The guard's sword was falling.
Time didn't stop—that only happened in stories. In reality, time moved terrifyingly fast. One second, Zain was on his knees, clutching his burning wrist. The next, a flash of steel was descending toward his neck.
"Die, abomination!" the guard roared.
Zain couldn't move. The pain in his head was blinding, paralyzing his muscles. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the cold bite of the blade.
I'm sorry, Yamen.
But the blow never landed.
"Move."
The command echoed in his skull, sharper than the pain. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an override.
Zain's body jerked backward without his permission, his spine snapping away from the blade just as it sliced through the air where his neck had been a millisecond before. The sword sparked against the marble floor.
The guard blinked, unbalanced by the miss. "What?"
Zain scrambled backward, his boots sliding on the polished stone. He gasped for air, but the air felt thin, freezing. The black ink on his arm was pulsing violently, throbbing in sync with the chaotic beating of his heart.
"Don't let him escape!" The High Priest shrieked from behind the altar. "Seal off the exits! That thing is a calamity waiting to happen!"
Three more guards rushed forward, their armor clanking. They were elites, trained to hunt Sky Beasts. Zain was just a malnourished boy from the Edge. He had no weapon. He had no training.
He had nowhere to go.
"Pathetic," the Voice in his head grated. It sounded bored. "To think I waited a thousand years for a host who cowers like a rat."
"Shut up!" Zain screamed, though he didn't know if he was yelling at the guards or the voice.
He scrambled to his feet, looking for a way out. The main gates were closing. The crowd of other teenagers was screaming, pushing against the walls to get away from him.
A guard lunged with a spear. Zain ducked, instinct taking over—or perhaps, something else guiding his limbs. The spear tip grazed his shoulder, tearing his tunic and drawing a line of blood.
The pain sharpened his focus.
He saw an opening. To the left of the altar, there was a service door used by the acolytes to bring in supplies. It was small, unnoticed by the panic-stricken mob.
He bolted for it.
"He's running!"
Zain pushed his legs to their limit. His lungs burned. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the armored guards gaining on him. They were faster. Stronger.
He reached the door, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder against the wood. It didn't budge.
He turned around, his back to the door. The guards were ten paces away. Five paces.
There was no escape.
"Hungry..." the Voice whispered.
Zain felt a sudden, sickening lurch in his gut. It wasn't hunger for food. It was a vacuum opening up inside his chest. The black markings on his arm flared, releasing a mist of darkness that looked like spilled ink floating in the air.
The lead guard hesitated for a fraction of a second, unnerved by the sight. But his training kicked in. He raised his sword for a killing thrust.
Zain threw his hands up in a desperate, futile attempt to protect his face.
"Devour."
The black mist didn't block the sword. It latched onto it.
When the steel blade touched the dark aura surrounding Zain's hand, it didn't clang. It didn't cut.
It aged.
In the span of a heartbeat, the shining steel turned dull grey. Then brown. Then orange. Rust bloomed across the metal like a fast-forwarded disease. The guard's eyes widened in disbelief as his weapon crumbled into flakes of red dust before it could touch Zain's skin.
The momentum of the swing sent the guard stumbling forward, his fist passing harmlessly through the cloud of rust.
Zain stared at the pile of dust on the floor.
What... what did I just do?
"A fraction of my power," the Voice scoffed. "And it nearly killed you."
Zain's vision blurred. A wave of exhaustion hit him so hard his knees buckled. It felt as if he hadn't slept in a week. Using the power—whatever it was—had drained his stamina instantly.
But the shock of the event had bought him a moment. The guards were staring at the rust, terrified.
"Sorcery..." one whispered. "It rotted the steel!"
Zain didn't wait for them to recover. He spun around, adrenaline giving him one last burst of strength. He kicked the lock of the service door. The wood, perhaps weakened by the aura leaking from him, splintered.
He crashed through the door and tumbled out into the cold alleyway behind the temple.
The wind hit him immediately, carrying the familiar scent of the slums. He didn't stop running. He knew these streets. He knew the winding, garbage-filled alleys of the Edge better than any temple guard.
"After him! Sound the alarm!"
Zain ducked under a hanging laundry line, jumped over a crate of rotting fish, and vanished into the labyrinth of the shantytown.
Twenty minutes later, Zain collapsed.
He was huddled inside the hollowed-out hull of a wrecked sky-ship, abandoned near the very edge of the island. It was his secret spot—the place he went when he wanted to watch the Abyss without anyone bothering him.
He gasped for breath, his chest heaving. His body felt heavy, like lead weights were tied to his limbs.
He looked down at his right arm.
The sleeve of his tunic was torn. The black seal was still there. It wasn't moving anymore, but it looked permanent. It was an intricate, jagged design, like a fracture in reality stamped onto his skin.
"What are you?" Zain whispered to the empty air.
Silence.
"I know you're there. You spoke to me."
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind whistling through the wreckage. Then, the pressure returned to his mind. It wasn't as painful this time, but it felt cold.
"I am the King of the Deep," the Voice resonated, sounding arrogant and ancient. "I am the End of All Things. But you... you may call me Nox."
Zain swallowed hard. "Nox. Why me? Why did you choose me?"
"I did not choose you, boy. You are simply the first vessel in a millennium that did not shatter immediately upon contact. Your soul is... surprisingly resilient. For a maggot."
Zain gritted his teeth. "The Priest called you a Void Brand. He wanted to kill me."
"Of course he did," Nox sneered. "The Sky Temples fear what they cannot control. They worship the light because they are afraid of the dark. And I am the darkest thing there is."
Zain slumped back against the rusted metal wall. This was a nightmare. He was supposed to get a Falcon seal. He was supposed to get a job, get money, and save Yamen.
"Yamen..." Zain sat up straight, panic flooding his veins again. "I have to go back. I have to get him. If the guards know who I am, they'll go to my house."
"Sit down," Nox commanded.
"No! He's my brother!"
"If you go back now, you die. And he dies," the entity stated coldly. "You are weak. You are exhausted. You almost fainted after rotting a single piece of cheap iron. If you face those guards again, they will cut you down before you can blink."
Zain punched the metal wall in frustration. His knuckles bruised. Tears pricked his eyes. "So what do I do? Let him die?"
"You survive," Nox said. "You need energy. My power consumes your vitality. If you want to use me to fight, you must feed. You must grow stronger. Hunt, kill, devour. That is the way of the Abyss."
Zain looked at his hand—the hand that had turned steel to dust.
"I'm not a monster," Zain whispered.
"Not yet," Nox replied, and Zain could practically hear the smile in the voice. "But the world has already decided you are. Look."
Zain crawled to the gap in the hull and looked toward the town.
In the distance, thick black smoke was rising. It was coming from the direction of the slums. From the direction of his shack.
The Temple wasn't taking any chances. They were purging the "corruption."
Zain watched the smoke rise, his heart turning to ice. The fear evaporated, replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness.
"They burned it," Zain said, his voice void of emotion. "They didn't even check if I was there."
"Now you understand," Nox whispered. "In this world, the weak are fuel for the fire. Do you want to burn, Zain? Or do you want to become the fire?"
Zain touched the locket again. He didn't know if Yamen had escaped. He didn't know if he was alive. But he knew one thing: crying wouldn't save anyone.
He stood up. His legs were shaking, but he locked his knees.
"I need to get off this island," Zain said.
"A wise choice. But first... we need to eat."