A cold gnaws at me. I gasp. I tear my eyelids from the night. The ceiling quivers, veined, like an animal's belly. I push myself up. My limbs creak. The Mark pulses, warm, lurking beneath my skin.
I grope forward. The cave spits me out. Light slaps me. I brush dust from my hands. Outside, a thick fog. The taste of ash in the air.
— Hey! Don't move.
A rough, broken voice. I freeze. Two silhouettes. Steel helmets, black cloaks, unknown crests. One brandishes a spear, the other raises a small shield etched with a rune.
— What are you? Where'd you crawl out from?
I swallow my fear. My words scrape.
— I'm looking for the road to Amber.
— Lost your mind? Amber's been ruins for fifteen years!
— What… fifteen years?
They exchange a look. I glimpse a coin, wide, heavy, stamped with a dead tree.
— Madman or spy. You're coming with us.
I back away. The Mark growls in my skull. I feel its hunger. I fight it.
— I just want to pass. I'll pay, if you want.
My hand slips under my tunic. A few old coins. Tarnished metal.
— What the hell's this? Won't buy you a meal. Move.
The spear pricks my stomach. My heart pounds. I narrow my eyes.
— I don't want trouble.
— Too late. We saw you crawl out of the Maw. No coincidences here.
The Mark hisses, pushes. A voice whispers—thirst, fusion, burning heat. I shake.
— You smell that?
— Yeah. He's marked. We need to warn the Captaincy.
I grit my teeth. I won't be prey again. I let the Mark seep out. A strange warmth swells in my palm.
— I can help you.
— Help? What do you have that others don't, corpse?
I raise my hand. The Mark dances, a pale flame. Not enough to wound, but enough to frighten.
— I control the Mark. A little. It doesn't kill me.
Silence. The second soldier steps back.
— Magic… That's forbidden.
— He could be useful. We're short on obedient carriers.
I choke back a sob. I don't want to follow, but alone, the mist will devour me.
— Then take me. To the Captaincy. After that, I choose.
The leader hesitates. He whistles.
— You walk in front. One wrong move, you're nailed to the ground.
I march. My legs shake. Behind me, boots crunch on gravel. In the distance, tattered red banners flap over a black tower.
I clutch the Mark. It quivers, hungry, thirsty for the outside.
I swear: this is only temporary. I'll find better. I'll find the flaw.
The road opens. The world has changed. So have I.