The wind brought with it the smell of smoke before Marco saw the village.
He stopped on the ridge and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Down in the valley stood a small cluster of stone houses, from the chimneys of which rose a gray streak that mingled with the evening. It looked peaceful. Ordinary.
Such places were the most dangerous.
Marco was not welcome in the usual places.
He started to descend the slope.
The boots sank into the damp ground. Autumn was well underway, and the air felt heavy, as if it had also carried something unpronounceable.
At the village gate, two men were sitting on a rock with spears in their hands. They did not look like soldiers—more like farmers who had been forced to stand guard.
One of them got up when Marco approached.
"Business?"
Marco stopped at a suitable distance. Not too close. Not threateningly.
"A place to sleep. Food. By paying."
He counted out three silver coins.
The men looked at each other.
"You're not from these regions."
"No."
My gaze shifted to his hands.
Gloves.
Everyone always noticed the gloves.
"Take them off."
Marco didn't move.
The wind hissed through the dry straws.
"I won't undress."
Another guard spat on the ground.
"I heard that there is a witch walking in the north."
Marco smiled lightly.
"There are many things going on in the north."
The tension stretched.
Then the first guard sighed.
"Keep a hood on your face. Stay away from children."
Marco nodded.
He entered the village.
In the middle of the village there was a well and a small tavern. Above the door hung a faded sign with a bouquet of grain painted on it.
Marco felt the eyes on his back.
Always the same pattern.
Outsider.
Quiet.
Too precise.
He sat down at the corner table and put the money on the table.
A momentary silence descended on the tavern.
The host brought bread and soup without saying a word.
Marco ate slowly.
He was used to the fact that the conversation did not start around him. He was also used to it starting as soon as he left.
He was not born a vagabond.
He had been made into one.
At night, he did not sleep deeply.
He never slept.
Dreams had always been... too real.
He saw the same thing again.
A sky that splits.
An eye that opens in the darkness.
A city he didn't recognize.
And the sound.
You don't belong here.
Marco woke up cold.
My breath steamed in the room.
But the window was closed.
And the candle had gone out.
In the darkness, something seemed to be moving.
Not visibly.
But as a sensation.
He sat up.
"I'm not interested," he said quietly.
For a moment, the air felt denser.
Then the feeling subsided.
But not entirely.
In the morning, the village woke up to a scream.
Marco was already awake.
He heard the running footsteps, the slurred speech, the fear.
He opened the door.
In the middle of the village stood a woman holding something black and smoky in her hands.
There was a symbol drawn on the ground.
Distorted.
Broken.
And in the middle of it lay a boy.
Without moving.
"It appeared in the night!" she cried. "The sky cracked!"
Marco tunsi sen.
A small, barely noticeable tear.
Not to the eye.
But for existence.
He stepped closer.
"Stop there!" the guard shouted.
Marco didn't listen.
She knelt next to the boy.
The boy was breathing.
But something had touched him.
Something that didn't belong in this world.
Marco slowly took off one of his gloves.
The villagers took a breath.
The skin on his hands was plain.
But beneath its surface was a dark, subtle shadow.
He touched the edge of the symbol.
It vibrated.
A shadow on his fingers came to life.
Not into a flame.
But as a counterforce.
He whispered a word that had not been taught in any temple.
The symbol cracked.
The air snapped.
The boy gasped.
Silence.
The villagers stared.
"It was him," someone whispered.
"Warlock."
Marco pulled the glove back into his hand.
The boy started crying.
And at the same time, Marco knew:
He hadn't cured the problem.
He had just cut that thread.
Someone had pulled it.
And now someone knew.
When he left the village before noon, no one stopped him.
But no one thanked me.
On the ridge he stopped once more.
He looked back.
The village looked peaceful again.
Too calm.
The wind moved.
And somewhere high in the sky, the clouds spiraled for a moment.
Marco didn't notice.
But something else noticed him.