The battlefield lies silent beneath a sky drowned in gray. The air is heavy with the stench of blood and smoke. Crows gather in flocks, their wings darkening the horizon as they feast on the fallen. Rusted weapons stick out of the soil like broken tombstones, each one marking the end of a forgotten soldier.
Kael wakes to this silence. His breath comes ragged, and every muscle aches as though torn apart and stitched together with fire. The world spins above him, blurry and hostile. He lies among corpses, yet unlike them, he still breathes.
He presses his palm against his chest and freezes. Beneath the fabric of his torn tunic, something burns. Not a wound, but a mark carved into his flesh. It pulses with an unnatural rhythm, like a second heart. Each beat spreads waves of pain through his body, yet also keeps him awake, refusing him the luxury of slipping into death.
Kael groans and forces himself to sit. The ground beneath him is sticky with dried blood. None of it feels like his own. He remembers nothing of the battle, nothing of who he fought or why. His mind is a cracked mirror, shards of memory scattered and lost. Only his name remains clear, echoing faintly in his skull: Kael.
The sky above threatens rain. Clouds twist and roll as if the heavens themselves mourn the slaughter below. Kael staggers to his feet, swaying like a man drunk on poison. He searches the field, hoping for a living soul, yet all he finds are bodies twisted in their final screams.
Then, a sound breaks the silence. Not the cry of crows, not the clatter of shifting bones, but a voice. Soft, trembling, carried by the wind.
"Are you… alive?"
Kael's head snaps toward the sound. At the far edge of the field, among the dead, kneels a girl. Her robes, once white, are soaked in crimson. Her golden hair is tangled, strands clinging to her face where tears have fallen. Her hands are clasped tightly together, as though in prayer, yet her eyes are fixed on him.
He stumbles closer. She notices, and her lips curve into a fragile smile.
"I found you," she whispers.
Kael halts. The girl rises to her feet, moving with trembling grace. She is no ghost, though her pale skin makes her seem like one. She walks toward him as if drawn by something beyond her control. Her gaze never wavers.
"You are mine now."
The words freeze Kael's blood. He does not know her. He cannot recall her face. Yet her eyes burn with recognition, as though she has searched for him across lifetimes.
"Who are you?" His voice is hoarse, raw from thirst.
She stops a step away from him. The distance between them feels unbearably thin. Her hands lift toward his chest, hovering above the mark that burns beneath his skin.
"I am Elira," she says, her voice soft yet unyielding. "And you… you belong to me."
Her fingers brush against his tunic. The instant she touches him, the mark flares with light, sending a shock through his body. Kael gasps, stumbling backward, but Elira follows without hesitation. Her eyes widen with ecstasy, as though the pain searing his chest is a miracle.
"It is true," she breathes. "The mark chose you. I knew it would."
Kael clenches his fists. "What is this mark? What do you mean?"
Elira tilts her head, smiling in a way that unsettles him. Her smile is too tender, too intimate for strangers. Yet behind it lies a hunger that makes his heart pound in fear.
"It is fate," she says. "And fate has delivered you to me."
The crows above scatter with a sudden flap of wings. A storm is gathering. Kael's instincts scream at him to run, but his body is too weak, his limbs too heavy. Elira notices his trembling and reaches forward, cradling his cheek with her bloodstained hand.
"Do not be afraid," she whispers. "I will protect you. No one else can have you. No one."
Her touch is warm, gentle, but the words send a chill through him. There is devotion in her voice, but also obsession, sharp as the blades rusting around them.
Kael swallows hard. He does not understand this world, this battlefield, or the curse carved into his flesh. But one truth becomes clear as Elira gazes at him with trembling joy.
He is no longer free.
The mark pulses again, stronger this time, and Kael feels his knees give way. Elira catches him before he falls. Her arms wrap around him with surprising strength, pulling him against her blood-soaked robes. She holds him tightly, too tightly, as though afraid he will vanish if she lets go.
"Rest," she says, pressing her cheek against his. "I will not let anyone hurt you. I will not let anyone take you from me."
Her words are a promise, and a threat.
Kael closes his eyes, trapped between pain and exhaustion. The storm above breaks, rain falling over the battlefield. The dead are washed clean, but he feels no relief.
For in Elira's embrace, he senses the beginning of something far darker than death.
