First-Person — Nyra
We find shelter in an abandoned watchtower at the edge of the marshlands. The stones are cracked, the roof half-collapsed, but it's dry.
Kael builds a fire. I watch the flames dance, trying not to stare at the way his hands move — calm, precise, scarred.
Neither of us speaks for a long time. The silence between us hums louder than words.
Finally, I say, "They called me sister."
Kael's jaw tightens. "You shouldn't dwell on what monsters say."
"That wasn't denial."
He doesn't answer. The firelight flickers across his face, cutting sharp shadows into his cheekbones. He looks… haunted.
"You know something."
He sighs, leaning back against the cold stone wall. "Knowing is dangerous. For both of us."
I cross my arms. "You keep saying that. You realize how infuriating it is?"
He gives a short, humorless laugh. "You think I'm here to make you comfortable?"
"I think you're hiding something," I shoot back. "Something about the mark. About me."
The silence stretches again. Then Kael meets my gaze — fully, directly. The weight of it makes my breath catch.
"The mark you carry," he says slowly, "is older than you. Older than any name. It was made to bind power no human should touch."
"And yet… here I am."
His lips twitch — not amusement, but something darker. "Exactly."
I move closer to the fire. "You said they'd take my soul. Who are they, Kael? The Order? The ones who did this to me?"
His voice drops, rough and low. "Not just the Order. The ones who made it. The Blood Forgers. They think power can be perfected — purified. But every mark corrupts what it touches."
I glance at him. "Including you?"
He freezes.
The silence that follows is heavier than anything we've shared. His eyes meet mine — and for a heartbeat, I see it: guilt, sharp as glass.
"You're one of them," I whisper.
He doesn't deny it. Doesn't look away. Just breathes out, slow and steady, like a confession he's been holding for too long. "I was."
The fire pops, scattering embers between us. The heat from it feels wrong — too close, too intimate.
"Then why help me?"
His gaze hardens again, all the softness vanishing behind iron control. "Because you're not supposed to exist. They don't create two with the same mark. And yet, here you are — defying their design."
I take a step toward him. "So what am I, Kael?"
He stands. The air between us crackles. "A mistake they're afraid of."
My pulse quickens. I should step back, but I don't. Neither does he. The fire throws gold over his skin, over the faint red glow at his collarbone — his own mark.
My throat tightens. "You have one too."
He nods once. "And it's killing me slowly."
Something twists in my chest — anger, pity, something dangerously close to longing.
He sees it. "Don't," he says softly. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I can still be saved."
His voice cracks on the last word. And for the first time, I see him not as a hunter, not as a weapon — but as something broken, trying to stay whole.
The space between us vanishes before I realize I've moved. His breath brushes my lips. The heat between us feels alive — a heartbeat, a pull.
Then he steps back — fast, deliberate. "Sleep, Nyra. We leave at dawn."
I stand there long after he turns away, staring at the dying fire, my heart still burning for reasons I don't want to name.