Cold falls on me like a soaked cloak. I lean against a tree trunk, panting, palm pressed to my wound. My flesh burns—aged, worn. The hooded figure rushes close, blurred in the fog.
— Still standing? Do you hear me?
My throat rasps. I try to answer; it slips out as a breath.
— I… I'm here. I think.
A crack behind us. My fingers clench on the shard of glass. My arm trembles, skin crawling with the restless Mark.
— Another gate, the figure murmurs. Can you? Do you feel the rune?
My hand rises, hesitant. The carved circle on the stone glows a dark red. The Mark growls in my skull.
— It wants… more, I say. I feel it lying. It lies, do you understand?
The figure stares at me, eyes sharp, worried.
— They all lie. The Mark promises, but it takes more than it gives. Don't let it take everything. Never.
A step. I edge toward the rune, shard clenched between my teeth. My breath makes the fog shiver.
— We have to pass, the figure whispers. The shadows are catching up.
A heavier noise. Branches bend. Something approaches. The Mark rises, alert. A muffled voice echoes inside me.
— Give me… everything, the Mark murmurs. I can erase the pain. I can—
— No! I snap aloud. You won't have it. Not all.
The figure lays a hand on my shoulder.
— You have to bargain. You can. Try to trade.
I drive the shard into my palm. The rune quivers. The Mark screams.
— I give… a memory. But not mine.
Silence. The Mark stirs, disappointed. The rune falters, then flares.
— You've understood, the figure breathes. You can steal from the Mark what it seeks from you. But the cost…
— The cost is who? I ask, voice cracked.
The Mark moans, thwarted. A shadow slides between the trees, massive, bestial.
— You take from another bearer, says the figure. Somewhere, someone pays.
I grit my teeth, pain pulsing in my arm.
— No time, I snarl. I'll risk it.
The rune yields. The gate creaks open. A howl rips the night, harsh, inhuman. The shadow leaps. I shove the figure through, collapse on the other side. My limbs are heavy, thoughts shattered.
— You've made a choice, the Mark whispers. You'll learn what it costs.
I crawl, drag the figure into the dark.
— I feel… something changing, I rasp.
The figure nods, grave.
— Nothing is ever free.
Another cry, closer. I rise, barely, ready to run.
— We're not alone, I say.
Behind the gate, the howl stops. A breath. A voice, soft, familiar, whispers in my ear:
— Thank you for the memory.
I shiver. It isn't my voice.
One step, then another, in the night. The Mark laughs, cold. The figure pulls me deeper, toward the dark. A new light flickers ahead. Another gate, a blacker rune, already pulsing.
— Think you can keep going? the figure asks.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes. My memory bleeds. My body too.
Far away, the voice still echoes:
— Your turn, Tracer.