The sigil had vanished by morning.
No mark on Azrael's hand. No glyphs in the air. No voice in their bones.
But something had changed.
He still felt it. In his chest, a slow throb, like an echo bouncing in a hollow well. Not pain, something more elusive. Like his soul had been nudged, ever so slightly, out of place.
Janis kept watch all night, her blade never once returning to its sheath. Her eyes darted like a hawk's, from tree to tree, stone to branch. She barely blinked. There was a silence to her now; not the soft kind, but the kind that pressed against the skin.
Veyna sat upright, knees drawn to her chest. She hadn't moved in hours. Her lips moved in that same hushed rhythm, humming a melody that Azrael didn't recognize, low, warbling, almost mournful.
The fire had died down to cold ash, its final breath curling into the frost-laced air.
Azrael stared at his palm, flexing the fingers. "I swear it was there."
"It was," Veyna said softly. Her voice didn't waver. "But relic marks rarely linger. They choose when to appear."
"Do they… burn us?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "But they remember us."
Azrael frowned. "That's worse."
Janis finally spoke. "Maybe they remember who you're meant to be."
"I don't even know who I'm meant to be."
"Exactly," she said. "But they do."
Azrael sighed and grabbed a cold piece of bark to stoke the dead fire. It crumbled in his fingers.
He looked up at them. "Did either of you feel it?"
Janis shook her head. "No glyphs for me."
Veyna tilted her head slightly. "I felt something. But not for the first time."
Azrael blinked. "You've seen relic marks before?"
Veyna nodded, still not moving from her still meditation. "Twice. The first time, I was twelve. My master called it a false awakening. The second time... I nearly died."
Janis furrowed her brow. "How?"
"The relic didn't want me," she answered simply. "It marked someone else. I was just too close."
Silence.
They packed in silence afterward, each lost in their own spiraling thoughts. The sky was cold iron above them, the clouds thin like stretched gauze. The path ahead wound through forgotten ruins, broken towers and sunken stoneworks, bones of civilizations that had long ceased to matter.
As they walked, frost cracked beneath their boots. Flocks of birds screeched and scattered from the trees ahead, always before they arrived.
Azrael kept glancing over his shoulder.
Janis caught him. "You expecting someone?"
"No," he said, but his voice was too quick.
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. "Just… waiting for whatever happens next."
She paused, walking beside him now. "You scared?"
"A little," he admitted.
"Good. Scared means you're not stupid."
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome."
A moment passed.
"You think the council will believe us?" Azrael asked.
"They'll believe Veyna," Janis said. "The council always believes people they don't understand."
"And you?"
She glanced at him. "I'm still trying to believe you."
He didn't know how to answer that. So he said nothing.
---
Danigrasse Council Keep — Later that Day
Varros faced the stone table again, this time with fewer eyes watching. Elder Renn was absent. Elder Mura remained quiet. Tenik had left to speak with outer settlements. But Varros had a guest now: Lord Hareth from the Drelin Mora district, the Sage Green Faith.
"We are on the brink," Hareth said. "Our people can't feed themselves. Our springs are drying, and our vines rot before the rains come."
"The boy's expedition is returning," Varros replied. "If what they bring back is legitimate, the council will open negotiations."
"I don't want negotiations."
Varros narrowed his eyes.
Hareth leaned closer. "We want tribute."
"You want tribute from Danigrasse?"
Hareth smiled, the way snakes do. "You owe the Green Faith. You wouldn't exist without us."
Varros's jaw tightened. "This isn't the time to test loyalties, Hareth."
The Sage Green lord stood. "Then perhaps it's the time to remember them."
He left with robes rustling like dead leaves.
---
Market District, Day's End
Riku and Emeren followed the guards to the outer perimeter of the village walls. The guards had posted symbols, warnings that something dangerous had stirred beyond the Scar.
"That's new," Emeren muttered. "First time they've locked the south gate."
"I like danger," Riku said.
"You like getting caught."
They paused at a vendor's stand. Old woman, wrapped in brown cloth, selling preserved herbs. Her eyes caught Riku's, and without a word, she handed him a pouch.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Charroot," she whispered. "You'll need it. When the dark comes, you'll burn it. Or die."
Emeren rolled his eyes. "We don't have time for this."
But Riku pocketed the pouch anyway.
---
Nightfall at the Danigrasse's
The main village gates creaked open just before moonrise. Azrael, Janis, and Veyna passed through without words. Elders awaited them beneath lanterns, flanked by guards.
Varros was there. He stepped forward.
"You live."
Janis tossed the etched parchment toward his chest.
"We found something," she said.
Varros nodded, caught it mid-air. His eyes scanned the spiral.
Then he looked at Azrael.
"You saw the glyphs, didn't you?"
Azrael hesitated. Then nodded.
"That's what I feared," Varros whispered.
He turned toward the rest of the council.
"We must ready the chamber."
---
Elsewhere: Unknown Region of the Yellow Faith (The Solar Wane)
The God of Tongues whispered into an altar.
"She has returned."
His priests trembled.
"She walks beneath Danigrasse skies again. The one with the veiled hand."
The wind changed direction.
A silver raven took flight.
---
That night, Azrael couldn't sleep.
He stared at the ceiling of his modest quarters. Every muscle ached. The room still smelled like inkwood soap and old parchment. Kaleah's robe still hung behind the door, untouched.
A knock came.
It was Barek.
His brother stepped in, carrying a fresh cloth bundle.
"New boots," he said. "You tore yours."
Azrael blinked. "You got these for me?"
"No. Father did. I just didn't argue."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Barek nodded toward the door.
"Tomorrow, come with me. I'll show you how we track deer."
Azrael swallowed a thousand responses.
He settled on: "Okay."
---
In the shadows, Riku and Emeren knelt near a side wall.
"That's him?" Emeren whispered.
"The boy with the patch?"
"Yeah."
Riku grinned. "We're going to need to meet him soon."
Emeren sighed. "Why?"
"Because," Riku whispered, pulling out the pouch of charroot. "He's marked. And things that are marked tend to go boom."
---
From deep below the village, past the sealed roots and the bones of old wars, a low hum began to stir.
A glyph; long sealed into the stone beneath the Danigrasse Temple—blinked.
Once.
Then again.
And across the world, in a black tower swallowed by sand, the disowned god opened his eyes.
"Azrael…"