The stairwell devours my steps. Darkness clings to my skin, sticky, thick. I have no voice, only the ache in my mouth, the Mark pulsing, hungry.
The figure moves ahead, his ragged breath echoing against stone.
— Still standing? More than I thought you could give.
I nod. My torn tongue throbs.
— We keep going down, he mutters. Shadows pound above—I hear their claws.
A crack echoes overhead. I tense. My hand finds the glass shard—warm, quivering, almost alive.
The Mark claws at my skull. My thoughts skid.
— Not here, the figure snaps. Not now. Open without thinking and it'll hollow you. That what you want?
I groan. My throat burns.
— Feel it? he lowers his voice. Every landing, every step… it drains. Promises feed it. Lie to the Mark once, not twice.
I freeze. I want to ask how he knows, but no sound comes. My fingers tremble.
— You're not the first to descend, he says. You won't be the last. Each Mark hungers different. Yours feeds on vows—even silent ones.
A stair slips beneath me. I catch myself. The air changes, colder. A rune swells on the wall, wet and red.
The figure raises his hand.
— Don't touch! If you press the shard without care, it'll strip you bare. The Mark loves regrets. It'll steal your next chance. Understand?
I breathe in. Blood, metal, oath. I point at the rune, my eyes asking: what's the price this time?
The figure hesitates.
— Here… the abyss wants a memory you can't afford to lose. Or… a vow you'll never keep.
The Mark quivers, pressing, ravenous. Its damp laughter shakes my skull.
— I lied once, the figure rasps. My Mark knew. It took all I had left.
I raise the shard. My arm shakes. The urge to lie burns. Fear too.
— Don't force it, he whispers. But if you promise, the Mark will claim. A pact here is forever.
I close my eyes. Pain hammers my skull. I press the shard to the rune. I shape an impossible vow: I'll leave this place alive. I'll return the Mark.
A shock. The rune splits, light claws my face. Air reeks of ash, of forgetting.
— Move, the figure growls. No time. If they catch us—
I stumble through. Behind me, the Mark screams in my head. A phrase, clear, unerasable:
— A broken vow is worse than a lost memory. I'll come collect.
A noise. A shadow flings itself down the stairwell. I reel, nearly fall. The figure yanks me forward.
— Run. The debt's open now. No choice.
My heart hammers. Pain crushes. I feel the vow burn beneath my skin, ready to split me apart.
Ahead, another gate flares. The Mark chuckles, whispering:
— Do you want to know what I truly demand?
I have no breath. The shard gleams between my fingers.
Behind, the shadow closes.
Ahead, the next choice waits.