The wind was quiet that morning.
Too quiet.
Auren sat up, his breath forming little clouds in the chill. The fire had died, but the heat lingering under his skin hadn't. His pulse throbbed not just with life—but with something new. Something ancient.
Miera, sharpening her blade nearby, glanced at him. "You look… different."
Auren flexed his fingers. Blue patterns flickered beneath his skin, like threads dancing just under the surface.
"I saw something," he murmured. "A place of threads… a Weaver. She showed me… my fate is fractured."
Miera's hand froze on the hilt. "The Weaver of Threads? That's an old myth. Even the oldest tomes don't speak her name aloud."
"It wasn't a myth to me." He clenched his fist. "And now, I carry this."
He rolled up his sleeve—and revealed it.
A mark had formed over his forearm. A spiraling rune that pulsed faintly with blue-white light. Shifting with each heartbeat. No ink could imitate it, no magic could remove it.
[You Have Been Marked by the Patterned One]
Passive Effect: Your choices now resonate across multiple timelines.You may perceive glimpses of alternate outcomes—at a cost.
Warning: The more you rely on the Pattern, the more fragile your anchor becomes.
Miera's eyes widened. "You're… touched by fate itself now."
Auren stood slowly, the mark pulsing in sync with his thoughts. He wasn't sure what power this gave him yet—but he felt it. The world tugged at him now, like a web he could influence… or be caught in.
"We need to move," he said. "The next Shard won't wait. And neither will the enemies chasing it."
Elsewhere…
In a shadowy sanctum far to the south, a cloaked figure bowed before a throne carved from obsidian and bones.
"The boy lives," he hissed. "And he's awakened the Mark."
A low chuckle echoed through the hall. The one on the throne leaned forward, eyes burning like coals.
"Then fate tightens its grip. Let the others know… The Shardbound walks the Path of Fracture. It's time we remind the world why it was sealed."