Kael roused to the chill of dawn. The forest was still about him, mist crawling low along the ground like pale fingers insinuating themselves through the roots of the trees. His back ached where he had rested against the rough bark, and his mouth was dry as sand.
The marking on his arm was not gone. It was even clearer in the pale light—black veins twisting like living ink beneath his skin, beating faintly with each pulse of his heart. He had hoped it would be gone with sleep, that the madness of the night before had been a dream. But reality was not so kind.
He pushed himself up, staggering toward the stream. He bent low, cupping the water to drink, but froze when his reflection stared back at him. His eyes were his own, brown and weary… yet for a moment, just a flicker, they glimmered with a sheen of silver, like moonlight trapped within.
Kael stumbled back, his breath hitching.
"You've seen it too."
The voice made him whip around, fists clenched.
The woman returned—the same ragged form with bone-white hair, her staff striking earth as she drew closer. Mist swirled around her, hiding her weak frame.
Kael's anger flared, wild and bitter. "Why do you follow me?"
"I do not follow," she rasped. "I waited."
"For what?"
Her lips formed a chilly smile that lacked warmth. "For you. For the heir who would be born when the world burned anew. It was prophesied long before you drew breath."
Kael's head whipped back and forth wildly. "Stop saying that. I'm no heir. I'm nobody."
The old woman's eyes glowed. "Then why does the night follow you?"
She lifted her staff and struck the ground. The forest seemed to tremble, darkness radiating from the point of contact like ripples. Kael felt them stir, felt them react to the mark on his arm. The summons was compelling—a tide drawing him under.
"No," he whispered, clutching his arm as if he might tear the mark away. "I don't want this."
The seer stepped closer, her wrinkled face inches from his. "Want? Choice? These are for other men, indulgences. You, boy, are a story written in blood before you cried out for the first time. You are not born to save. You are born to end."
Kael's heart raced, each word falling like a stone. He thought of his village—reduced to ashes, its people gone. Was that also his fault? Had this mark called the soldiers, the fire?
The seer's hand shot out, grasping his chin in her bony fingers. "Listen carefully, Kael of the Ashes. There will be some who will praise you. There will be some who will pursue you. Both will call you cursed. Both will call you king. But this is the truth: your shadow will fall over all, and the world will break beneath it.".
Her hold tightened, her eyes blazing with a madness that chilled him. "Run if you can. Deny it if you must. But the mark will not let you go. Shadows do not release."
On that, she shoved him away. Kael fell back, sprawling onto the ground. When he rose again, the clearing was empty. The mist had taken her completely.
He was alone once more, save for the trees' whisper and the steady thrum of the mark on his arm.
Kael dropped to his knees, hiding his face in his hands. His body trembled—not with hunger now, but with the weight of the words that would not leave his mind.
Not born to save. Born to end.
Overhead, the earliest fingers of sunlight speared the fog, gilding the forest. But even in the morning's warmth, Kael felt only the cold of night on his skin.