The Mark is learning me.
That's the first thought I have as it flares to life again. The pain doesn't shock me anymore, not the way it did at first. My body stiffens, my hand sears, and already I know what comes next.
Another Hunt.
I've stopped trying to resist.
The first time nearly killed me. The second pulled me to the edge of madness. But now… now I feel it before it even starts. The heaviness in my palm, the way my chest tightens, the faint taste of iron on my tongue.
The Mark is learning me. Or I'm learning it.
I can't decide which is worse.
---
The first Hunt tonight pulls me only three streets away. The city is silent, rain slick on the stones. Lantern light fades as I step into a narrow lane I've never noticed before.
At first I think it's empty. But then I hear it.
Crying.
Soft. Thin. A child's voice.
My stomach twists as I step closer. At the far end of the lane, curled against the wall, is a little boy. He can't be older than seven. His clothes are tattered, his skin pale. His face is blurred, flickering, like a candle flame in wind.
"Help me," he whispers. His voice splinters into two, then three, then vanishes altogether.
I freeze.
I want to run. I want to tear the Mark from my flesh and throw it away. But the pull doesn't let me. My hand burns, dragging me forward.
The boy reaches for me. His arm flickers, fades, reappears.
Before I can think, the Mark erupts. Black letters spill into the air, wrapping around him. He doesn't fight. He doesn't scream. He just… dissolves.
Fragments slam into me.
A skipping rope slapping against stone.
A mother's lullaby.
The smell of bread, fresh and warm.
They dig into my ribs like knives. I choke, staggering back, clutching my chest.
When it ends, the lane is empty. The boy is gone.
I drop to my knees, bile rising in my throat.
"Why a child?" I whisper.
The Mark doesn't answer.
---
The second Hunt comes the next night.
This one isn't quiet.
I hear growling before I even turn the corner. Deep. Animal. Hungry.
The Mark drags me into a courtyard behind a row of houses. The rain hasn't touched this place. The shadows hang too thick, too heavy.
And in the center of the courtyard is a dog.
Or what used to be a dog.
Its fur is patchy, its body twisted, half-erased. One leg flickers in and out of sight. Its head jerks at angles that no bone should allow. But its teeth, its teeth are sharp, gleaming, too real.
The growl rattles in its throat as it turns toward me. Its eyes are gone. Just sockets filled with shifting script.
I take a step back.
The Mark flares. My hand rises on instinct.
The dog lunges.
I barely move in time. Its jaws snap shut where my arm was a moment ago. I slam my palm forward, words bursting from my skin in a torrent. They coil around its body, trying to bind, but the creature thrashes violently, tearing free.
It lunges again. This time its teeth sink into my shoulder. I scream as pain explodes through me, hot blood soaking my cloak.
I shove my marked hand against its face. Letters burst outward, branding across its skull. The dog shrieks, an awful, broken sound and collapses into fragments.
They slam into me.
Warm fur under a hand. A boy's laughter. The echo of paws on stone.
Gone.
I stagger against the wall, clutching my wound. My shoulder burns, blood running hot. My legs tremble.
The Hunt is over. The Mark quiets.
But I can't stop shaking.
---
The third Hunt doesn't feel like a Hunt at all.
It happens in the daylight.
I'm walking through the market, trying to pretend I'm still human, still Kaelen. The journal is heavy in my satchel, ink stains already bleeding through my fingers.
Then the Mark pulses. Just once. Faint.
And suddenly I'm drowning.
The world around me blurs. Stalls stretch, faces flicker. I hear voices layered on voices. Sellers shouting for goods that don't exist anymore. Shoppers arguing over fruit that isn't real.
Fragments. Everywhere.
I stumble, clutching my head. Names slam into me. Moments, smells, sounds. It's too much. Too loud.
I crash against a stall, sending fruit scattering. The vendor shouts at me, but I can't hear him. I can only hear the fragments, begging, screaming.
"…don't let me vanish…"
"…I lived, I lived, I lived…"
"…my name was"
I claw at my hand, desperate for the Mark to do something. To stop it.
It does.
Letters surge into the air, invisible to everyone else. They whip through the market, snagging fragments, pulling them inward. The voices shriek as they collapse into me.
I black out.
When I wake, I'm in the gutter outside the market. My mouth tastes of blood. My satchel is half-open, the journal pressed tight against my chest.
The Mark has grown darker.
I feel sick.
---
By the end of the week, I stop pretending I have control.
The Mark drags me when it wants. To who it wants. For as long as it wants.
I don't fight anymore. I don't scream. I just obey.
And every time, I write.
Pages blur together, entries stacking, names and lives spilling endlessly. My handwriting is getting worse. My ink-stained fingers shake. My shoulder throbs where the dog bit me, the wound healing wrong, black veins crawling out from the scar.
I don't know if I'm Kaelen anymore.
I think I'm becoming something else.
---
Tonight, the pull is different.
Stronger.
I can feel it before the Mark even flares, a heaviness in the pit of my stomach, a weight dragging me down. When the burn finally comes, it's unbearable. I almost collapse from the force of it.
The Mark doesn't just pull, it yanks.
I stagger through the streets, following its command. Deeper into the city. Past places I know. Into alleys I don't.
The air thickens. Cold. Still.
And then I see it.
The gap.
It isn't a creature this time. Not yet. It's a hole. In the world.
A vast stretch of black nothing, carved into the street. Buildings bend around it, warped, wrong, as if the void itself is eating them.
And inside the hole, something stirs.
My Mark blazes so hot I scream. My knees buckle. My vision swims.
Whatever waits inside is bigger than anything I've faced before.
And I know, deep in my bones, that this isn't just another Hunt.
This is something worse.