MARA'S POV;
I groaned as my alarm blared for the third time. Fifteen years old, eldest of four, and somehow the family's unofficial manager—it was a lot for a Monday morning.
"Mara! Breakfast's getting cold!" my mom shouted from the kitchen. Great. Another day, another round of chaos before even leaving the house.
I swung my legs off the bed and glanced at my wrist. The mark was still there—faint, intricate, like a seal pressed into my skin. Everyone said it was just a birthmark. So far, it hadn't done anything, and nothing had ever happened to make me think otherwise.
Three younger siblings filled my mornings with noise. My ten-year-old brother, Luca, was bouncing off the walls, already arguing with my eight-year-old sister, Nina, about who got to sit by the window. And my little cousin, Sofia, who lived with us temporarily, had apparently decided that the best way to eat cereal was to splash it across the floor.
I rubbed my eyes and muttered, "I didn't sign up for this." But no one heard me—well, except maybe the mark, faintly warm under my skin.
By the time I got to school, I was already exhausted. Everyone else seemed to have powers. Fire sparks flickered in the hands of a girl in my class. A boy hovered a few inches above the ground like it was nothing. And there I was, walking through the halls like I belonged—but knowing, every step of the way, that I had… nothing.
"Morning, Mara!" Kael waved at me from across the hall. He wasn't flashy like the others; actually, most people ignored him. I guess that made us similar, in a way. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, plastering a smile on my face. "Just… tired."
Inside, though, I felt tired in a different way. Not just sleepy, but frustrated. Envious. Hollow, even. It wasn't fair that magic came so easily to everyone else while I struggled to keep up with homework and, sometimes, my own life.
I slipped into class and tried to focus, but every time I glanced at my wrist, the seal seemed to hum faintly. Just a birthmark, I told myself. Nothing more.
At lunch, I retreated to a quiet corner of the schoolyard and watched everyone around me show off their powers. Some of them were laughing, showing off tricks, and trading small competitions. I drew doodles in my notebook instead. The mark glimmered slightly, subtle and mysterious, and I shivered. Something about it felt… wrong.
But I pushed the feeling aside. I had responsibilities at home. I had siblings to look after. I had a life to keep together, even if it meant pretending to be ordinary, powerless Mara.
Little did I know, ordinary was about to change.
Because everyone else had powers.
And I didn't.
Or so I thought.
Every day felt the same. Wake up, feed Luca before he ate half the house, stop Nina from "borrowing" my things without asking, make sure Sofia didn't spill cereal all over the floor again, get to school, and repeat.
Magic was everywhere. At lunch, in class, in the hallways, even in the cafeteria line. Students casually levitated books, sparked little flames, or whispered words that made things move. Everyone had a power. Everyone, that is, except me.
I didn't mind being quiet, but being powerless in a world that rewarded magic… it stung. Every glance, every whispered comparison, made me feel smaller.
Then, one morning, the announcement came over the loudspeaker:
"Attention students: This Friday, all tenth-grade students will attend a field trip to Veridian City. Participation is mandatory."
I froze in my seat. Mandatory? Everyone who had powers would be expected to show off, to compete, to prove themselves. And me? I had nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I wanted to skip. Really, I did. I imagined telling my friends: Sorry, can't go. I'm powerless. It would just be embarrassing.
But of course… they didn't let me.
"Mara! You can't skip!" Kael leaned over my desk, his usual calm expression replaced with insistence. "It's school policy. Besides… you're coming whether you like it or not."
"I… I just…" My voice faltered. The idea of standing among all my classmates, powerless and useless, made my stomach twist. "I'll just… stay behind. Someone has to cover my chores anyway."
Rina, always the outspoken one, piped up. "Mara! You can't hide forever! You're coming with us!"
Toby, grinning mischievously from the back, added, "Yeah! Don't chicken out now. You might be the only one who surprises everyone."
I wanted to argue, to insist, but they all stared at me, pleading, teasing, impossible to resist. My heart sank.
So, of course, I relented.
Friday morning, I packed my bag and slipped the familiar hoodie over my shoulders, glancing at the faint mark on my wrist. The seal felt warmer than usual. My pulse quickened.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Probably I was. After all, it was just a birthmark.
Right?
—
The bus smelled like cheap air freshener and too many students packed into one place. I stepped up the stairs, gripping the strap of my bag, and immediately felt it—the looks.
Not the curious ones.
The knowing ones.
"Hey, Mara," someone called from the back. "Can you hold my bag? I don't want it getting crushed."
I blinked. "Sure," I said flatly. "Because I'm obviously the designated storage unit."
