The shadow waited. Not moving, not striking, but radiating a weight that made Kieran's knees tremble. Every instinct in him screamed to run, to vanish into the jagged streets, but the mark throbbed on his back, stronger than ever, hot and insistent, like it was alive and aware of the danger.
He swallowed, sweat stinging his eyes. The city around him had not healed from the fractures. Buildings leaned at impossible angles, street signs bent toward the ground like they were bowing, and scattered debris formed jagged paths that led nowhere. Every step felt precarious, as if the world itself could collapse beneath him at any second.
The man—his guide, though still a stranger—stood a few feet away, eyes trained on the shadow. "It's testing you," he said, calm but tense. "Every strike, every hesitation—it wants to see if you'll survive, if you can *use the mark*. Do not let it overwhelm you."
Kieran's hands shook. "Use it… how?" His voice was hoarse. The hum of the fractured sky above filled the air, vibrating through his teeth, into his bones, making the hair on his arms stand up.
The man stepped closer. "You don't fight with weapons. You fight with *yourself*. Focus. Control the heat. Push it outward. Force it to bend around you, to obey your will."
The shadow advanced. Just a step, then another, like it was testing him, weighing his reaction. Kieran's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline burning through every vein.
He pressed his hands to his back, over the mark. Warmth flared, spreading from his shoulder blades into his arms, his chest, his legs. He imagined it reaching outward, a shield of fire against the impossible darkness before him. The shadow faltered slightly, limbs twisting unnaturally as it hesitated.
"Good," the man said. "Hold it. Don't stop. Not even for a second."
Kieran forced himself to breathe evenly, though his lungs screamed in protest. The warmth became sharper, almost violent, a pulse he could feel in every fiber of his body. He imagined it like a living thing, a protective entity tethered to him, radiating outward, cutting a path through the unnatural darkness.
The shadow lunged. Faster this time, sharper, limbs snapping toward him with lethal precision. Kieran barely had time to react. He threw his arms forward, letting the mark surge outward. Heat exploded from his back, radiating in a sudden wave, invisible but palpable.
The shadow slammed into it and recoiled violently, hissing—or something like it vibrating through the air. The tremor of the collision shook the alley, sending dust and debris spiraling around him. Kieran stumbled, nearly losing balance, but he forced himself upright.
The man nodded, a faint smile crossing his features. "You can control it. But only for so long. You'll learn, or it will burn you out."
Kieran's chest heaved. Sweat mixed with dirt and blood, dripping into his eyes. He blinked, focusing. The shadow was still there, but slower now, uncertain, calculating. The mark throbbed like a drumbeat, warning him, urging him to act.
Then, from the fractured sky above, the voice came again. Clearer this time, sharper, cutting through the hum of the city.
"Kieran… Vale…"
It wasn't a whisper. It wasn't faint. It was commanding, intimate, and terrifying all at once. The mark flared violently, pain and heat coursing through him. His hands flew to his back instinctively, clutching the mark as if holding on to life itself.
The shadow reacted instantly, recoiling, almost as if it could *feel* the sky's call too.
The man stepped forward, urgency in his eyes. "It's calling you. Don't go willingly. Resist—*use the mark against the call*."
Kieran shook his head, breath ragged. "I… I can't—"
"Yes, you can," the man said, voice ironclad. "This is your first real choice. Control it, or be consumed. The fracture doesn't forgive hesitation."
The heat in Kieran's back peaked. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him. Every instinct screamed, every memory of survival screaming at him, and then… he pushed.
Not forward. Not backward. Outward.
A wave of energy surged from his back, spilling into the alley, into the fractured space, into the shadows themselves. The nearest shadow screamed—again, not with sound, but in vibration, in pressure, in the sensation of wrongness pressing against his soul. It shrieked and twisted, folding in on itself like smoke in a wind tunnel.
Kieran stumbled backward, gasping. His chest burned, his limbs ached, and the mark pulsed violently. But the shadows didn't advance. Not yet. They lingered, broken, uncertain.
"You survived," the man said, voice quiet, almost reverent. "But they'll adapt. Every time you strike, every time you resist, it will cost more."
Kieran's stomach churned. "Cost… what do you mean? What… *what happens if I fail?*"
The man's gaze hardened. "You'll become part of the fracture. And the fracture… it doesn't forget."
A low rumble vibrated through the city. The fractured sky pulsed brighter, veins of light widening and twisting. Kieran felt it—something ancient, alive, waiting for him, pulling at the mark. Not demanding, not threatening, but insistent. Like it had plans for him, plans that didn't include hesitation or mercy.
Kieran clenched his fists, feeling the pulsing warmth in his back like a tether to life itself. The shadows still hovered at the edges, silent, watching. Waiting. Patient.
And deep in his chest, Kieran knew the truth he hadn't allowed himself to admit before.
This wasn't just survival.
This was a war.
The fractured sky was only the beginning.
And the hunters… the shadows… they would never stop.
The mark throbbed again, hot and alive.
And the voice from above whispered once more, low and unyielding:
"Kieran… come to me."
He swallowed hard.
And he realized, with a cold certainty, that when he answered, nothing would ever be the same again.