Liora woke before dawn, her body stiff, her throat dry, her mind heavy with echoes that refused to fade.
For a moment, she lay still, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling above her bed, listening to the quiet rhythm of the house. The walls did not whisper. The shadows did not move. The world looked normal.
Too normal.
Her phone lay on the bedside table, dark and silent. She reached for it slowly, half-expecting the unknown number to reappear, half-afraid it would.
Nothing.
Yet the feeling remained.
That same pressure in her chest. That same sense of being seen—not watched, but known. As if something had brushed past her soul and left fingerprints behind.
She sat up, pressing her palm over her heart.
The ache pulsed in response.
"I'm not imagining this," she murmured.
The mirror across the room caught her reflection as she stood. Her dark eyes looked the same. Her face was the same. But something behind her gaze had shifted, like a door left ajar.
She crossed the room and stood before the mirror.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the symbol flared.
A faint glow bloomed just beneath her skin, right over her sternum—golden, spiraled, alive. The mark did not burn, but it pulled, as though it wanted to surface, to be acknowledged.
Liora staggered back, gasping. "No. No, no—"
The light faded instantly, leaving only her racing heart and trembling hands.
Her grandmother's voice rose unbidden from memory.
"Some signs wait for permission," she had once said. "The moment you fear them, they grow stronger."
Liora squeezed her eyes shut.
Her grandmother had known.
By noon, the city felt wrong.
Not broken. Not dangerous.
Just… thinner.
People moved through the streets like usual—vendors shouting prices, buses hissing to a stop, phones buzzing—but Liora sensed gaps between moments, pauses where the world seemed to hold its breath.
She felt drawn to those places.
Alleyways where the sunlight failed to reach.
Corners where sound dulled suddenly.
Doorways that made her pulse spike for no logical reason.
She avoided them all.
At least, she tried to.
It was on her way back from the market that she felt it strongest.
The pull yanked hard, sharp enough to make her stumble. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, fruit spilling onto the pavement.
"Sorry—sorry," she muttered automatically as someone brushed past her.
But her eyes were locked on the narrow passage between two abandoned buildings.
The air there shimmered faintly, like heat rising from stone.
She should have walked away.
Instead, she stepped closer.
The city noise faded the instant she crossed the threshold. The scent of dust and iron filled her lungs. The alley stretched longer than it should have, shadows curling where no light reached.
Her mark pulsed once.
Then again.
"Hello?" she called, her voice sounding distant even to herself.
The shadows shifted.
A figure stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
He was tall, wrapped in dark clothing that seemed to absorb what little light existed. His presence pressed against the air itself, heavy and undeniable.
Her breath caught.
It was him.
The voice from the phone.
"You shouldn't be here alone," Kaelen said quietly.
Liora's instincts screamed at her to run. Instead, she straightened, forcing herself to meet his silver gaze.
"You're the one who called me."
"Yes."
"You knew this would happen," she said, accusation trembling beneath her words.
"I knew it was possible," he replied. "I hoped I was wrong."
She laughed sharply, a brittle sound. "That's comforting."
Kaelen studied her, his expression unreadable, but something like concern flickered beneath the surface.
"The mark has awakened," he said. "That means the Spiral has chosen you."
Her stomach twisted. "Chosen me for what?"
"For balance," he said.
"For sacrifice," another voice whispered—from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Liora flinched, spinning around. "Who said that?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "You heard it too."
"Told you," she snapped. "I'm not crazy."
"No," he said softly. "You're opening."
The alley darkened further, shadows thickening like ink poured into water. Kaelen moved closer, placing himself subtly between her and the darkness behind her.
"Listen carefully," he said. "There are forces that will feel you now. Some will worship you. Others will hunt you."
Her heart hammered. "Why?"
"Because your kind doesn't appear without consequence."
"My kind?" she repeated.
Kaelen hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, he said, "You are not fully human."
The words struck harder than any blow.
Liora shook her head. "That's not possible."
"I wish it were," he replied.
The mark burned suddenly, searing heat ripping through her chest. She cried out, collapsing to her knees as golden light spilled from beneath her skin, illuminating the alley in spiraling patterns.
The shadows recoiled.
Kaelen swore under his breath and dropped to one knee beside her. "Easy. Don't fight it."
"I don't know how not to!" she gasped.
"Breathe," he commanded. "You're feeding it with fear."
She forced herself to inhale, to focus on the sensation of air filling her lungs. The pain dulled, shifting into something warmer—almost familiar.
The light receded.
Silence returned.
Kaelen exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders.
"You should not have awakened this fast," he said. "They'll feel it."
"Who?" she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "The ones who broke the world the first time."
That night, far beyond the city, the Hollowborn gathered.
They rose from forgotten places—cracked temples, drowned sanctuaries, graves without names. Their forms were wrong, stitched together by faith twisted into hunger.
They knelt in a circle carved into blackened earth.
"The Vessel has awakened," one rasped.
"The Spiral turns again," another hissed.
"And the Watcher walks," a third added.
A low, pleased murmur rippled through them.
"Prepare the path," the leader commanded. "Blood will answer blood."
Liora slept uneasily, dreams tangled with symbols and fire.
Somewhere between waking and sleep, she felt hands—not touching, but guiding.
And deep within her chest, the mark pulsed once more.
Waiting.