The First Sign
The morning sun had barely pierced through the dense forest canopy when Kairo woke. His body ached from yesterday's training, but the strange restlessness he had felt the night before refused to leave. The river outside the cabin rippled softly in the morning breeze, reflecting a faint glimmer of red—though Kairo shook his head. There was no blood, no fire… just the sunlight hitting the water in the right way.
Still, something felt off.
"Morning," the old man grunted from the doorway, cane in hand. His hair glowed faintly silver in the early light, and his eyes were sharp, as always.
Kairo didn't reply immediately. He swung his legs off the bed and rubbed at his eyes. "I… I don't know why, but I feel like something's wrong today."
The old man studied him quietly. His lips pressed into a thin line. "You feel it," he said softly. "Good. That means your senses are waking."
Kairo frowned. "Waking? What do you mean?"
The old man shook his head. "Nothing yet. Just… pay attention. The forest is telling you something."
Kairo clenched his jaw. He didn't understand why the old man was speaking in riddles. He never explained anything fully. He only trained, observed, and guided him with cryptic advice. Yet he couldn't deny the tension creeping into his chest.
He shrugged, grabbed his wooden sword, and followed the old man outside. The air smelled sharp with pine and wet soil. Birds called from far above, and the river sparkled in the rising sun. Everything looked normal.
They reached the clearing. Kairo immediately assumed his stance. "Training?"
"Always," the old man said, tossing him a sword.
Kairo caught it and nodded. He swung, blocking imaginary attacks. His movements were precise, almost fluid. But for the first time in years, he noticed something strange: when his sword struck, the air around it seemed to hum faintly. He stopped mid-swing.
"Did you feel that?" he asked the old man, his voice low.
The old man didn't answer immediately. He watched him, expression unreadable. "Yes," he said finally. "But don't think about it. Just move."
Kairo frowned, but obeyed. Still, the hum lingered in his mind. It wasn't loud, not even visible, but it was there—a pulse, like something waiting for him.
The old man attacked. Fast, precise, unrelenting. Kairo blocked, parried, countered. Every strike seemed sharper, faster than usual. And yet, he felt… stronger. Not because of training, but something deeper. Something inside him was awakening.
"Careful," the old man said, stepping back. "You can't fully control it yet. Don't push too far."
Kairo froze mid-swing. His eyes widened. "Control… what?"
"Your power," the old man said, voice steady. "It's… you. But not fully yours yet."
Kairo's chest tightened. "What do you mean 'not fully mine'? I've been training my whole life! What's wrong with me?"
The old man didn't answer. He only turned away, cane tapping against the dirt. Kairo felt a knot in his stomach. For the first time, he realized his entire life had been about preparing him for something he didn't understand.
By midday, Kairo had grown restless. He pushed aside thoughts of the hum in the air and focused on basic exercises: strikes, blocks, footwork. The old man observed silently, occasionally correcting posture, always watching his movements with meticulous attention.
But then… something shifted.
Kairo noticed it first: a faint shimmer between the trees, a ripple in the forest that didn't belong. He paused, squinting.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
The old man didn't answer. Instead, he stopped and crouched, eyes narrowing. His expression was sharp now, alert, different from the calm demeanor he usually carried.
Kairo's heart thumped. "What is it?"
The old man finally spoke, voice low. "Someone… or something… is approaching."
Kairo's grip tightened around the sword. He scanned the trees, but saw nothing. Just the forest, quiet and still.
Then he heard it: soft footsteps. Deliberate, careful, moving toward the clearing. Not wild animals, not the sound of the wind… footsteps.
"Stay calm," the old man said. "Don't react until I give the signal."
Kairo's mind raced. Who could be here? They lived miles from the nearest village. No one should have known where they were. The steps grew louder. Kairo crouched slightly, muscles tense. His training kicked in, every sense alert.
A figure emerged. A man, tall, clad in black armor, face obscured by a hood. Behind him, more figures followed—dozens, moving silently, as if they were shadows themselves. Kairo's pulse quickened. He didn't recognize them. The old man remained calm, though his eyes were deadly sharp.
"The Iron Order," the old man said under his breath.
Kairo froze. He had never heard the words before. "The… what?"
"The people I warned you about," the old man replied, voice grim. "They hunt those with powers. Anyone. Anywhere. They are coming for you."
Kairo's stomach dropped. "Me? Why…?"
The old man's eyes darkened. "Because of the mark you carry, Kairo. You don't understand it yet. But they do."
Kairo's mind reeled. Mark? What mark? Why was he being hunted? His life had been simple… peaceful… until now.
The Iron Order stopped a few meters from the clearing. The lead figure raised a hand, motionless. His hood shifted, revealing a faint crimson glow in the center of his chest—like a signal. Kairo noticed his own pulse respond to it, as if something inside him was awakening.
The old man stepped in front of Kairo, wooden sword in hand. "Run if you can," he said quietly. "Fight if you must."
