hidden…
The smell hit first. Death and rot and something chemical. The Wastes smelled like that when reality bent too far.
Captain Lyons led down. I followed, each step heavier.
The body was mostly bones. Three months and scavengers had done their work. But enough remained to see.
I knelt beside it, professional detachment sliding into place like old armor. Exam without touching.
"Throat wounds," I said. "Four parallel cuts. Deep, angled downward. The attacker was taller or striking from above."
"How can you tell?"
"Angle of entry. Cuts slope down and in." I pointed. "Spacing between wounds. Two inches. Uniform. Not animal claws, animals rake, spacing varies. These are deliberate."
"What could do this?"
I looked at my hand. Spread my fingers. The spacing was close.
"Weapons designed to look like claws," I said. "Or someone with specific intent to fake the supernatural."
"Or someone cursed," Lyons said quietly.
I moved to the ribcage instead.
There. Burned into bone.
The Mark of the Vale.
Perfect in every detail. The dragon's scales are individually defined, the sword's crossguard exact. Even the small imperfection in the flame I'd added as a signature. No one else knew that imperfection. I'd never told anyone.
Only I knew my mark precisely.
I reached out slowly, fingers hovering over burned bone.
Heat.
Faint, almost gone, but there. Warmth that shouldn't exist in three-month-old remains.
"It's still warm," I said.
"What?"
"The mark. Still warm." I pulled back. "Not possible. Unless…"
"Unless it's magic," Garrett said. He'd come down behind us. "Sustained magic. Doesn't fade because it's being fed."
"Fed by what?"
"By the caster. Whoever's maintaining the curse." He crouched beside me. "The court wizard said your curse was active, not passive. Something's still powering it. Still connected to you."
My head started hurting. Sharp pain behind my eyes, sudden and overwhelming. I stood too fast, staggered.
"Aric?" The captain reached to steady me.
The world tilted. For a second I saw double. I saw myself standing in the ravine, but also saw myself from outside, from above, looking down.
Then it passed. Pain faded. Back in my own head.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Stood too fast."
But I wasn't fine. Because in that split second, I'd felt something. A presence. Not external.
Inside me.
Watching through eyes that weren't quite mine.
We climbed out. The other soldiers waited, tense.
"Well?" one asked. Young kid, maybe nineteen. Thomas.
"Definitely murder. Definitely my mark. Beyond that…" I shook my head. "I need to see other sites. Look for patterns."
"There's one day's ride from here," Garrett said. "Fresher. Two weeks old."
"Then that's where we go."
We rode through the afternoon. I tried to focus on physical things—horse rhythm, leg ache, sun on face. I tried not to think about double vision, about being watched from inside my skull.
Failed completely.
Because the more I tried not thinking about it, the more I noticed gaps. Moments where I'd blink and we'd traveled further than I remembered. Sun shifting position too much.
I was losing time again. Small amounts, seconds or minutes. But losing it.
And every time, I felt that presence. Something else is sharing my head.
We made camp that night in a proper waystation. Walls, roof, bunks. Civilized. Safe.
I'd never felt less safe.
The soldiers took shifts. I volunteered for the last watch, thinking staying awake all night might help.
But exhaustion has power. Around midnight, sitting with Garrett, my eyes closed.
"Sleep," Garrett said. "I'm watching."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I muttered.
But I couldn't fight anymore. Eyes closed. Sleep pulled down.
I dreamed.
Not normal dreams. Not confused images and emotions.
I dreamed I was running. Fast, impossibly fast, through terrain I recognized. The eastern road, past the ravine. But seeing it differently. At night, lit by the moon.
I was hunting someone. Someone who deserved it. Someone who'd been there seven years ago when Dorian died. Someone who knew the truth and kept silent.
The righteous certainty filled me. Not murder. Justice.
I caught my prey, a man in a Royal Guard uniform, running in panic. He turned, saw me, screamed.
"Please! I didn't, I only did what she told me…"
She. Who?
But I didn't stop. I struck, fast and precise. Four cuts, throat opened, silence restored.
Then I marked him. Pressed palm to chest, felt heat flow through, felt the Mark of the Vale burn into flesh.
I felt satisfied. Justice. Rightness.
I felt nothing like myself.
I woke up gasping. Strong hands grabbed my shoulders.
"Easy! Aric, easy…" Garrett's voice, urgent.
I blinked. I was in the waystation, on my bunk. Garrett holding me down, other soldiers awake, weapons drawn.
"What happened?"
"You started screaming. Thrashing. You were speaking…"
"But what?"
"It wasn't your voice. It was harder. Colder. Like someone else using your mouth."
I sat up slowly. I looked at my hands.
Shaking.
And there, under my nails, dirt. Dark, fresh dirt.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Maybe an hour," Thomas said.
One hour. But I'd dreamed of a complete hunt, complete murder.
Or had I?
I looked at the dirt again. At Garrett.
"Check outside," I said quietly. "See if I left."
"Aric—"
"Please."
Garrett nodded to Thomas and another soldier. They went out. Came back pale.
"Footprints," Thomas said. "From the door about fifty feet out, then back. Fresh. Within the last hour."
"Barefoot," the other added. "Human shaped. Your size."
Sleepwalking. Or sleep-hunting.
Or whatever was inside me had been driving while I dreamed.
"Tie me up," I said. "Every night. I don't care how uncomfortable it is. I need restraints while I sleep."
"Aric…"
"That's not a request." I met Garrett's eyes. "I just walked outside unconscious. Next time I might go farther. Might find someone. I need you to stop me."
Captain Lyons stepped forward. "If you're this dangerous, we should turn back."
"No." I forced certainty into my voice. "We're close. The fresh site…if I see it, maybe I can remember. Maybe I can understand before more people die."
"Or maybe you're what needs stopping," Lyons said.
"Maybe." I held out my wrists. "So stop me. Restrain me. Watch me every second. But let me see that site first."
Silence. Soldiers looked at each other.
Finally Garrett spoke. "We restrained him. Watch constantly. Two minimum, always armed. And if he does anything that suggests threat…"
"You put me down," I finished. "I understand."
They tied my wrists and ankles. Secure but not cutting circulation. Then took turns watching the rest of the night.
I didn't sleep again. Didn't dare.
Just lay there feeling the presence stir and settle. Feeling dirt under my nails.
Wondering how many times I'd walked from Blackwatch in my sleep.
Wondering how many I'd killed without knowing their names.