Chapter 5 – The Mark of the Cycle
The chamber was quiet again. The runes on the walls dimmed, leaving only a faint pulse of light. James sat on the cold stone floor, his chest heaving, dagger still slick with the black residue of the Shades.
He'd survived. Barely. But his body felt heavier now, every muscle screaming, every cut throbbing. His HP bar blinked faintly at the corner of his vision.
[HP: 9/45]
[System Stability: 13%]
"Thirteen percent…" James muttered. "At this rate, I'll fall apart before the Hunters even find me."
The Keeper's voice returned, softer this time, like a whisper drifting through the cracks in the stone.
"And yet you stand. That is enough—for now."
James pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the stone wall. "You keep saying 'for now.' What happens when I'm not enough?"
The light along the walls flickered, like the Keeper was hesitating. "Then you end. And the Cycle collapses with you."
James clenched his jaw. "Not happening."
---
At the far end of the chamber, another doorway opened with a grinding rumble. Pale light spilled in, revealing a staircase spiraling upward.
"Go," the Keeper said. "Others will sense you soon. You must learn to move in shadow, or you will not last."
James glanced once at the floating Fragment shard pulsing faintly in the center of the room. His hand twitched toward it again, but he stopped himself. The warmth he'd felt earlier still lingered in his chest. Taking more might help—but the Keeper's warning echoed in his head.
Power always demands a price.
He turned away, gripping his dagger tighter, and climbed the staircase.
---
The air grew colder as he ascended. The stone walls gave way to rough earth, then to cracked wood. When he pushed open the hatch at the top, sunlight—real sunlight—stabbed his eyes.
James squinted, raising a hand. After days beneath the gray ash sky, the sight was almost blinding.
He was standing on the edge of a forest. Beyond, nestled in a shallow valley, smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of a cluster of huts.
A village.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the stale bread.
"Finally," he muttered.
---
The villagers noticed him almost immediately as he stumbled into the outskirts. Their eyes narrowed, wary. Farmers paused in their fields, gripping tools like weapons. Children darted behind their mothers' skirts.
James tried to smile, though he probably looked like a half-dead lunatic—bloody, ragged, dagger still in hand.
"Uh… hi." He forced a laugh. "I don't suppose you've got food to spare?"
The silence was heavy.
Then, an old man stepped forward, leaning on a staff. His gaze lingered on James' chest, where faint blue light still pulsed through the torn fabric of his tunic.
"The Mark…" the elder whispered.
James frowned. "What mark?"
The man's hand trembled as he raised it. "Cycle-bearer."
The word rippled through the crowd like a shockwave. Gasps. Murmurs. Fear.
James took a step back, confused. "Wait—hold on. I'm not cursed, I just—"
Before he could finish, a girl pushed through the crowd. She couldn't have been older than eighteen, with sharp eyes and tangled dark hair tied back in a braid. She held a basket of herbs against her hip.
"Stop glaring at him like he's a monster," she snapped at the others. Then she turned to James. "You look like you're about to collapse. Come with me."
James blinked, stunned. "Uh… thanks?"
The villagers whispered more harshly as the girl led him away, but none stopped her.
---
Her name was Lira.
She brought him into a small hut at the edge of the village and set the basket down. Without a word, she poured water into a bowl, tore strips of cloth, and began cleaning the gashes on his arm.
James hissed as the cool water stung. "You're not afraid of me?"
Lira's hands didn't falter. "Should I be?"
"The others seem to think so," James muttered.
She smirked faintly. "They think everyone's cursed. Especially if they see… that."
She nodded toward his chest.
James glanced down. Faint lines of glowing blue ran just under his skin, spreading from the place where the Fragment had anchored itself.
He swallowed hard. "I didn't even notice that."
"They call it the Mark of the Cycle," Lira said. "I've only seen it once before—on a traveler who passed through years ago. He didn't last long."
James tensed. "What happened to him?"
Lira's voice dropped. "Hunters came. They always come."
---
When she finished binding his wounds, James leaned back with a sigh. "So, if this 'Mark' means I'm cursed, why'd you help me?"
Lira met his eyes, her expression firm. "Because cursed or not, you're still human. And you looked like you were dying."
James chuckled weakly. "That's… fair."
A faint chime echoed in his head.
[Quest Generated: Protect the Village to Earn Trust]
Reward: Undefined
Failure: Distrust (Permanent)
James stiffened. "Not again…"
"What is it?" Lira asked.
He shook his head quickly. "Nothing. Just… thinking out loud."
But inside, anger boiled. Another quest. Another lie waiting to happen. He could almost feel the system laughing at him.
---
That night, James stepped outside, gazing at the stars above the forest canopy. For the first time since awakening in this world, he wasn't surrounded by ash. The village was alive—faint laughter from a nearby hut, the smell of cooking fires.
For a moment, he almost let himself relax.
Then the Keeper's whisper cut through the calm.
"Do not linger. The Hunters are near."
James' stomach twisted. He gripped the dagger at his side, staring out at the dark tree line.
Somewhere in the shadows, yellow eyes were watching.
---