The sky of pure darkness reflected its existence upon the vast, motionless expanse of water surrounding Palegard. A perfect blackness, without depth, without promise. It did not oppress. It merely observed.And yet, no one had the luxury of lingering on it.
The great day had arrived.
Throughout the city, the Marked entered the final movement of the cycle. Pale streets, bathed in that light without origin, echoed with restrained footsteps and silences too heavy to be endured. Some remained with their families, engraving faces into their memories, faces they might never see again. Others sought isolation, turning to exertion, pain, or relentless repetition, as if to remind their bodies that they still existed, here and now.
The inner training grounds, however, had never felt so alive.
Sparks burst forth, brief and violent, tearing through the stagnant air.
Two blades clashed.Two flashes of steel.Two wills refusing to yield.
Their movements formed a tense, precise dance, almost cruel. Every step was an irreversible choice. Every strike carried the weight of a silent defiance. With each impact, light flared, revealing their faces.
Elysia.Fiery red hair tied back in haste, deep green eyes burning with a determination too fierce to be calm.
Vincent.Black hair, sharp features, amethyst eyes fixed and unblinking, drawn taut like a cord stretched to its limit.
The duel lasted far too long to be mere training.
There was something heavier beneath it. A pressure that pressed against the chest. As though an unspoken wager had been placed between them, one that would decide far more than victory.
At last, Elysia stepped back. Her breathing was ragged, her grip tight around her blade's hilt.
"I have to win, Vincent…"
Her voice trembled, saturated with emotion she refused to release.
He clenched his jaw, never breaking eye contact.
"Not this time, Elysia."
She drew in a slow breath, then placed her free hand against the flat of her blade. The gesture was almost gentle.
The metal ignited.
Golden flames surged forth, vivid and unreal, casting a warmth that defied nature itself. The glow danced across the pale stone and reflected in Vincent's eyes. His brow furrowed.
Then he closed his eyes.
And let his Gift unfold.
His perception expanded violently, as though the world were tearing apart around his mind. Color drained away, swallowed by a uniform, lifeless gray. At the heart of this altered vision, a red line appeared.
Sharp. Absolute.
Pointing straight at his chest.
A warning.
The next instant, Elysia burst forward.
Vincent barely evaded. The ground shuddered beneath the impact. The clash resumed, fiercer and more brutal. Blades struck and deflected, each seeking a fatal opening. Every movement was a struggle against the inevitable, against what awaited beyond the bridge.
Then everything collapsed.
Vincent's sword was torn from his grasp, spinning uselessly through the air before crashing to the ground.
Elysia froze, panting, certain of her victory.
"You lost. You have to honor your engagement."
She never finished.
Vincent lunged.
Steel was forgotten. The fight turned raw and close, bodies colliding in a chaotic struggle until he slammed her to the ground, pinning her wrists above her head.
They stayed like that.
Too close.
Their breaths intertwined. The golden flames cast their heat between them. The world seemed to halt, as if it were holding its breath alongside them.
They locked eyes. For a long moment.
Then Vincent spoke, his voice softer than anything that had come before.
"You know… according to the old stories, the sun looked like this."
He tilted his head slightly, letting the golden glow reflect within his dark eyes.
"And when I look at you, you look just like that sun."
Elysia let out a faint, broken laugh. A tear slipped down her temple, disappearing into the pale dust beneath her.
"You can't follow me," she whispered."You're not Marked."
She turned her face away.
Vincent loosened one hand, just enough to brush her nape, where the black scar pulsed slowly, beating like a foreign heart, counting a time that was never hers.
"It doesn't matter," he replied calmly."No one abandons their sun."
"You don't have to leave with us, with those the angel has chosen."
"I do."
He did not look away.
"Because I choose you."
Silence fell.
Heavy. Absolute.
Then they kissed.
Not like a farewell.But like a promise made in defiance of the night itself.
***
They broke the kiss.
Slowly.
As if neither of them wanted to be the first to let reality reclaim its weight. Their foreheads remained close for a brief moment, breaths still intertwined, before Elysia finally inhaled and Vincent loosened his grip. The contact faded.
Silence settled.
Not an empty silence. A heavy one, filled with what was coming, with what could no longer be delayed.
Elysia looked away first. Not out of weakness, but because she knew. She had always known. Palegard was not a city that survived through miracles or faith.
It survived through understanding.
For centuries, the city had learned that the outside world no longer wanted it. That the skies had withdrawn without anger or mercy, leaving behind a broken land stripped of divine gaze. In that abandonment, a new law had taken shape. Unwritten, yet absolute.
The Selection.
Each year, without warning, certain inhabitants awoke bearing a mark. A black scar embedded in the flesh like a burn from before history itself. It did not bleed. It did not heal. It pulsed slowly, at steady intervals, measuring the time that remained.
It was not an immediate execution.It was a countdown.
Elysia's hand rose instinctively to the back of her neck. She could feel the rhythm, steady and calm. The mark was not painful. It never needed to be. It simply existed, reminding her that an end was approaching.
The scar was more than a symbol. It guided.
As the days passed, its call grew clearer, drawing those who bore it toward a single point beyond the motionless water, beyond the silent dome. Toward the First Lands, where laws unraveled and even the memory of gods had vanished.
Toward the angel.
No one knew whether it was punishment, a cruel game, or the remnant of an ancient order gone mad. But Palegard had understood one essential truth.
As long as the cycle endured, the city would be slowly bled of its survivors.
So it had answered.
It had not tried to shatter the game.It had learned how to play it.
Each year, before the final pulse reached its end, an expedition was formed. The Marked, bound to move forward. And sometimes, the Unmarked, mad enough or clear minded enough to understand that staying behind was no salvation.
Fighters.Scouts.Bearers of forgotten knowledge.
All united by a single certainty.
To remain still was to die slowly.
They crossed the threshold without looking back. They left behind the protective water and the frozen radiance of Palegard, then plunged into a world that no longer recognized anything.
And yet, they went.
Because at the heart of the hunt lived a dangerous idea. A possibility few dared to name.
If the angel could be found.If it could be understood.If it could be killed.
Then perhaps the cycle would end.
Perhaps Palegard would no longer have to offer its children to the night.
Vincent took Elysia's hand.
She did not pull away.
They left the training grounds and stepped outside. Palegard's cold radiance wrapped around them, reflected endlessly by the motionless water encircling the city. Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had.
Vincent stopped.
"At noon," he said quietly. "In exactly nine hours, the expedition will depart."
Elysia tightened her grip on his hand.
The mark at her nape pulsed once more.
The cycle was moving forward.
And this time, she was not alone.