The mark did not sleep.
Even when Kael closed his eyes, it pulsed beneath his skin—an ember pressed into flesh, alive and listening. By dawn, fever had claimed him.
He drifted in and out of consciousness as the village stirred. Footsteps passed outside the hut. Voices hushed when they came too close. Fear had a sound, Kael realized distantly—it was the way people spoke when they didn't want to be heard.
When he woke fully, Elder Marwen stood over him.
Her face, carved by years and grief, was pale beneath the morning light. She did not reach for him. She did not ask how he felt. Her eyes were fixed on his chest, where the mark lay hidden beneath linen.
"You should not have survived," she said.
Kael swallowed. His throat burned, dry as ash.
"Neither should this village," he replied hoarsely. "Yet here we are."
That earned him a sharp glance.
Marwen exhaled slowly and turned away. "The mark has appeared once before in living memory," she said. "And when it did, kingdoms burned."
Kael pushed himself upright, pain screaming through his body. "Tell me."
She hesitated—then nodded, as if surrendering to a fate long delayed.
"Before crowns were forged of gold, they were forged of fire," Marwen began. "The first kings were not chosen by blood, but by flame. The mark you bear is not a curse, Kael. It is a claim."
Outside, thunder rolled though the sky was clear.
"A claim to what?" Kael asked.
Marwen finally met his eyes.
"To a throne that no longer exists," she said. "And enemies who have waited centuries for its return."
Kael's heart pounded. The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls too close.
"I'm no king," he said. "I've never even left this valley."
"That," Marwen replied, "is why you still breathe."
She reached into her robes and withdrew an object wrapped in blackened cloth. When she unwrapped it, Kael felt the mark flare in response.
A blade—short, ancient, its metal dark as cooled lava. Runes crawled along its surface like scars.
"This was forged from the ashes of the First Crown," Marwen said. "It has waited for you longer than I have been alive."
Kael did not want to touch it.
Yet his hand moved on its own.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the air cracked. The mark burned white-hot, and visions flooded his mind—cities falling, banners aflame, a crown shattering upon stone.
And above it all, a shadow watching.
When the pain receded, Kael gasped for breath. The blade lay silent in his hand.
Marwen knelt.
Not in reverence—but in warning.
"They will feel this," she said softly. "The remnants. The false kings. The Ashbound."
Kael stared at the weapon, understanding settling like smoke in his lungs.
"So what now?"
Marwen rose, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"Now," she said, "you leave before nightfall. Because if you stay—this village will burn for your sake."
Outside, the wind shifted.
And far beyond the valley, something ancient smiled.