The forest was alive with whispers—branches shifting in the wind, leaves crunching beneath Raze's boots, the distant calls of creatures he'd never seen but knew to avoid. He moved quickly, unrelenting, each step pulling him further from the village and deeper into the unknown.
He had a goal now, a purpose that burned within him as fiercely as his Vein mark. Somewhere beyond this forest lay the territories where the Veinborn congregated—hidden sects, secret societies, and masters of techniques he had only heard of in half-forgotten tales. The Drakan family had held a stronghold in one of these sects for centuries, a faction dedicated to the Iron Vein. But they had refused him, shut him out. Now, he would find those who had the power he sought and take it for himself.
As he walked, he examined the mark on his forearm, watching the faint silver glow pulse beneath his skin. The Iron Vein mark was still new to him, like a second heartbeat that thrummed with potential. In flashes, he recalled the stories of the Iron Vein—how its wielders could fortify their bodies to withstand any blow, strike with unstoppable force, and endure beyond human limits. But those stories came with warnings, too. The Iron Vein was not a gift; it was a demand, an endless hunger for strength and control.
And Raze was ready to feed it.
It took him three days of wandering through the dense, unforgiving wilderness before he found a sign of civilization. His food was running low, and his patience thinner, but when he saw the faint outline of a stone gate rising above the trees, his resolve strengthened. He approached carefully, stepping lightly, his senses heightened, noting every detail.
The gate was carved with strange symbols—marks of the Veinborn sects. Beyond it stretched a narrow path winding through the cliffs, leading to a village nestled in the mountainside.
He stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger, every nerve ready. The village looked quiet, almost ordinary, but he knew better. The air itself seemed to hum with power, and he spotted figures moving between the buildings, some of them bearing Vein marks of their own.
Raze was just beginning to consider his approach when a voice cut through the silence.
"Lost, stranger?"
He turned sharply, hand tightening on his dagger, but the man standing before him seemed unfazed. He was older, with graying hair and a Vein mark snaking up his neck—a faint golden glow that pulsed with an eerie light.
"Not lost," Raze replied, his voice steady. "Just looking for something."
The man's eyes narrowed. "And what would that be?"
"Power," Raze said simply, letting the word hang in the air.
The man smirked, his gaze appraising. "Power, is it? The path to power here isn't free. And it's not kind to fools who don't know what they're asking for."
Raze matched his stare, unblinking. "I'm no fool."
The man studied him for a moment, then inclined his head toward the gate. "You want power, then follow me. But remember, there are no second chances here."
They walked in silence, the older man leading Raze down the narrow path and into the heart of the village. As they passed, Raze could feel eyes watching him from the shadows, their gazes piercing, measuring.
Finally, they reached a large stone building at the village's center, its walls adorned with weapons and strange, dark symbols. The man gestured for Raze to enter, and he did, stepping into the dimly lit hall where a group of Veinborn awaited.
They looked him over with expressions ranging from curiosity to disdain, and Raze felt the weight of their scrutiny. The man stepped forward, addressing the group.
"This one wants to learn the ways of the Veinborn. He thinks he's worthy."
A low murmur rippled through the room, and a woman with a jagged scar across her face stepped forward, her Vein mark a brilliant red that wrapped around her arm. "The Iron Vein, is it?" she asked, her tone mocking. "It's been a while since we've had one of those. They're either very strong—or very stupid."
Raze met her gaze, unflinching. "Then test me," he said, his voice hard. "If I don't pass, I won't waste your time."
The woman studied him, a hint of interest flickering in her eyes. "Very well. But know this: once you begin, there's no stopping. The Veinborn path doesn't allow for hesitation."
She gestured to a large stone slab at the center of the room. "Lay your arm on the stone. Let us see if the Iron Vein's power flows true in you."
Raze stepped forward, his heart pounding but his expression calm. He placed his arm on the slab, feeling the cool stone beneath his skin. The woman approached, her hand hovering above his forearm, her mark glowing brighter as she began to channel her energy toward him.
The sensation was immediate—a searing pain that shot through his arm, as if his very veins were on fire. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain still as the power surged, testing the strength of his own Vein mark. He could feel the Iron Vein responding, pulsing in answer to the challenge, refusing to be subdued.
"Impressive," the woman murmured, though her voice was tinged with surprise. "Most can't handle the resonance."
Raze managed a grim smile, the pain slowly fading as his mark settled, as if satisfied. "I'm not most people."
The woman gave a curt nod, turning to the others. "We'll train him, but he'll start as a runner. If he wants power, he'll earn it."
Raze didn't react, though the idea of serving as a lowly runner grated against his pride. But he'd play their game. For now. Until he had learned what he needed, until he was strong enough to discard them as easily as they would discard him.
The woman looked at him one last time, her expression hard. "Welcome to the path of the Veinborn, Iron Vein. Survive it, and you might just find what you're looking for."
Raze held her gaze, his mind already calculating, planning. They thought they were testing him, that they could measure his worth.
But soon, he would be the one doing the measuring.