I laid my hand on the new door. The symbols slid beneath my fingers. My breath rasped, my heartbeat pounding up into my torn tongue.
— Step back. Let me see, the figure whispered beside me.
I shook my head. The rune was already burning my palm. I tried to speak, but only a ragged wheeze came out.
— Wait. Don't give it yet. This door… it wants more than an oath.
I stared at the figure, vision blurring. The symbols shifted, starving. I felt the Mark creep through my arm, pulsing up into my temples.
— Feel it? It's pulling, yeah? If you give, it rips.
I leaned forward, pressed my forehead to the stone. Fatigue drowned me. I pulled out the shard of glass. My hand trembled.
— Not blood. Not this time, the voice said again. Remember another pact. An exchange.
I closed my eyes. The Mark hissed: Offer me fear. Offer me what comes. Offer what's left.
I scrawled the symbols with the shard. My tongue screamed. Pain everywhere.
— This is the last one, understand? After this, nothing left to give, the figure breathed. Do you truly want to pass?
I stretched out the shard, palm open. The rune quivered. A shiver ran through me. The Mark faltered.
— Give it silence, the Mark whispered. The void. Nothing.
I thought of silence in my head. Of memories already eaten. The cold under my skin.
The rune swallowed silence. I felt a hollow rip wide in my mind, as if every sound, thought, color poured out of me.
I staggered. The figure caught me.
— Still standing?
I lifted a thumb, nothing more. The door cracked open. Beyond, the stench of ash and bone.
— Is it you or the Mark moving now? the figure muttered.
I tried to answer. Nothing. Only a hiss. The void spread in my skull, frozen.
— Look! There, in the shadow!
I raised my head. Two hulking shapes broke from the dark. One growled.
— They're bearers, the Mark whispered inside me. But not like you.
The shapes lumbered closer, heavy, slow. I clenched the shard in my bleeding hand, ready to strike, ready to flee.
— If you give more, you won't come back, the figure warned.
I stepped back. The bearers reached out, their runes glowing with ancient red.
The door slammed shut behind me.
— Tracer, you'll choose, one of them growled. Give us the Mark, or rot here with us.
I had no voice, no fear left to give. Only the Mark, shivering, ravenous.
The figure brushed my arm, warm, urgent.
— Decide. They won't wait.
I lifted the shard, hand dripping. The bearers advanced.
A sound from the door. More steps. Others coming.
I had time for one thought: Which will devour me first?
Then the runes blazed, red, alive.
And the Mark laughed, somewhere in my skull.