Kael woke to an itch.
It was always the same place-across his left shoulder blade, just out of reach of his fingers. He sat up in the straw bed, scratching against the rough wall of the orphanage dormitory. The itch burned like fire under the skin, then faded, leaving only a strange warmth.
He frowned. It had happened again.
"Oi, Kael, stop twitching like a dog with fleas," one of the boys muttered from the next cot. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
Kael ignored him. Dawn was breaking, pale light seeping through the cracks in the shutters. The matron would be up soon, banging her ladle against the iron pot for breakfast. If Kael wanted to check, he had to do it now.
He padded silently across the cold wooden floor to the cracked mirror in the washroom. Turning his back to the glass, he twisted his neck.
And there it was.
The mark.
What had once been a simple birthmark—a tangled swirl of lines across his back was different again. Every morning for the past month, the pattern shifted. It was subtle at first, just curves bending slightly, dots forming where there hadn't been any. But today…
Today it looked like a road.
A road curling into the shape of a spiral, dotted with little marks like stones or houses. And at the spiral's center: a small starburst shape.
Kael's heart thudded. "What in the world…"
The door creaked open.
Kael yanked his shirt back down. Too late. A girl about his age, slender and sharp-eyed, stood in the doorway. Her name was Lira, she had arrived at the orphanage just a week ago, claiming her parents were scholars lost in a fire. Kael didn't buy it. She carried herself too confidently, and her eyes were too sharp, always watching.
She tilted her head. "That mark on your back. It moved again, didn't it?"
Kael froze. "You—what did you just say?"
Lira smirked faintly. "Don't play dumb. I saw it yesterday when you were hauling water. It looked like a river then. Now it looks like… a path."
Kael stepped toward her, voice low. "You've been spying on me?"
"Observing," she corrected. "And don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone. Not yet."
"Not yet?"
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That mark of yours isn't just a birthmark. It's a map."
Kael blinked. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "A map? On my back? You're insane."
Lira's eyes glittered. "You think so? Then explain why it changes every day."
Kael's blood ran cold. "How do you know it changes?"
"Because I've been watching," she said simply. "And because I've read about something like this before. In an old manuscript. They called it The Path of Forgotten Roads. A living map that leads to things long lost."
Kael shook his head. "That's just a story. A legend."
Lira stepped closer. "And yet, it's on your skin."
The dormitory bell clanged suddenly, echoing through the orphanage. Breakfast. The clatter of feet filled the hall as the other children woke, laughing and shouting. Kael and Lira stood in silence, the weight of her words hanging between them.
Finally, Kael muttered, "Even if it is a map, so what? It's just lines. It doesn't mean anything."
Lira's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then you won't mind if I follow it."
Before Kael could respond, she slipped out the door, her footsteps light as a cat.
---
The day passed in a blur. Kael worked in the stables, hauling buckets of water and shoveling hay. But his thoughts weren't on the chores. They circled back, again and again, to the shifting lines on his skin.
A map. A living map.
Impossible.
Yet when he closed his eyes, he could see it clearly—the spiral road, the dots along its edge, and that strange starburst at the center.
That night, long after the matron had snuffed the lanterns, Kael lay awake staring at the ceiling. The itch began again. Burning, shifting, like molten metal crawling under his flesh. He clenched his jaw, biting back a hiss.
When it finally stopped, Kael slipped out of bed, moving silently past the snoring boys. He crept to the washroom mirror again.
His breath caught.
The road had changed.
Now it stretched downward, like a trail leading south. The dots looked like hills. And the starburst had moved—further down the trail, glowing faintly as though inked with light.
His pulse raced.
A sound made him spin around.
Lira stood in the shadows, holding a stub of candle. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.
"You saw it too," she whispered.
Kael swallowed hard. "Stay away from me."
But she shook her head. "No. You don't understand. If that really is the Path of Forgotten Roads… others will come for it. They'll kill you for it."
Kael stiffened. "Others? Who—"
A crash echoed from downstairs. Shouts. The heavy slam of the orphanage's front door breaking open.
Kael's stomach dropped.
Lira blew out the candle. "Too late," she hissed. "They've already found you."
---
The dormitory erupted with screams as armored men stormed the halls, torches in hand. Kael's heart thundered. He looked at Lira.
"Who are they?"
Her expression was grim. "The Cartographer's hunters. And they're here for your back."
The orphanage burned.
Kael stumbled through the smoke-filled hallway, coughing hard, one arm shielding his eyes. Children shrieked as they pushed past him, fleeing toward the back door where Matron Briss shouted for order. But there was no order—only fire, shadows, and the clash of steel.
Behind him, bootsteps pounded.
"Kael!" Lira's voice cut through the chaos. She grabbed his wrist, pulling him down a side corridor. "This way!"
"Where are we going?" he choked.
"The hunters won't stop until they get you. We need to lose them."
Kael's mind spun. Why him? Why his cursed mark? He had no time to argue. He let her lead him, dodging past flames licking the wooden beams.
They burst out into the cold night air. Smoke curled into the starry sky, orange firelight flickering against the snow-dusted roofs of the town. People shouted, some running with buckets, others just gawking at the spectacle.
"Over there!" a rough voice roared.
Kael glanced back. Armored men with black scarves tied across their mouths surged into the street. One raised a hooked chain, swinging it with deadly purpose.
"Run!" Lira hissed.
They bolted, weaving through alleys, slipping on icy cobblestones. Kael's lungs burned. He'd run before—run from bullies, run from the Matron's cane—but never like this. This was life or death.
Finally, Lira shoved him into a narrow passage between two warehouses. She pressed her back to the wall, gasping, listening.
The hunters thundered past, shouting orders, their boots fading down the street.
Only when silence returned did Kael dare to speak. "Who were they?"
"I told you," Lira whispered. "The Cartographer's hunters. They've been tracking rumors of the Path for years. And now that the map is on your skin…" She touched his shoulder lightly. "You're their prize."