The world was soaked in the scent of rain — that earthy, fresh aroma that followed a storm, the kind that clung to everything like an old secret. Elias felt it in the air as he walked, droplets tapping against the cobblestones like a quiet warning, steady and unyielding. His boots made soft splashes with every step, the damp seeping into the edges of his worn shoes, but it wasn't the rain that made his chest tighten.

It was the pull.

There was no reason for it. No map, no destination. Just a slow, aching tug beneath his ribs, like an invisible thread tied around his heart, pulling him forward. It had started as a murmur, a whisper barely more than a thought. But now? Now, it was a constant, gnawing presence — as though the very rhythm of his heart was synced to its unrelenting tug.

And Elias hated it.

It was like watching his body betray him. His feet moved without asking, his mind screaming for him to stop, yet his legs carried him further. The streets around him blurred into a haze of wet stone and fleeting figures, faces that meant nothing. The city felt empty, the world slipping away with every step he took. All he could focus on was the pull.

His breath quickened, coming in short, sharp bursts, fogging in the cold air. His hands stayed buried deep in his coat pockets, fingers clenched into fists, as though he could fight it off. But the pull didn't care about his resistance. It didn't care about his will. It just was.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep—

He stopped dead.

Ahead, the tower loomed.

It wasn't like any tower he'd ever seen. No graceful spires or castle walls. This was something else entirely — a monolith of black stone, stretching impossibly high, jagged and sharp against the stormy sky. It wasn't just a building; it felt like a thing alive, something that shouldn't be. The surface of the stone shimmered as though wet, but it wasn't rain that made it gleam. It was something darker, something wrong. Sigils crawled over its surface, shifting and twisting like insects burrowing beneath skin. Elias couldn't make sense of them. They were too fluid, too alien, as though his mind was refusing to hold their shape for long.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, the pull in his chest tightening, growing, until it was all he could feel. He hadn't needed anyone to tell him. The tower had called him here. The pull had led him here. There was no other explanation.

The sigil on the door shimmered, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic glow. A deep amber light, steady, like the beating of his own heart.

His mark flared in response.

It wasn't pain. Not exactly. It was more like a heat, a pressure, something that simmered under his skin and made his bones ache. His hand clenched tighter, the mark on his palm burning as though it were alive. The day it had appeared, it had felt like the world had split into two parts: before the mark, and after. There had been life, and then there had been this.

Across the street, a few people huddled beneath the overhangs of nearby buildings, watching him. Hooded figures, faces hidden, eyes hollow. They didn't speak, but their gaze was unmistakable. They knew.

Another one.

Poor fool.

He's going in.

Elias didn't look at them for long, but he knew. He knew what they were thinking.

He turned his attention back to the tower.

The air around it was heavier. Not just the weight of the storm, but something else. The air hummed, alive with an energy that pressed against his skin, a presence that wasn't quite wind, wasn't quite anything else. It was as if the tower itself was watching him. Breathing. Waiting.

Then, the voice.

> "Marked."

The words slid into his mind, smooth and cold. It wasn't a sound, not really. More like an impression, a presence in his skull, sharp and unyielding.

> "Enter, or be unmade."

His breath caught, heart pounding in his chest. He stood frozen, his body unwilling to move despite the words burning through him. The crowd behind him stirred, a few heads turning, a few figures adjusting their hoods to shield themselves from the rain.

They had heard it, too. They knew.

Enter, or be unmade.

The words weren't a threat. They weren't a choice. They were a fact. There was no room for doubt, no hesitation. There was only the pull. And the promise that if he didn't give in, the pull would drag him down to something worse.

A scream shattered the silence.

It didn't sound like the scream of a person. It was deeper, more guttural, a cry that tore at the edges of reality itself. It echoed from behind the door, distant yet too close, like it was already inside his head. The sound twisted, became something that couldn't be named, and then faded into the silence.

Don't move. Don't move. Don't—

But his legs were already moving.

Step by step, he walked toward the door.

The crowd didn't call out. They didn't stop him. They just watched, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, unmoving. They'd seen this before. They knew what came next.

The door opened.

It wasn't a creak, or a slow groan of old hinges. It simply… opened. Like it had been waiting for him, as if it had always been waiting for him to notice it. The air shifted, a quiet tension filling the space, and suddenly the rain seemed to stop, as if the world had held its breath.

There was no hallway. No walls. No floor. Just darkness. Pure, black, inky darkness that swallowed everything. It wasn't the absence of light. It was something deeper, something more visceral. It moved. It breathed. Like the edge of sleep, where nothing made sense, where shadows could take shape and meaning could slip away.

A scream echoed again, but it was brief, a jagged sound that was abruptly cut off.

"Nice to see someone else joining the party."

The voice came from his right.

A man stood there, leaning casually against the wall. His clothes were worn, patched up where they had been torn, and his hair was wild, rain sticking to his face like it had been there for hours. He grinned at Elias, sharp teeth flashing in the dim light.

"Thought you'd turn around," the man said, his eyes flicking to the mark on Elias's hand, his own identical sigil glowing faintly. "But I guess you're too far gone for that now, huh?"

Elias swallowed, voice thick. "Who are you?"

"Varric." He tapped the sigil on his palm like it was a part of him, something he had worn for years. "Welcome to the club."

Elias didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the open door, the blackness beyond it drawing him in like a magnet.

"Don't think too hard about it," Varric added, stepping closer. "Ain't much to think about. You walk in, or it drags you in. Same choice we all got."

"Doesn't sound like a choice," Elias muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Varric's grin vanished, and his gaze darkened. "That's because it ain't. You're not here 'cause you chose to be. You're here because it called you. So you can either walk in like you own it..." He stepped closer, his voice turning hard, "or you let it drag you in. Piece by piece."

Elias's heart pounded in his chest. Varric was right. This wasn't a choice. He had never really had one.

The rain picked up again, harder this time, soaking the cobblestones. The crowd remained still, their gazes unwavering. The world outside the door felt so far away now.

Elias's eyes were drawn to the blackness again. His life before the mark was slipping away, like sand through his fingers. He had lost everything to it — his friends, his family, even his name. To them, he was just another fool, just another person pulled toward the tower.

His breath hitched. He thought of turning around, walking away, finding a life that didn't have this pull.

But then, another scream tore through the air, jagged and unnatural.

Elias shook his head. There was no turning back now.

He took a deep breath, held it, and stepped forward.

Varric's voice followed him, low and gravelly. "That's the spirit, kid. Go find out who you really are."

The air shifted. The rain vanished. The cold disappeared.

Elias didn't look back.

The crowd, the street, the world — it was gone.

The blackness surrounded him, enveloping him. It was not empty. It was full, thick, alive.

> "Enter, or be unmade."

The words didn't come from his head this time. They felt like they were coming from everywhere, from inside him, pulsing with each heartbeat.

Elias took another step. Then another.

The pull became a storm, pulling him forward faster and faster, until his feet no longer touched anything at all. His breath came faster, shallow, desperate.

He looked back once.

No door. No light. No way out.

Only darkness.

> "Enter, or be unmade."

The words were louder now, beating in time with his heart.

Elias took another step.

And then he was swallowed by the dark.

Before it consumed him entirely, one thought flickered through his mind, small but certain:

I will not be unmade.