was no longer led by thought. It was drawn by something beneath his skin. Something that whispered directions in a tongue that wasn't meant for humans. He followed anyway.
When he reached the edge of the valley, he saw fire in the sky.
Not real fire. Just red. Like the sun had bled behind the clouds. And in that red mist, a village was screaming. The scent of burned wood, ash, and blood danced in the wind. But worse than the destruction was the silence underneath the chaos.
It wasn't a beast attack. Coker knew that before he even stepped in.
This was… ritual.
The symbols painted in blood matched his mark. But they weren't glowing. They were crying. Someone had tried to mimic the power that lived inside him—and failed.
He stepped into the ruined square, where seven bodies lay in a circle, each with a beast core jammed into their chest. Their eyes were open. But they weren't alive, and they weren't dead either.
They were waiting.
"You feel it too, don't you?" said a voice from the shadows.
Coker spun around, his hand already pulsing with the shadow force, the beast inside him waking with a low growl.
From the edge of a burning hut, a figure stepped forward. Robes blackened by smoke. Mask carved like bone. And around his neck—seven rings that shimmered like cursed names.
"You've awakened the original," the figure said. "That means we were right. The bloodline lives."
Coker didn't speak. His eyes narrowed, the mark on his arm already flaring.
The man didn't flinch.
"We are the Keepers," he said. "You are the Key. And whether you like it or not, your body is no longer yours."
The beast inside Coker snarled. Loud. Like thunder ripping up from the earth.
"I don't care who you are," Coker muttered. "You used them." He glanced down at the corpses. "You turned them into… that."
"They chose it," the man replied. "They gave their breath so the Door would recognize yours."
"Then I'll make them regret it."
The mark glowed brighter. Shadows burst from his feet like claws. And just like that, Coker charged.
Faster than sound.
Faster than he should've ever moved.
But the man in black didn't dodge. He raised a finger.
And the seven bodies around them… stood.
Not breathing. Not bleeding. But moving.
Their eyes bled black. Their fingers cracked. They weren't human anymore. They were puppets strung to the same curse Coker had barely begun to understand.
"You've bonded with the Origin," the masked man whispered. "Now let's see if it accepts your rage."
And then—chaos.
The bodies attacked.
One dove at him with claws like daggers, another swung a shattered chain. But Coker didn't panic. He flowed. He danced. He moved like shadow. His beast magic curved around him like a storm—wild, beautiful, and terrifying.
He broke the first puppet with a single strike—his hand passing through its chest like smoke. But the others didn't stop.
Each time he struck one down, they rose again.
And the masked man simply watched.
"You can kill the flesh," he said, "but until you accept what you are… the echoes won't fade."
Coker's breathing grew heavy. Not from weakness—but from confusion. His attacks weren't enough. Not yet. Not until he understood the truth of the mark.
The beast inside him stirred, finally speaking.
"Let me in."
Coker hesitated.
"Let me all the way in."
Another puppet rushed him, fangs open wide.
He gave in.
In a single pulse, Coker's shadow exploded, covering the village square. The world blinked dark—and in that instant, every echo, every puppet, every breathless monster… stopped moving.
Silence.
Then dust.
They turned to ash in front of him.
And Coker stood alone—mark burning, heart hollow, and the masked man… gone.
But not before leaving behind one word, written in blood across the ground:
"Soon."