Kairo felt the weight of fear, adrenaline, and confusion all at once. For the first time, the life he had known—the forest, the river, the training—felt fragile. Like a bubble ready to burst.
The lead figure of the Iron Order tilted his head. "We know who you are," he said calmly, voice echoing. "The Crimson Mark… the prophecy… you cannot hide anymore."
Kairo's hands trembled on the sword. "Crimson… what?"
The old man didn't answer. Instead, he pushed Kairo toward the forest. "Go! You have to survive!"
The first clash began. Wood against steel, sparks flying. The old man moved like a storm, every strike precise, blocking the Iron Order's attacks. Kairo ran, heart pounding, through the trees. He had never run like this before. Not for fun, not for training—this was survival.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the shouts, the clang of weapons, the low hum of something unfamiliar. Something calling to him… from deep inside.
Kairo ran blindly through the forest, branches whipping against his arms and face, roots snagging his feet. His chest burned with every step, heart hammering like a drum in his ears. The distant sounds of clashing steel, shouted orders, and the hum of strange power followed him.
He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to move. Survival instinct had taken over, overriding everything else.
Somewhere behind him, the old man fought with a calm fury that seemed impossible for someone so aged. Each swing of his wooden sword was precise, each movement a combination of skill and instinct honed over decades. Kairo could hear it—thwack, thwack—men falling, groaning, shouting. But the old man didn't stop. He only kept pushing forward, creating space for Kairo.
"Go! Don't look back!" the old man shouted.
Kairo's mind screamed to stay, to help, to do something—but he knew he wasn't ready. He was just a boy, trained in routine, not battle. The fear of losing the only person who had ever raised him propelled him forward.
Suddenly, the hum returned, stronger this time. It wasn't in the forest; it was inside him. His pulse synced with it, a strange rhythm that vibrated from his chest to his arms and legs.
"What… what's happening?" Kairo whispered to himself, stumbling over a root.
And then it happened.
A wave of red energy burst from him, unseen but felt. The forest seemed to shiver. A branch that would have struck him snapped midair, stopped by an invisible force. Leaves trembled, dust rose from the earth. Kairo staggered, amazed and terrified.
"Control it… control it," the old man's voice echoed in his memory.
Kairo clenched his fists, trying to focus. The red pulse inside him hummed louder, almost like it had a mind of its own. He raised his hands instinctively, and the energy expanded outward like ripples in water, knocking down a few of the Iron Order soldiers who were trying to flank him.
"Wha—what is this?!" Kairo gasped.
Behind him, the old man's voice was calm but urgent. "It's your power! The Crimson Mark! Use it, but don't let it consume you!"
The Iron Order soldiers stopped, fear flickering in their eyes. They had never seen this before. The legend of the Crimson Mark was real, and it was standing right in front of them—a boy no one had expected.
Kairo stumbled forward, the red aura swirling around him, pulling energy from somewhere deep inside. His senses sharpened. Every leaf, every twig, every rustle of the forest became amplified. He could hear them, their intentions, their movements, like a map laid bare before him.
"Move, Kairo! Move!" the old man shouted.
Kairo obeyed. He dodged the soldiers' swings with unnatural agility, ducking under a blade and sending one stumbling back with a flick of his hand. His heart pounded, and yet a strange calm filled him. He wasn't afraid anymore. The power was… right. It felt like it had been there all along, waiting.
One of the soldiers lunged at him from the side. Kairo's hand brushed against the branch of a tree, and in an instant, the branch snapped and swung like a whip, knocking the soldier aside. Kairo stumbled forward, falling to one knee. Red light pulsed from the mark on his chest.
He blinked. The forest was silent again. The Iron Order soldiers were gone, thrown back or retreating. And the old man… he was standing a few meters behind, breathing heavily but alive.
"You… you did that?" the old man asked, eyes wide.
Kairo's chest heaved. "I… I don't know! I didn't do anything!"
The old man shook his head slowly. "No. That was you. And you just took your first step into a world you don't understand yet."
Kairo stared down at the faint red glow that pulsed over his chest. His hands shook. "I… I can't control it… yet."
"That's fine," the old man said, voice calm again, though his eyes were hard. "No one controls it the first time. But you survived. That's what matters."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Kairo could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, the power lingering, and the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then the old man sighed. "We can't stay here. Not after this. The Iron Order will not forget this day."
Kairo's stomach dropped. "They… they were hunting me?"
"Yes," the old man said. "Because of the mark, Kairo. You are not an ordinary boy. And the world… the world does not forgive the extraordinary."
Kairo swallowed hard. He had always thought his life had been simple, ordered, safe. Now he understood that safety had only existed because he had been hidden. And the moment he awakened, that safety vanished.
He looked up at the forest canopy. Sunlight streaked through the leaves, red and gold. Somewhere far away, he knew, the city waited. And so did the Iron Order.
