The first time Kael saw the mark burn beneath his skin, he thought he was dying.
It started with a chill—creeping up his spine like a snake, curling around his heart until he could barely breathe. The campfire had died down hours ago, leaving only embers in the misty forest clearing. The others were asleep, their soft breathing blending with the distant hoot of an owl. But Kael lay wide awake, his back drenched in sweat, heart hammering against his ribs like war drums.
Then it happened.
The pain.
White-hot. Violent.
It started at his left shoulder, then radiated downward, searing a trail through his veins. He clawed at his tunic, yanked it down—and saw it. A glowing sigil, etched beneath his flesh as if by invisible fire. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
A circle. A crown. Three stars.
Kael gasped.
He had seen this symbol before.
In the forbidden archives. In a crumbling book bound in dragon hide.
It was the mark of the Soulbound—those ancient warriors who could bond with lost spirits, wielding power beyond comprehension. But that bloodline had vanished centuries ago… or so the world believed.
Kael wasn't sure what scared him more—the idea that he bore that cursed mark… or the fact that part of him felt right wearing it.
And in that moment of fear and fascination, a whisper brushed his mind.
> "You are not the last. You are the beginning."