A few people laughed. Not maliciously. Just… thoughtless.
I moved down the aisle, careful not to trip as a girl floated her suitcase into the overhead rack using telekinesis. Another student snapped his fingers and the window curtains adjusted themselves. Magic everywhere. Always.
"Wait—Mara!" one of the chaperones called. "Can you help with attendance? You don't need to focus on your abilities anyway."
I paused mid-step.
"Oh, perfect," I replied, turning around with a tight smile. "Multitasking without magic is my specialty."
Kael, already seated by the window, shot me an apologetic look. "You wanna sit here?" he asked, patting the empty seat beside him.
Before I could answer, Rina leaned across the aisle. "Actually, Mara, can you sit near the front? In case someone needs help with bags or snacks."
I raised an eyebrow. "Right. Because if a bag falls, my lack of magic will magically make me stronger."
Rina flushed. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," I said, softer—but still tired.
I took the front seat anyway. Easier to give in than argue.
As the bus engine rumbled to life, I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and watched the school fade behind us. Everyone buzzed with excitement—showing off powers, talking about Veridian City, laughing like this was just another adventure.
For them, it was.
For me, it felt like a reminder.
I was the only one without magic.
The only one who couldn't help with anything flashy.
The only one expected to carry things instead of move them.
I tugged my sleeve down, covering the mark on my wrist. It felt warm again—almost irritated.
"Well," I muttered under my breath, "at least my powers can't embarrass me in public."
The seal pulsed once.
Hard.
I swallowed.
"…Okay," I whispered. "That was rude. I didn't mean it."
The bus sped toward the city, and for the first time, I had the strange feeling that something was listening.
The closer we got to Veridian City, the louder the bus became.
People were leaning into the aisles, talking over each other, pointing out the skyline as it slowly rose in the distance—glass towers catching the light, faint magical barriers shimmering like heatwaves above the streets. Someone cheered. Someone else started a debate about which district had the strongest energy fields.
I stayed in my seat.
At first, it was just a dull ache.
I shifted, adjusting my sleeve, thinking maybe I'd slept on my wrist wrong. But the pain didn't fade. It sharpened instead—deep and tight, like something was being pressed into my bones from the inside.
I sucked in a breath.
"Ah—" The sound slipped out before I could stop it. I bit my lip and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
Don't be dramatic.
Don't draw attention.
The sleeve stayed firmly in place.
"Mara?" Kael's voice came from behind me, quieter than the rest of the bus. "You okay?"
I straightened immediately, forcing my shoulders to relax. "Yeah," I said, nodding too quickly. "I'm fine."
It was a lie.
The mark burned now—hot, insistent, like it was awake. My wrist throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sharper than the last. I clenched my fingers, nails biting into my palm, trying to ground myself.
Why now?
I glanced out the front window. Veridian City loomed closer, its edges glowing faintly with magic. Everyone else seemed energized by it. Excited.
I felt like I was being crushed.
I slid farther into the front seat, curling in on myself, pretending to be fascinated by the road ahead. If anyone noticed the way my breathing went shallow or how my hand trembled under the sleeve, they didn't say anything.
Good.
Because I didn't understand it either.
I had no powers.
I'd never had powers.
So why did it feel like something inside my wrist was screaming?
The bus rolled forward, crossing the invisible boundary into the city.
And the pain spiked.
I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw clenched, heart pounding.
Something was very, very wrong.
The bus hissed as it came to a stop.
For a moment, no one moved. Then the doors folded open, and a rush of voices filled the air—laughter, excitement, the scrape of shoes against metal steps.
I stood up slowly.
The second my foot touched the ground, the pain vanished.
Not dulled.
Not fading.
Gone.
I froze at the bottom of the bus steps, my heart still racing, waiting for it to come back. It didn't. The burning in my wrist was replaced by a strange numbness, like the echo of something that had already passed.
I flexed my fingers under my sleeve.
Nothing.
"…What?" I whispered.
"Mara, move!" Rina called from behind me, laughing. "You're blocking the exit!"
I stepped aside, letting the rest of the class spill out onto the pavement. Veridian City stretched out in front of us—taller buildings, cleaner streets, magic woven into everything. Lights glowed faintly in signs that didn't need electricity. The air itself felt different, heavier somehow.
The teachers gathered us near the bus.
"Listen up," one of them said. "You're free to explore, but stay within the marked districts. This isn't your hometown. Don't wander off, and don't cause trouble."
Students cheered anyway.