"Where do we go?" Kairo asked, his voice trembling.
The old man looked toward the river. "Away from here. We need distance. We need time. And you… you need to learn control. Quickly."
Kairo nodded, though fear and excitement warred inside him. "I… I understand."
The old man's lips pressed together. "Good. Because tomorrow, nothing will be the same. You're no longer just Kairo, the boy who trains. You're Kairo, the Crimson Mark. And your life… it starts now."
The forest grew darker as Kairo and the old man pressed deeper into the trees. Shadows stretched like fingers, and the cool evening breeze carried a faint smell of smoke—burning torches from somewhere far away. Kairo's chest still throbbed with adrenaline from the fight. His hands shook as he gripped his sword, the faint red pulse under his skin now calmer but still alive.
"Keep your head down," the old man murmured. "They'll track you if you leave traces."
Kairo swallowed. "Who are they, really? The Iron Order… I don't even know why they want me."
"They want anyone like you," the old man replied, eyes scanning the forest. "People born with power, those marked by fate. And the crimson mark… you have it."
Kairo shivered. He had no idea what that meant.
Far behind them, in the broken clearing, the Iron Order regrouped. The lead figure, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, lowered his hood, revealing sharp, calculating eyes. His voice carried through the trees.
"They escaped," he said, calm but firm. "But the boy is ours. He cannot survive without us hunting him."
One of the younger soldiers stepped forward, nervous. "Sir… he's just a child. How can we—"
"How can we ignore the prophecy?" the lead snapped. His voice was cold, but not cruel, determined. "He carries a power that could destroy everything if left unchecked. We do not kill out of cruelty; we kill to protect. Our families, our city, our world… all of it depends on this. He cannot grow unchecked."
Another soldier frowned. "But he fought back… he killed some of ours."
The lead figure's eyes hardened. "The mark chooses early. And the child survived for a reason. We will not fail again."
He turned to the group. "We split. Find traces of him in all directions. The boy's power will make mistakes. We wait. Patience is our weapon. Fear will not help him now. It never has."
The soldiers nodded silently, each understanding the stakes. Among them, some hesitated, unsettled by the thought of killing a child. But no one spoke again.
Meanwhile, Kairo stumbled through the forest, branches slapping his face and arms. The red pulse inside him had returned, subtle this time, guiding him. He didn't know how, but he felt the soldiers behind him. He could sense their movement, faint like shadows flitting at the edges of his awareness.
He paused. "I can feel them…" he whispered. "I… I can feel their presence."
The old man nodded. "Good. That's the mark. It will warn you. Trust it, Kairo. But don't rely only on it. You have to act."
A branch snapped loudly to their right. Kairo tensed, sword ready. The Iron Order had split, one group closing in silently.
"They're fast," Kairo said, swallowing.
"They're trained," the old man said. "But so are you. Remember what I taught you."
Red light began to shimmer faintly around Kairo again. The first instinct was fear, but this time, he focused. He imagined the energy flowing like water, like the old man had told him. His sword hummed faintly as he swung it, not at anyone, but guiding the energy to deflect a fallen branch toward the approaching soldiers.
One of the Iron Order members stumbled, surprised, but quickly recovered. "He's… stronger than we thought," the scar-faced leader said quietly, eyes narrowing.
Another soldier whispered, almost in awe, "Is it… the crimson mark?"
"Yes," the lead replied grimly. "It's him. He survived, and now he fights."
The soldiers marched silently, but Kairo's energy made some uneasy. Not all of them were cruel killers. A few whispered to each other about whether this boy deserved death, whether he was just surviving like any human would.
The scar-faced leader overheard. "Do not question it. Every one of us has done things we wish we hadn't, but this is bigger than mercy. This boy will either be our doom or our salvation. We do what we must."
And yet, behind his hardened exterior, doubt flickered for a moment. He remembered the prophecy, the warnings from his elders, the countless children born under the same mark. Some had survived. Some had fallen. And now, this boy—so young—was alive, wielding something beyond imagination.
He sighed. "We cannot fail. Not this time. The Crimson Mark cannot escape forever."
As night fell, Kairo and the old man found a small cave near the river to hide. Kairo sat cross-legged, exhausted, still trembling from adrenaline and the red pulse inside him.
"Do they know?" Kairo asked quietly, staring at the dark water.
"They know," the old man said, voice low. "They know everything about you. They hunt because of fear, not hate. But you must survive. That's all that matters tonight."
Kairo nodded, letting the exhaustion overtake him. But even as sleep threatened, the red pulse reminded him that nothing would be simple again.
Far away, the Iron Order moved through the forest with deadly precision. Each member carried the weight of the prophecy, each step deliberate. They were hunters… but also humans, with doubts, fears, and burdens no one else could see.
The forest was silent except for the river, the whispering wind, and the pulse in Kairo's chest.
And in that silence, the world had changed.
The chase had only begun.