The mark beats once more, and the thorns of obsession begin to grow.
*****
The rain does not stop. It falls in sheets, soaking the ground until mud swallows the boots of the dead. Kael wakes again with water dripping from his hair and lips. His body aches as though struck by chains, but he is alive. The warmth around him is not the rain. It is Elira.
She sits beside him, her bloodstained robes plastered to her skin, her arms wrapped firmly around his chest. At some point she must have pulled him beneath the broken remains of a wagon, shielding him from the worst of the storm.
Kael shifts slightly, and her arms tighten instantly.
"You are awake," she says. Her voice trembles, but her smile is steady. "I was afraid you would leave me while I slept."
Kael blinks, disoriented. "You… stayed here all night?"
Her golden hair glistens with rain. She nods, brushing wet strands from her cheek. "Of course. I told you already. I will never let you go."
The words dig into him like claws. He swallows and tries to push himself upright. Pain lances through his chest where the mark burns, but he forces his legs beneath him.
"We need shelter," Kael mutters. "We cannot stay among the dead."
Elira rises with him, her hand instantly seeking his arm. She clings lightly at first, then firmly, as if afraid he might drift away with the rain. Her eyes flick to the corpses scattered across the field, and a shadow crosses her smile.
"They are jealous," she whispers.
Kael stiffens. "What?"
"The dead," she says softly, almost lovingly. "They look at you and wish they had been chosen instead. But they cannot have you. Only I can."
Her fingers press harder into his arm. Kael feels the warning beneath her sweetness. He nods slowly, not trusting his voice.
They move across the field. Each step sinks into mud, the weight of silence pressing on them. Crows scatter before their approach, wings slapping the air. Kael keeps his eyes on the horizon, searching for smoke, for a village, for anything that resembles life.
Elira hums quietly beside him, a tune soft and fragile. Her grip never loosens.
At the edge of the battlefield, they find a stream swollen by rain. Kael kneels to drink, cupping water in his hands. His reflection in the surface startles him. His eyes, once gray, now shimmer faintly with threads of black that twist like smoke. The cursed mark glows faintly beneath his skin, even through his soaked tunic.
He stares. "What is happening to me?"
Elira kneels beside him. She dips her hand into the stream, then presses it gently against his chest. The water sizzles where it touches the mark, steam rising.
"You are awakening," she says with reverence. "The mark binds your soul. It will give you strength, but it will also call to me."
Kael jerks back, his chest throbbing. "To you?"
Her smile widens, serene and terrifying. "Yes. We are linked now. Forever."
The word echoes in his mind like a curse. He wants to deny it, to rip the mark from his chest, but the pain flares each time he even thinks of resisting. He exhales slowly, fighting the tremor in his voice.
"Why me?"
Elira tilts her head, studying him as though the answer is obvious. "Because you are mine. You always were. Even before you woke here."
Kael's blood runs cold. He does not understand her words, yet the certainty in her tone leaves no room for doubt.
The rain begins to lighten, and the sky clears to a dull silver. Kael rises and looks toward the distant hills. Smoke curls faintly on the horizon. A village. Hope flickers in his chest.
"There," he says. "We can find food, shelter, answers."
Elira follows his gaze. Her smile falters.
"You want to go… to them?"
Kael frowns. "We cannot survive in the wild without supplies."
Her eyes darken. For a moment she is silent, her lips pressed tight. Then she laughs softly, a sound without warmth.
"If that is what you want, I will go with you. But remember, Kael…" She steps closer, her breath brushing his ear. "If anyone tries to take you from me, I will cut their throat. Even if it is a child. Even if it is a king."
Kael stiffens. Her words are not a threat shouted in anger. They are a promise whispered with love.
He meets her eyes and sees no hesitation. No remorse. Only devotion so sharp it draws blood.
The cursed mark burns, binding him tighter.
For the first time, Kael realizes the danger is not the battlefield, nor the corpses, nor the unknown enemies beyond the hills. The danger is walking beside him, smiling, holding his arm as though it belongs to her alone.
And yet, without her, he would already be dead.
He forces himself to breathe, to keep walking. Elira hums again, her voice soft against the murmur of the stream.
The road to the village awaits.
So does the first thread of a fate he cannot escape.