They scattered in small groups, excitement pulling them in every direction. Powers flared openly now—tiny flames, floating maps, enchanted lenses clicking photos without touch.
I stayed where I was.
The pain was gone, but the confusion wasn't.
Why had it hurt only on the way here? Why did it stop the moment I stepped into the city? I tugged my sleeve down instinctively, even though no one was looking.
Kael stopped beside me. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.
I nodded. "Yeah. Just… car sick, I guess."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push.
I watched the city, the unfamiliar streets, the people moving with purpose and power. Everyone seemed to belong here.
I didn't.
And yet… as I took my first real breath in Veridian City, I had the unsettling feeling that the city knew I was here.
Outside, Veridian City felt alive.
Laughter echoed through the streets as students scattered in every direction, magic flashing openly now—small flames flickering between fingers, objects floating lazily through the air, laughter ringing without restraint. Teachers shouted reminders that were barely heard.
I turned away.
The museum stood quietly among the taller buildings, its stone exterior untouched by the noise. The moment I stepped inside, the world softened. The air was cool and still, heavy with age and dust, like the past had settled into the walls.
My footsteps echoed as I wandered between displays—ancient weapons, fractured crystals, books sealed behind glass. Everything here spoke of magic. Of power. Of history written by those who had it.
I stopped at the far end of the hall.
Something pulled at me.
Not pain—
recognition without understanding.
The painting dominated the wall, darker than the others, shadows layered so thick they seemed almost alive. At its center was a demonic creature—horned, twisted, its face frozen in a silent snarl. Its eyes burned with something too sharp, too aware to be just paint.
But my attention drifted to the figure beside it.
Tall. Cloaked. Faceless.
Only one arm was visible, emerging from the folds of the cloak.
My breath hitched.
On the wrist was a mark.
Intricate. Circular. Familiar in a way that made my stomach drop.
My fingers curled instinctively under my sleeve.
That can't be a coincidence.
I stepped closer, heart pounding, studying every line of the painted symbol. It wasn't just similar—it mirrored the shape I had seen my entire life, the one I'd been told was nothing more than a birthmark.
A cold shiver ran through me.
"Strange, isn't it?"
I turned sharply. A man stood nearby, calm and composed, a small guide's badge pinned to his coat.
"I didn't hear you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
He smiled slightly. "Most people don't. Would you like me to explain the piece?"
I hesitated. Then nodded.
"This painting depicts the final days of the War of Cinders," he said, facing the canvas. "One of the darkest periods in magical history."
My chest tightened.
"The cloaked figure represents the one believed to have led that era," he continued. "A being associated with curses rather than conventional magic. Wherever his influence spread, suffering followed."
I swallowed.
"And the creature?" I asked.
"Some believe it was his ally," the man replied. "Others believe it was the result of what he became."
My gaze returned to the wrist.
"That mark," he said quietly, "was feared. It symbolized a power so vast it had to be bound. Those who encountered it were often cursed—or worse."
My pulse raced.
"They say countless lives were lost," he went on. "Entire bloodlines ended. Cities fell into ruin."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
The man paused. "No one truly knows. Some claim he was defeated by five powerful magic users. Others believe he vanished—sealed away, or destroyed."
I hesitated before asking the question burning in my throat.
"…Did he have a name?"
The man turned to me, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.
"They called him many things," he said softly.
"But history remembers one name."
He spoke it like a warning.
"Acheron."
At the sound of it, my wrist throbbed beneath my sleeve—sharp, sudden, impossible to ignore.
I sucked in a breath and took a step back.
I didn't understand what any of this meant.
Only that whatever that mark was…
it wasn't just a birthmark.
And for the first time, the idea truly scared me.
Silence stretched between us.
The man's gaze lingered on the painting for a moment longer, then shifted back to me. His expression hadn't changed, but something about it felt heavier—like he knew more than he was saying.
"He'll come back," he said suddenly.
The words were soft. Almost casual.
My breath caught. "What do you—"
"Mara!"
I flinched at the sound of my name.
I turned toward the entrance of the hall, where Rina stood waving, her voice echoing slightly through the museum. "There you are! We're supposed to regroup."
"I'll be right there!" I called back, forcing steadiness into my voice.
When I turned back—
The man was gone.
Not walking away.
Not halfway down the hall.
Gone.
My heart slammed into my ribs. I stared at the empty space where he had been standing, my pulse roaring in my ears.
That's not possible.
The hall was long and open. I would've seen him leave. I would've heard footsteps. But there was nothing—just the painting, watching in silence.
Rina's footsteps approached. "Who were you talking to?" she asked, glancing around. "I thought you were alone."
