Sara knelt in the Chamber of Marking, black candles casting writhing shadows across ancient stone. Lord Drenmir circled her, his robes drinking in what little light remained. Around them, twelve veterans formed a circle, their void-marks pulsing in unison like a heartbeat of shadow.
"Last chance to walk away," Drenmir's voice carried neither judgment nor encouragement. "Once the void touches you, there is no return."
Sara's hands trembled, but her voice remained steady. "I choose this."
"Do you?" Drenmir stopped before her. "Or do you choose revenge against the gods who burned your village?"
"Does it matter?"
A smile touched his lips. "More than you know." He gestured, and two assistants brought forth a basin of liquid darkness. "Intention shapes the void-marks. Hatred makes them burn. Desperation makes them corrupt. But purpose..." His own marks pulsed with controlled power. "Purpose makes them transform."
The liquid in the basin began to move of its own accord, reaching out with tendrils of pure shadow. Sara fought the urge to recoil as Drenmir continued:
"This will hurt more than anything you've ever experienced. Some go mad. Some die. Some emerge changed in ways we cannot predict. Are you certain?"
Sara thought of her father's face as divine soldiers dragged him away. Of her mother's screams as holy fire consumed their home. Of her sister's empty eyes after the 'purification.'
"I'm certain."
Drenmir nodded to his assistants. They began to chant in languages that hurt to hear, their voices weaving a tapestry of power that made reality itself shudder.
The first touch of void essence felt like ice against Sara's skin. Then the pain began.
She screamed as liquid shadow burrowed into her flesh, rewriting her very existence. Each heartbeat sent waves of agony through her transforming body. The void didn't just mark her skin—it rewrote her from the inside out.
Through the haze of torment, she heard Drenmir's voice: "Focus on why you chose this. Let your purpose guide the transformation."
Sara clung to her reasons like a drowning woman to driftwood. Not just revenge—though that burned bright. Not just survival—though that pulsed strong. But something deeper: the desire to protect others from what she had endured. To stand against divine cruelty. To help build something new from the ashes of celestial tyranny.
The void responded to her resolve. Where it had burned, it now flowed. Where it had torn, it now reshaped. The marks spreading across her skin took on patterns she hadn't seen before—intricate swirls that spoke of protection rather than destruction.
Hours passed like years. When the transformation finally ended, Sara lay gasping on the cold stone. Her skin felt like a map of lightning, every nerve singing with new awareness.
Drenmir knelt beside her, studying the unique patterns of her marks. "Interesting. I've not seen this configuration before."
"Is that... bad?" Sara managed through ragged breaths.
"On the contrary." He helped her to her feet. "It means you found your own way through the void. Not driven by hate or fear, but by something rarer." He traced one of the swirling patterns. "These speak of shelter. Of guardianship. You may have given us something… new."
As Sara left the chamber on unsteady legs, she caught her reflection in a polished shield. Void-marks spiraled across her skin like constellations of dark stars. But they didn't feel like chains or scars.
They felt like armor.
And somewhere deep inside, where the void had touched her soul, she felt something the gods had never given her:
Purpose.