The bells of the capital tolled thrice that morning — slow, deliberate, mourning something unseen.
From the high towers of Alderhall, banners of crimson and gold fluttered in the restless wind. The city below buzzed with rumor and unease.
Two days had passed since the northern forest bled.
Two days since Marcus returned, drenched in blood that wasn't his.
And yet, the kingdom dared not speak his name.
Inside the grand hall of the Royal Guard's Citadel, Sir Arnold Valenhart knelt before the throne. The king's shadow stretched long and sharp upon the marble floor.
King Eldrin IV, ruler of Logustus, leaned forward upon his golden scepter. His face was a portrait of grace and power — but his eyes, sharp and tired, betrayed something else: fear.
King Eldrin: "You were there, Arnold. You saw it yourself. The creatures were slain by one man."
Arnold: "Yes, Your Majesty. Marcus of Rivenhall. The blacksmith's son."
King Eldrin: "And yet he returned untouched. Do you call that a man, Sir Arnold? Or something else entirely?"
Arnold's voice was steady, but his hands were tight upon his knee.
Arnold: "He is a man. I saw courage in his eyes. But… there was something more. Something… ancient."
The king rose, his robes whispering against the cold stone.
King Eldrin: "Ancient things do not belong among the living. Keep your eyes on him, Arnold. If he steps beyond the line—strike him down."
A silence hung in the air.
Arnold bowed his head.
Arnold: "As you command… Your Majesty."
But as he stood and turned, his heart whispered another truth.
No. I will not strike down a man for what he cannot control.
That night, the moon hung low over the rooftops like a blade of silver.
Marcus sat alone at the edge of the forest, sharpening his sword. The steel caught the moonlight — pale, cold, unyielding.
Then the voice came again.
Faint. Familiar. Inside his head.
"Did you enjoy the slaughter, Marcus?"
He froze. The sound wasn't coming from the forest — it came from within.
"Your hands remember what your mind tries to forget."
Marcus clenched his fists until blood dripped from his palms. "Who are you?"
The voice laughed, deep and low, like thunder in a hollow mountain.
"Names are for mortals. I am the breath between your heartbeats. The hunger in your soul."
"You freed me when you killed the first beast. The seal weakens, and soon, you will understand."
Marcus rose to his feet, his pulse racing. "If you're real, show yourself!"
But the forest answered only with silence — then the distant cry of a wolf, echoing like a curse.
At the same moment, in the castle's observatory, Arnold stood beside Mary, Marcus's sister.
Her eyes were tired from sleepless nights, but her spirit burned bright as ever.
Mary: "He's changing, Arnold. Every night I see him leave the house. He returns before dawn, eyes hollow, hands shaking. It's like something's… devouring him."
Arnold: "I know. I feel it too. But I swore to protect him."
Mary: "Then protect his soul, not his body. Because I fear when that part of him dies… what remains will no longer be my brother."
Arnold turned toward the window. Beyond the castle walls, lightning flashed across the horizon, splitting the night sky in two.
Arnold (quietly): "Then may the gods forgive me for what's to come."
Three nights later, the Order of the Golden Thorn gathered in secret beneath the palace — cloaked figures, whispering around a circle of runes etched in ancient blood.
At their center stood High Inquisitor Varel, his face half-burned, his eyes burning brighter than fire.
Varel: "The prophecy unfolds. The heir of darkness walks among men."
A robed woman spoke. "You mean Marcus?"
Varel: "The boy bears the mark. The curse of the first monster. If he lives, the crown will fall, and the age of beasts will rise again."
He raised a dagger toward the heavens.
Varel: "Find him. Before he remembers what he truly is."
Meanwhile, far away, Marcus walked into the heart of the forest once more.
The moon was gone now, swallowed by clouds. The air trembled.
And from beneath the earth, a faint red glow began to rise — like the heartbeat of something ancient awakening.
Marcus dropped to one knee, clutching his chest as whispers flooded his mind.
"Welcome back… my vessel."
He screamed.
And the forest screamed with him.
End of Chapter