I swallowed hard and pointed weakly behind me. "There was… a man. A guide."
Rina frowned. "Mara, there's no one here."
A chill crawled up my spine.
"…Never mind," I muttered, dropping my hand. "Guess I imagined it."
Rina shrugged. "You're weird today, you know that?" She smiled like it was a joke. "Come on, before the teachers freak out."
I nodded and followed her out of the hall, my thoughts spinning.
He'll come back.
The words echoed in my head.
I cursed under my breath and let out a slow sigh, forcing my shoulders to relax. Panicking wouldn't help. Overthinking wouldn't either.
It was just a painting.
Just a stranger.
Just a coincidence.
Right?
I tugged my sleeve down one last time and walked back into the noise of the city, pretending my hands weren't shaking.
Because whatever I had just stepped into—
I had the feeling it wasn't finished with me yet.
The museum doors were already in sight.
Rina walked beside me, chatting about something I wasn't really listening to. My head still felt heavy, my thoughts tangled around the man's words, the painting, the name I couldn't shake.
Then my wrist flared.
Not a warning.
Not a dull ache.
Pain—sharp and immediate, like fire sinking into my bones.
I sucked in a breath and stumbled.
"Mara?" Rina's voice cut through the noise. "Hey—what's wrong?"
"I—I'm fine," I lied, gripping my sleeve as if that could hold the pain in. My wrist throbbed violently now, heat spreading up my arm. The world tilted, the floor shifting beneath my feet.
I couldn't keep up.
My knees buckled.
Rina caught me before I hit the ground, her hands gripping my shoulders. "Mara! Look at me—what's happening?"
"I don't know," I whispered. My vision blurred, black spots creeping in at the edges. The pain was everywhere now, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, louder than my thoughts.
Someone gasped nearby. Footsteps rushed closer.
"Help!" Rina shouted. "Someone—please, she collapsed!"
The ceiling lights smeared into white streaks above me. My fingers went numb. I tried to speak, to tell her I was okay, but the words wouldn't come.
The last thing I heard was Rina's voice, panicked and shaking.
"Get a guard! Please—she needs help!"
Then everything went dark.
I woke up choking on darkness.
Not the kind where you close your eyes and everything fades—but the kind that presses back, thick and heavy, like the air itself was watching me. My head throbbed. My body felt distant, numb, as if I'd been asleep for far too long.
Then I noticed the light.
A single, dim glow hovered a few feet away from me, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. And standing beside it—
A man.
I sucked in a sharp breath and scrambled backward, my heart slamming against my ribs. "H—hello?" His voice echoed softly, calm in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Where am I?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. "Who are you?"
The man sighed, rubbing his temples like I was the inconvenience. "Wow. Straight to panic. No greeting back?"
"That doesn't answer my question," I snapped.
He looked… normal. Too normal. Dark hair, sharp eyes, a faintly amused expression that didn't belong in a place like this. Like he'd done this before. Like he was waiting for me.
"Well," he said casually, "since you asked so nicely—hi. I'm Acheron."
The world stopped.
My breath caught painfully in my throat. "That's not funny," I whispered.
He blinked. "I wasn't joking."
My stomach dropped. "No. No, that's—" I shook my head. "That's the name from the painting. You're—"
"Yes, yes," he waved a hand dismissively. "Ancient monster. War leader. Living curse. You've got it."
I stared at him, frozen.
He rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped, fear bleeding into irritation. "Should I be calm about meeting a centuries-old curse in a dark room?"
He smirked. "Point taken."
"Why am I here?" I demanded. "What did you do to me?"
Acheron sighed again—long and exaggerated. "Relax. You're not here here. This is… you."
I frowned. "What?"
He gestured vaguely around us. "Your body. Your mind. Your inconvenient little existence."
My blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
"I was sealed inside you," he said plainly. "Since the moment you were born."
I staggered back. "That's not possible."
"Oh, it very much is," he replied. "Though I will say—I was expecting a boy. Or at least someone stronger. Instead I got…" His gaze swept over me critically. "…a weak little woman."
I rolled my eyes so hard my head hurt. "Wow. First meeting and you're already insufferable."
He blinked, clearly not expecting that. Then he scoffed. "You humans have no respect."
"Funny," I shot back. "I was thinking the same thing."
He crossed his arms. "Anyway. Ever since you were born, I've been stuck in here. Watching. Listening. Very boring, by the way."
Something clicked. My wrist.
"So," he continued, "every time you cover that seal with your sleeve, it annoys me."
"…Excuse me?" I stared at him.
