Evening settled slow over the Na'al camp, a soft blue bruise spreading across the sky. Smoke drifted from the cookfires in thin gray ribbons. The hunters' laughter had quieted. Children had crawled into their tents. The ravens perched high on the totem poles sat stiff and uneasy, watching the edge of the forest with dark, trembling eyes.
Lucas felt it before he understood it —
the way the air tasted different.
Metallic.
Like something old and sharp was sliding through the trees.
He sat by the fire, sharpening a knife he didn't truly need.
Aelira passed him, tossing a glance at the sky.
"They're restless," she murmured.
"Who?" Lucas asked.
Aelira didn't point — she didn't need to.
The ravens overhead shifted all at once, wings rustling like whispered warnings.
"They sense movement," she said.
"Something walks tonight."
Lucas tried to focus on the blade in his hand, but the world wouldn't stay quiet.
His mark pulsed beneath his shirt — a soft, steady throb, like a heartbeat not meant for him.
Tavar stood near the largest fire, speaking softly with Na'ra, the tribe's leader.
His expression was tighter than usual.
His staff leaned beside him, the feathers braided along its length quivering as though disturbed by invisible wind.
Lucas swallowed hard.
He didn't like the way the night felt — heavy, watchful, like it was waiting for something to step through it.
He stood.
Aelira caught his arm. "Where are you going, gunslinger?"
"For a walk."
"You shouldn't."
He smirked faintly. "When do I ever listen?"
She let go, exasperated — but beneath it, worry flickered in her eyes.
Lucas slipped into the trees.
The forest swallowed him with its tall, black ribs.
Mist curled between the trunks.
Every sound felt louder — the crunch of leaves under his boots, the distant creak of branches, the faint croak of ravens shifting uneasily.
He found a clearing where moonlight spilled in a silver pool over the earth.
The same spot he'd trained in that morning.
But the forest by day was not the forest by night.
It watched differently.
Lucas unholstered his revolver.
The weight steadied him.
"Just breathe," he muttered. "Remember who you are."
But who he was had begun to blur.
He raised the revolver.
Focused on a distant knot in an old pine.
Then his vision…
shifted.
Not sharpened — not at first — but tilted, as if the world had been silently rearranged.
The shadows along the treeline lengthened unnaturally.
The air trembled with a low hum.
Lucas blinked hard.
"What…?"
He felt the mark pulsing beneath his shirt — warm, insistent, almost hungry.
"Not now," he hissed. "Not—"
His vision snapped into razor clarity.
Moonlight blazed silver on bark.
Every grain of wood, every stray leaf, every breath of wind — he saw it all too clearly.
Too vividly.
His pupils flashed gold.
He fired.
The shot cracked through the clearing, ringing with unnatural sharpness.
The bullet split the distant knot perfectly, digging deep into the trunk.
Lucas gasped — stumbled — fell to one knee.
Pain lanced behind his eyes, bright and sharp.
"Damn it…"
He pressed a hand to his chest.
The mark was glowing through the fabric — faint, but visible.
Then —
a shape moved between two trees.
Tall.
Slender.
Still.
Lucas froze.
The figure was pale against the darkness.
Too pale.
Its movements were wrong — not fluid, not stiff, but something in between, like a puppet pulled by strings that were just slightly too long.
"…the hell…?"
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him.
Its eyes were hollow.
Not empty — hollow, as though something breathed behind them.
A whisper slithered through Lucas's skull.
"…freedom…broken…empty…"
Lucas staggered back.
"What… who's there?"
The figure took one slow, jerking step forward.
Then another appeared behind it.
And another.
And another.
Thin shapes, drifting into the moonlight like shadows peeling themselves from the trees.
Lucas's breath quickened.
"No… no, no—"
He'd heard Tavar talk of them.
In hushed tones.
In stories meant for the fire, not the living world.
"Soulless," Lucas whispered.
His mark pulsed again, harder — like it recognized them.
The first of the creatures reached the edge of the clearing.
Its mouth stretched open in a silent scream.
The forest went dead quiet.
Lucas aimed.
His vision snapped into Raven Sight — wildly, painfully strong.
His pupils burned gold.
The world erupted into clarity and agony.
He fired.
The bullet hit the creature's head — snapping it back.
It collapsed…
Then began to drag itself across the dirt, limbs bending at angles no living thing possessed.
"Oh, hell no—"
An arrow whistled past Lucas.
Then another.
And another.
Aelira burst into the clearing, bow drawn, hair whipping behind her.
"Get down!" she barked.
Lucas dropped as two arrows pinned the crawling Soulless through the skull and chest.
It twitched once.
Then stopped.
Aelira grabbed Lucas by the wrist, pulling him to his feet.
"Eyes down," she snapped. "Don't look into their void."
"Noted!" Lucas shouted.
Three more Soulless stepped into the clearing.
Aelira's voice trembled — not with fear, but anger.
"They shouldn't be this close to the village."
"They're here for me," Lucas said breathlessly.
Aelira didn't argue.
She didn't need to.
Because the creatures were all staring at him.
Shimmering embers flared at the treeline.
Tavar stepped forward, staff raised, smoke swirling around him.
The herbs burning at its tip glowed bright orange — emberlight, the stuff Lucas had seen used in rituals and healing.
But here — in the dark — the Soulless recoiled from it.
Tavar chanted — low, rhythmic, ancient.
Raven-like patterns woven into the syllables.
The Soulless hissed —
Not in pain.
In fear.
They backed away, melting into the forest like shadows being sucked into deeper blackness.
The moment the last one vanished, the air snapped back into motion.
The wind returned.
The ravens shrieked from the canopy.
Lucas sagged, breathing hard.
Tavar approached him slowly.
"You went into the forest alone."
Lucas tried to speak.
Failed.
Aelira crossed her arms.
"He's an idiot."
Tavar ignored her.
His eyes rested on Lucas — calm, disappointed, worried.
"You shine too brightly now," the shaman said.
"The deeper the mark awakens… the louder the night hears you."
Lucas swallowed.
"I can't just do nothing."
"No," Tavar said softly. "You must learn to do things correctly."
Back at the campfire, Tavar sat across from Lucas, feeding herbs into the flames.
Aelira kept watch nearby, bow in hand.
The ravens perched overhead, silent, waiting.
Tavar said:
"The mark grows with emotion. It was born from your fall, your suffering, your need for freedom. But emotion is what the Soulless hunger for most."
Lucas stared into the fire.
"They came for me."
"They always will," Tavar murmured.
"Until you master the mark… or it masters you."
Aelira watched Lucas carefully.
"You keep training alone like this, and you won't last a second stage."
Lucas clenched his jaw.
"Then I'll get stronger."
Tavar's gaze hardened.
"Strength is not the danger.
What hunts you is what you do not yet understand."
The flames flickered.
For a heartbeat, Lucas swore he saw a black wing rise within them.
Later, long after Tavar and Aelira retreated to rest, Lucas remained by the dying fire.
The forest felt alive again — listening, whispering.
The mark beneath his shirt pulsed in a slow, heavy rhythm.
A raven landed beside him.
Close.
Closer than any had dared before.
It didn't drop a feather this time.
It let out a single harsh cry — sharp, trembling, warning.
Lucas lifted his head, staring into the tree line where the Soulless had vanished.
Something was still out there.
Something watching.
He gripped the black feather in his hand.
The mark glowed faintly beneath his shirt — soft, ominous, alive.
The night pulsed back.
And Lucas Marrow understood:
This was only the beginning.