The sun hung heavy in the sky, and the day's work felt endless. Each bale of hay seemed heavier than the last, each step more draining. My body was used to this by now, but today was different—something felt off.
It started as a tingle, a faint prickling sensation in my fingertips that spread slowly up my arms. At first, I ignored it, assuming it was just fatigue. But then the tingling turned to heat, and the heat to an unbearable burn.
I dropped the bale, stumbling backward. "Rorik!" I called out, my voice strained.
The burning intensified, searing through my arms as though my very blood had caught fire. My vision blurred, my head pounding with a pressure that felt like it might split my skull. I clutched at my arms, desperate to make it stop.
Then, just as the world seemed to collapse around me, everything went black.
---
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Rorik's face.
He loomed over me, his expression unreadable at first, but then he smiled—a rare, genuine smile that softened the hard lines of his face.
"Finally awake," he said, his voice carrying a strange mix of relief and pride.
I blinked, disoriented, the pounding in my head now a dull ache. My body felt heavy, but the burning in my arms was gone.
"What happened?" I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy.
"You went through the changing," Rorik said simply.
His words hit me like a hammer. The changing? I struggled to sit up, my mind racing.
"I... what does that mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rorik nodded toward my right arm. "See for yourself."
With trembling hands, I pulled up my sleeve.
The mark was massive—a swirling, intricate spiral of red patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the sunlight. It was unlike anything I'd seen before. The marks I'd noticed on Rorik's arm or the guards in Akerholt had been smaller, simpler, covering only part of the forearm.
This one covered my entire arm, from shoulder to wrist, its vivid red spirals extending onto my shoulder and disappearing beneath my shirt.
I stared, my breath catching in my throat.
"It's... huge," I muttered, unable to tear my eyes away.
"Bigger than most," Rorik said, his tone low.
For a moment, I couldn't process anything else. But then a faint ache in my left arm drew my attention. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I turned to look.
My heart stopped.
The sleeve of my left arm had slipped slightly, revealing a faint blue glow beneath the fabric. With shaking hands, I rolled it up.
Another mark.
This one was blue, just as intricate and massive as the red on my right arm. The spirals and patterns mirrored each other, covering my entire arm from shoulder to wrist.
I stared in disbelief.
"Two marks?" I whispered, the words barely audible.
"Two marks," Rorik echoed, his voice heavy with meaning.
---
I looked up at him, my mind spinning. "What... what does this mean?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "I've never seen anything like it. One mark, sure. But two?" He shook his head. "That's unheard of."
The weight of his words pressed down on me. I flexed my fingers, watching the patterns on my arms seem to shift faintly with the movement.
"Does it hurt?" Inga's soft voice broke through my haze.
I turned to see her kneeling nearby, her face etched with concern. Beside her, Emery hovered anxiously, her hands clenched into fists.
"No," I said, my voice steadying. "Not anymore."
Emery stepped forward, her eyes wide as she looked at my arms. "They're... beautiful," she said, her voice filled with awe. "But... what does it mean? Why are there two?"
"I wish I knew," I said, glancing at Rorik.
He rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. "We'll figure it out," he said, though his tone betrayed his uncertainty. "For now, just know this—you've crossed a threshold. Whatever path lies ahead, these marks will define it."
---
Emery knelt beside me, her hand brushing against mine. "You scared me," she said softly. "I thought something terrible had happened."
I gave her a faint smile. "I'm okay," I said, though the weight of the marks made the words feel hollow.
She nodded, but her worry didn't fade. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Rorik cleared his throat, drawing our attention. "Enough sitting around," he said gruffly. "You need rest—and answers. Both will come in time."
I nodded, though my mind was far from rest. As I looked at the vivid marks on my arms, a sense of foreboding settled over me.
This wasn't just a change. It was a transformation. And whatever came next, I had to be ready.