"I can't see," he said flatly.
My eye twitched. "You're telling me—" I clenched my fists, heat rising in my chest. "—that all the pain I've been feeling is because you can't see the outside world?"
He shrugged. "Essentially."
I laughed once—sharp and humorless. "You're kidding."
"I don't kid."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I have been suffering for YEARS—"
"You hid me," he interrupted. "Rude."
"—because you're bored?" I finished loudly.
He tilted his head. "When you put it like that…"
I clenched my jaw, irritation burning hotter than fear now. "You are unbelievable."
Acheron smirked faintly. "And yet… we're stuck together."
The light pulsed once between us.
And I had the terrifying realization that fainting in a museum was only the beginning.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing my wrists. My brain still felt like mush from the revelation: he's been inside me since birth… he's Acheron… and somehow he's alive in my head.
"Wait," I asked cautiously, "so… whatever I eat… you eat it too?"
Acheron smirked. "Naturally. Sharing is… compulsory when you're trapped inside someone else."
"Compulsory?" I repeated.
"Yes," he said, stretching dramatically, like I'd asked the dumbest question in history. "And I must say…" He waved a hand with exaggerated elegance. "…your human food choices are utterly—how shall I put this?—atrocious."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"I sampled the bread at breakfast. Not to mention the pudding. Horrible texture. No flavor. How do you even survive this… mundane existence?"
I groaned, facepalming. "You've been listening to all of that?"
"Every bite. Every conversation. Every fleeting thought," he said, his tone dripping with mock sophistication. "And I remember everything. You are… fascinating, really. Though tragically inept."
I rolled my eyes. "You're insufferable."
"Insufferable?" he repeated, feigning shock. "Me? I'm simply… honest. A captive of circumstance. And I must endure it all, so a little critique is only fair."
"I can't believe this," I muttered, clenching my fists under my knees. "I've been living my whole life with this…"
"This?" he interrupted. "Yes, indeed. And magnificent it is, don't you think?"
I groaned again, slumping backward. "I don't even know why I'm trying to argue with a centuries-old monster that's inside my wrist."
"Centuries-old monster? Oh, I like that. I'll wear it proudly!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You are unbelievable. Unbelievable!"
"Thank you," he said, bowing slightly. "I strive to maintain this level of excellence."
I flopped back completely, glaring at the ceiling. "You know what? Fine. Judge my food, my life, my every thought—whatever. But I swear…"
"Swear what?" he asked, already smirking.
"I swear," I hissed, "if you comment one more time while I eat, I will—"
"Do what?" he interrupted with a chuckle. "Cough, choke, faint? Excellent. I live for the drama."
I groaned, buried my face in my hands, and muttered, "I can't… I can't even deal with you…"
Acheron hummed approvingly. "Ah! Finally, some honest frustration. You're learning. I'm proud of you."
And just like that, I realized: he wasn't even the annoying one.
I was.
I groaned as I rubbed my temples.
"So," Acheron said, voice echoing in my head like he was lounging on some invisible throne, "we share more than just this delightful body."
I froze. "…What do you mean, 'share'?"
"Oh, nothing," he replied casually. "Just that we share the same powers."
My stomach dropped. "No. No, no, no! I do not want the same magic as you! That… that monster from the paintings? The one who cursed kingdoms and terrified the world? Not happening!"
He rolled his eyes so hard I felt it in my skull. "You are insufferable. And frankly, I cannot stand the way you act like the main character of some sad, powerless story. So dramatic. Every. Single. Time."
"I—" I clenched my fists. "…I am not dramatic!"
"Uh-huh," he said, smirking. "Sure you're not."
I could feel my blood pressure rising. That smirk—oh, that smug, irritating smirk—made my fists clench tighter. And then I saw it: the perfect opportunity. I was going to punch him, finally.
I drew my arm back, ready to let him have it.
"About to do something stupid?" Acheron asked calmly.
Before I could respond, he flicked my forehead with the tip of his finger.
My vision blurred. My anger evaporated instantly, replaced by the pounding rhythm of reality snapping back.
I blinked.
Bright white light. Sterile walls. A clinic bed. Tubes and monitors beeped softly beside me.
"…What the—"
I shot upright, tugging at the sheets. Frustration boiled inside me.
I didn't get to punch that jerk.
Not only did he tease me endlessly, he literally flicked me into reality like some spoiled little prince.
I groaned, buried my face in the pillow, and muttered, "I will… I will get him next time…"
Somehow, I just knew: next time wasn't going to be any easier.
TO BE CONTINUED.