Aubrey didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. He stayed holed up in the shell of an abandoned office building, the glass long shattered, rain leaking through cracks in the roof. Every creak of metal, every gust of wind against the hollow walls had him on edge.
The woman's words gnawed at him: You've already chosen your path.
He pressed his back against a cracked pillar, rubbing his thumb along the knife handle until his skin was raw. The Bloodfire stirred restlessly in his veins, as if it too had heard her words and agreed. His reflection in a fragment of broken glass across the floor showed veins faintly glowing crimson, pulsing like molten wire.
He clenched his fists. "Shut up," he whispered to himself, as if the fire were a voice he could silence.
But the fire wasn't listening.
When dawn came, the city was gray, lifeless, and brittle. Aubrey stepped out into streets that felt emptier than usual, trash swirling in the wind like ghosts. The market was silent. No vendors. No noise.
That's when he noticed the symbols.
Spray-painted on walls, carved into metal doors, chalked onto the cracked pavement—strange marks shaped like jagged spirals and broken circles. They hadn't been there yesterday.
A chill crawled up his spine.
Then the sound came. A low hum at first, then sharper—like glass grinding against glass. Aubrey turned, and his stomach dropped.
Figures stepped out from the shadows. Three. Maybe four. Faces hidden behind bone-white masks, each etched with the same symbols he'd seen on the walls. Their movements were deliberate, too quiet.
One of them tilted its head, and the mask cracked a grin—not carved, but shifting, as if the mask itself was alive.
The Bloodfire roared inside him, instinct kicking in, muscles tightening.
He raised his knife, his voice cutting the silence. "Back off."
They didn't.
The first figure lunged. Too fast, too fluid. Aubrey sidestepped, the knife slashing through fabric but hitting something harder underneath—bone, or something worse. Sparks flew. The thing didn't cry out, didn't falter. It just turned its head toward him, mask grinning wider.
Aubrey's chest heaved. "What the hell are you?"
No answer. Only the hum growing louder as the others closed in.
The Bloodfire surged. Heat bled into his skin, veins glowing brighter, flames licking at his fists. For a moment, fear was swallowed by something else—rage. He swung, and the fire burst outward, a red arc scorching across the nearest figure's chest.
The masked creature staggered back, smoke rising from its robes. The others stopped, just for a moment, watching him. Measuring.
Then, just as suddenly as they'd appeared, they retreated. No words, no sound—just melted back into the shadows, leaving the street empty again, except for the acrid smell of scorched air.
Aubrey dropped to his knees, shaking, the fire dimming in his veins. His chest felt like it was caving in. His knuckles smoked.
For the first time, he realized—he wasn't just being hunted. He was being tested.
And worse, he was starting to fail.