The morning after felt different. I couldn't name it, but the air tasted sharper, the sun brighter, the silence heavier. For years my days had bled together, as empty as the lines vanishing from my stone. But today I woke with a thought that refused to let me go.
I don't want to die anymore.
The words repeated in my mind like a drumbeat, faint but insistent. I pulled on my cloak and stepped outside, expecting the usual stares, the usual whispers. They came, of course, but I heard them differently now. As if the world had tilted and I was standing at a strange angle, seeing cracks I hadn't noticed before.
The Stonekeepers were gathered at the temple steps. Cloaked in gray, their faces shadowed beneath heavy hoods, they stood like sentinels around the great slab — the monolith where all lines vanished each year.
One of them noticed me. His lips curled. "The marked boy walks early. Does fate weigh heavier on your shoulders now, Darian?"
I met his gaze. Normally I would've lowered my head, walked faster, let the shame wash over me. But something inside me resisted.
"Fate weighs the same every day," I said. "Only men like you make it heavier."
A murmur rippled through the group. The Stonekeeper's eyes narrowed. For a moment, I thought he might strike me. But instead, he turned away, muttering, "Nine years is not so long. Let the boy bark while he can."
I clenched my fists and walked on. Their words usually pierced me. Today they only added fuel to the fire kindling in my chest.
Later, near the herb stall, I saw her again.
Arinya.
She was stacking bundles of dried leaves, sunlight catching in her hair. When she noticed me lingering, her brow furrowed slightly — not in scorn, not in fear, but in something closer to curiosity.
Before I lost my nerve, I walked closer. "Yesterday," I began, voice awkward, "when you spoke up… you didn't have to."
She glanced at me, lips twitching as though hiding a smile. "Someone had to."
I shifted uncomfortably. "Most people don't."
"Most people are cowards," she said plainly, tying a bundle of sage. Then she looked at me directly, her eyes steady. "Do you want me to lie and say you aren't cursed?"
The bluntness struck me. My throat tightened, but I managed, "I don't care what you call me. I just… wanted to say thank you."
Her expression softened, just for a breath. "You don't have to thank me. You only have to prove them wrong."
Her words lodged in me like an arrow. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but customers arrived, and she turned back to her work.
I walked away, the fire in my chest burning hotter. Prove them wrong. Could I?
By evening, I found myself standing before Merek's crooked bookstall again. The old man was closing up, stacking his wares with the patience of someone who had more time than he needed.
"Back so soon?" he asked, without looking up.
I slammed the book he'd given me onto the counter. "Tell me more about the Inkstone."
Merek's hands stilled. His eyes lifted, sharp despite his age. "So the seed takes root."
"I'm serious," I pressed. "You said stories keep men alive. But I don't want stories. I want truth. Where is it?"
He studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Careful, boy. Some truths are heavier than lies."
"I don't care. If it exists, I need to know."
Merek closed his stall with deliberate slowness before leaning close. "You think you're the first marked soul to whisper that question? The Stonekeepers burn those who hunt such relics. They call it treason against the gods. If you seek the Inkstone, you seek death faster than fate will grant it."
"I'm already dying," I said, voice low but steady. "At least this way, I choose how."
Merek chuckled bitterly. "Stubborn fool. Just like your mother."
The words jolted me. "You… knew her?"
"A little. Enough to know she believed in the Inkstone too. Enough to know she whispered the tale into your ears before sleep." He sighed. "Fine. If you are set on this madness, I will tell you what I know."
I leaned forward, breath caught.
"The Inkstone is no trinket to be found in the dirt. It is said to lie beyond the Ashen Peaks, in ruins older than kingdoms. The last scraps of knowledge are kept in the Library of Cindral — or what remains of it. That is where your mother once wished to go, before…" His voice trailed off.
Before she died. Before fate took her.
"Where is it?" I demanded.
Merek's eyes hardened. "Far north. Days beyond the peaks. Monsters walk those lands, boy. Shadows that eat more than flesh. And even if you reached it, the Inkstone does not simply grant wishes. Ink binds truth — but it demands blood in return."
I swallowed, my resolve warring with fear. "Then I'll pay whatever it asks."
The old man studied me, then finally shook his head with a weary smile. "Fate's leash has found its bite. Very well. I'll help where I can. But remember this, Darian: the gods carved your years in stone for a reason. Defy them, and they will not forgive you."
His words should have chilled me. Instead, I felt the fire spread until it filled my chest.
Nine years left. Nine years to find the Inkstone. Nine years to prove them all wrong.
For the first time in my life, nine years didn't feel like a sentence. It felt like a chance.
And I would not waste it.