[The Mark Burns]
Andrew barely felt the cold wind against his skin.
His entire focus was on the mark.
It pulsed faintly against his wrist, just beneath the dried blood and dirt. The faint, almost imperceptible symbol shimmered under the first light of dawn, as if reacting to something unseen.
He clenched his fingers, trying to will it away—but it didn't fade.
Celia hadn't noticed it yet.
She walked ahead, adjusting her cloak as the morning mist curled around them. The forest was quiet now, as if the night's horrors had never happened.
But Andrew knew better.
Something had changed.
And he had the feeling it was only the beginning.
[The Road to Blackmere]
The journey was brutal.
Andrew's wounds burned with every step, but he pushed forward. Celia had offered to stop and rest, but they both knew the truth—they couldn't afford to slow down.
The stranger's words still echoed in Andrew's mind.
"The gods are watching."
But why?
Celia had refused to talk about it. She had deflected, avoided, changed the subject.
And that only made Andrew want answers even more.
After hours of silent marching, the trees finally began to thin.
The ground beneath them shifted from soft forest soil to cobbled stone.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "This is a road."
Celia nodded. "We're close."
Andrew looked ahead. The landscape had changed—towering cliffs loomed in the distance, cutting across the horizon like the jagged fangs of a beast. And nestled between them, half-hidden in the morning fog, was a city.
Blackmere.
Andrew exhaled sharply.
Finally. Civilization.
But something about it felt… off.
Even from a distance, Blackmere looked wrong.
The walls were dark, reinforced with iron spikes, and the towers stretched into the sky like twisted fingers.
A city built for war, not for peace.
Celia caught his expression and smirked. "Welcome to Blackmere."
Andrew frowned. "Charming place."
Celia chuckled. "You get used to the paranoia."
Andrew didn't like the sound of that.
[The City Gates]
As they approached, Andrew noticed the guards.
Blackmere wasn't like the peaceful towns he remembered from his past. The sentries wore heavy, dark armor, their faces hidden behind steel masks. Each carried a halberd, and their eyes burned with the same ruthless caution Andrew had seen in mercenaries and killers.
The closer they got, the more eyes fell on them.
Andrew tensed. His instinct screamed danger.
Celia, however, walked forward like she belonged.
One of the guards stepped forward, eyeing them.
"State your business." His voice was harsh, like gravel scraping against metal.
Celia smirked. "Trade."
The guard didn't move. "With what merchant?"
Celia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "Tell Kieran the Ghostblade is back."
The guard stiffened just slightly.
Then, after a tense moment, he stepped aside. "Move along."
Andrew followed Celia through the gates, but his mind was racing.
Ghostblade?
He didn't get the chance to ask.
Because the moment they entered the city—the atmosphere changed.
[A City of Wolves]
Blackmere was alive—but not in the way Andrew had expected.
It wasn't the warm, bustling kind of city he had dreamed of. Instead, it felt like a den of predators.
The streets were narrow, filled with dark-cloaked figures and watchful eyes. Merchants sold goods from behind reinforced stalls, their hands never straying far from concealed daggers.
And everywhere, there was a feeling of unspoken tension.
Andrew noticed it immediately.
The way people moved in groups. The way no one walked alone for long.
The way conversations stopped whenever a stranger got too close.
This wasn't a city.
It was a battlefield waiting to explode.
Celia led him deeper through the winding streets, taking turn after turn until they arrived at a small, unassuming building wedged between two massive structures.
A simple wooden door. No sign. No windows.
Celia knocked twice. Then, once more.
Silence.
Then, a click.
The door creaked open, and a pair of sharp amber eyes peered through the gap.
A voice, smooth and amused, greeted them.
"Well, well. Look what the wind dragged in."
[The Man Named Kieran]
The man who opened the door was tall, lean, and dangerous.
Kieran.
His black coat was lined with silver, and his gloved hands rested lazily on the hilts of two daggers strapped to his waist.
But it was his smile that set Andrew on edge.
It wasn't the smile of a friend.
It was the smile of someone who enjoyed playing with his food.
Celia sighed. "Still dramatic, I see."
Kieran chuckled. "And you're still alive. How disappointing."
Celia rolled her eyes and pushed past him. "We need a place to lay low."
Kieran's gaze flickered to Andrew. His smirk widened. "Who's the stray?"
Andrew stiffened. "Andrew."
Kieran didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly.
Then—his eyes flickered down to Andrew's wrist.
Andrew tensed.
The mark.
For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Kieran's gaze.
Then, just as quickly, he smiled.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Andrew's stomach turned cold.
Kieran had noticed it.
And that meant he knew something.
[The Price of Information]
Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with scattered weapons, maps, and half-empty bottles of something that smelled strong enough to kill a man.
Celia collapsed onto a couch, exhaling sharply.
Kieran leaned against the wall, eyes never leaving Andrew.
"So," he said smoothly, "what brings you two to my lovely doorstep?"
Celia glanced at Andrew, then back at Kieran. "We need information."
Kieran grinned. "Information is expensive."
Celia tossed a small pouch onto the table. "That should cover it."
Kieran glanced inside. His grin widened.
"Well, well. Someone's been busy."
Celia crossed her arms. "Talk."
Kieran took his time, swirling the coins in his palm before finally leaning forward.
"Fine," he said. "But first, tell me—"
His gaze flickered back to Andrew.
"Where did you get that mark?"
Andrew's breath hitched.
He knew.
Andrew wasn't sure how, but Kieran knew.
And before he could answer, Kieran's smirk widened—
And he whispered something that sent ice through Andrew's veins.
"Welcome to the game, Shadowmarked."
Andrew's pulse thundered.
Shadowmarked?
"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.
Kieran chuckled. "It means," he said, leaning closer, "you've just become very valuable."
A knock suddenly echoed at the door. Loud. Urgent.
Kieran's expression darkened.
He exchanged a glance with Celia.
"Trouble?" she muttered.
Kieran's smile returned—this time, sharper.
"Depends," he mused. "How fast can you run?"
The door exploded inward.
And everything descended into chaos.
[The Hunt Begins]
Shouts. Blades flashing in the firelight.
Andrew barely had time to react before figures in dark armor swarmed the room, their weapons drawn.
Kieran vanished into the shadows.
Celia grabbed Andrew's arm—
"Run!"
Andrew didn't hesitate.
They burst through the back door just as a blade whistled past his ear, embedding into the wood beside him.
Heavy footsteps thundered behind them.
Andrew's heart pounded.
They weren't just being attacked.
They were being hunted.
And somehow, Andrew knew—
This was only the beginning.