Aaron's lungs burned as he tore through the undergrowth, branches whipping at his arms and face. The damp forest floor sucked at his boots with every step, but he didn't dare slow down. Behind him, faint but sharp, came the clash of steel and the deep, ringing thud of impacts — Lyra and the Accord fighter were still locked in their deadly dance. The forest carried the echoes like ghosts, taunting him with every sound.
Why am I running?
It wasn't cowardice — at least, that's what he told himself — but something about that voice had gripped him. It wasn't just calling him; it was pulling him, tugging at some invisible thread in his chest.
He leapt over a moss-covered log, landing in a crouch, breath ragged. For a brief second, he risked a glance over his shoulder. He could still see faint flashes of light — Lyra's blade glinting between trees, her movements a blur. The Accord fighter's armor caught fragments of moonlight that pierced the canopy.
A shout rang out — Lyra's — sharp, defiant. Aaron flinched, his instincts screaming at him to go back, to help. But then the voice came again.
> "Aaron… you must come."
It was impossibly clear, like someone whispering directly into his ear despite the growing distance between him and the fight. His heart pounded faster. There was no direction to it, no source he could pin down — yet he knew which way to go.
He pushed on, feet splashing through a shallow stream. The water was ice cold, numbing his ankles as he stumbled up the opposite bank. His mind fought to make sense of this — how did it know his name?
The forest grew darker. The thick canopy overhead tangled so tightly that barely any moonlight slipped through. Twisted roots clawed out of the earth, forcing him to weave and hop between them. His breathing was ragged now, his legs burning.
Then he heard something else — not the voice, but footsteps. Not behind him — ahead.
Aaron slowed, crouching instinctively, his hand brushing the hilt of the short blade strapped at his side. Leaves rustled softly, and through the shadows he made out a flicker of movement. Someone was there.
He crept forward, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His eyes adjusted enough to catch a figure standing at the base of a gnarled tree, their back turned. A black cloak swayed lightly in the faint breeze.
"Who—" Aaron began, but the figure spoke first, cutting him off.
> "Finally. You're late."
The voice — it was the voice.
Aaron froze. His instincts screamed danger, but the pull in his chest anchored him to the spot. "Who are you?" he demanded, forcing the tremor from his tone.
The figure didn't turn. Instead, they raised a hand and pointed at the tree. "Come closer."
Aaron hesitated. Behind him, another faint clash echoed from Lyra's battle, and guilt twisted in his gut. But the figure's stillness… the way they seemed unaffected by the chaos… it was unnerving.
Step by step, Aaron closed the gap.
When he was only a few paces away, the cloaked figure finally turned. The hood hid most of their face, but a faint glow emanated from beneath — a pale, unnatural light.
Aaron's breath caught. The figure's eyes weren't just glowing — they were marked. Complex patterns of gold light pulsed around their irises, shifting like living ink.
"You've been… calling me?" Aaron asked.
"I've been waiting," the figure replied. Their voice was calm, almost cold. "You're one of the Seven, whether you understand that yet or not. But you've been wandering, unawakened, unprepared."
Aaron frowned. "If you know about the Seven, then—"
"Then I know what hunts you," the figure interrupted. "And what will happen if you fail to listen."
Aaron's grip on his blade tightened. "And why should I trust you?"
The figure tilted their head slightly, as if the question was almost amusing. "Because the mark you carry is already burning its way into you."
Aaron stiffened. "What mark—?"
The figure moved in a blur, faster than his eyes could follow. One moment they were standing a few paces away, the next their gloved hand was pressed against his chest.
A sudden heat flared beneath Aaron's skin, right over his heart. He gasped, stumbling back — but when he yanked at his shirt and looked down, his breath froze in his throat.
It was there.
A faint, golden sigil pulsed faintly on his skin, its lines intricate and sharp, like a brand carved from light itself. It hadn't been there before — not until the voice began calling.
"What—what is this?"
The figure lowered their hand. "The Accord is not your only enemy. There are forces older, hungrier, and infinitely less patient. That mark is a seal. A promise. And now… a beacon."
Aaron's pulse pounded. "A beacon… for what?"
The figure's eyes glinted in the dark. "For everything that's been looking for you."
A crack of sound split the air — not from them, but from deeper in the forest. Something large was moving, crashing through the undergrowth. The ground trembled faintly beneath Aaron's feet.
The figure's head turned sharply toward the noise. "Too soon."
They stepped back, fading into the shadows between two trees. "Run, Aaron. If you survive the next few minutes, find me at the Hollow Root."
Aaron's hand shot out. "Wait—!"
But they were gone. Just… gone.
The crashing sound grew louder — closer. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with an oppressive weight.
Aaron swallowed hard and turned toward the sound. Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of something massive. Its shape was obscured by shadow, but its eyes glowed faintly red, like coals in the dark.
It roared — the sound deep and bone-rattling — and lunged forward.
Aaron didn't think — he ran. Branches clawed at him, roots caught at his boots, but adrenaline drove him faster. Whatever was behind him was fast.
His mind screamed at him to keep moving, but part of him was still reeling from the figure's words. The mark on his chest burned hotter with every step.
Another roar shook the forest, and a moment later something slammed into the ground just behind him, sending dirt and leaves flying. He stumbled, barely regaining his balance before diving to the side.
The creature burst through the space he had just occupied — a hulking mass of muscle and armor-like hide, its form vaguely wolf-like but far too large, its claws gouging deep furrows into the earth.
Aaron scrambled to his feet and drew his blade. His hands trembled, but his stance firmed. "Alright… let's see if I can stay alive."
The beast lunged, and Aaron rolled aside, slashing at its flank. The blade scraped against its hide with a shower of sparks — barely a scratch.
Great. This'll be fun.
The creature spun, swinging a clawed forelimb toward him. Aaron ducked under it, stabbing upward toward what he hoped was a weak point between plates of its hide. The blade bit in just enough to make the creature bellow in pain and stumble back.
Aaron took the chance to put distance between them, darting behind a thick tree trunk. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his mind racing for a plan.
But the beast was relentless. It charged, slamming into the tree with such force that bark exploded outward. Aaron dove aside again, feeling the impact in his bones.
The mark on his chest pulsed — once, twice — and suddenly his senses sharpened. He could see the creature's movements just a fraction sooner, its weight shifts telegraphing its attacks.
"Okay… maybe I can work with this," he muttered.
The beast lunged again, but Aaron sidestepped, slashing at its leg joint. This time, the strike connected deeper. The creature roared, staggering.
Adrenaline surged. Aaron pressed the attack, moving faster than he thought possible, weaving between the monster's strikes, chipping at its armor until his blade found softer flesh.
The fight was brutal — each dodge and strike a blur of instinct and desperation. But finally, with a well-timed leap, Aaron drove his blade into the creature's eye. It let out a deafening, final roar before collapsing with a thud that shook the ground.
Aaron stumbled back, chest heaving, sweat mixing with the dirt on his skin. The mark still glowed faintly beneath his shirt, its heat fading slowly.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the fallen beast, the forest eerily silent around him.
Then the distant sounds of Lyra's battle drifted to him again — fainter now, but still there.
Aaron wiped his blade on the grass, tightened his grip, and began to make his way back toward her.
He didn't know who the cloaked figure was. He didn't know what the mark truly meant. But he knew one thing — whatever had just happened, his life had changed forever.
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