At dawn, Lyra was the first to wake. She rubbed her tired eyes and looked at Alex. His face was pale—almost translucent in the morning sunlight—and deep, dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, as if the past days had drained every ounce of strength from him. His skin glistened with sweat, and his breathing was uneven, shallow. From time to time, a faint shiver ran through his body, as if he were fighting off a fever.
Lyra frowned and hesitantly reached out her hand. She slowly lifted his shirt to check the state of the wound.
At that moment, Alex flinched and opened his eyes.
— It looks bad... she muttered, inspecting his back.
The deep cuts, which should've already begun to heal, looked worse than before. Thick, dark pus oozed from the wounds, and the surrounding skin had turned an unnaturally gray color. Dead patches seemed to be spreading, as if something was slowly sucking the life from his body.
Lyra leaned in closer, noticing something that sent a chill through her—barely visible pulsations beneath the surface of his skin. As if something inside the wound... was alive.
— It's nothing, Alex growled, gritting his teeth as a fresh wave of pain shot through him. He twitched, muscles tensing in defiance, but forced himself to move. — Come on, help me. We need to see if anything from my gear can be salvaged.
Lyra didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. She knew Alex wouldn't give up. She offered him her hand, and with visible effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms trembled, and his clenched jaw revealed how much effort it took to not show weakness.
With her help, he stood up—though every step seemed like a battle.
They walked back to the place where the battle had taken place the day before.
They found scraps of fabric, a few burned, unusable items. Alex knelt beside the remains of his old backpack. Its contents were scattered around—anything valuable was gone.
Lyra picked up a piece of cloth, her fingers brushing against a burned hole.
— Look at this, she said quietly, handing him the fabric.
Alex took it and held it up to the light.
— The rune... it burned into the material, he muttered, touching the charred edge.
— It won't be any use now, Lyra sighed, tossing the scrap aside.
Alex stared at her for a moment, then looked at one of the ancient stones carved with runes.
— Maybe... I'll draw a new one, he said slowly.
Without hesitation, Lyra gathered anything that might still be useful. When she was done, she helped him approach one of the stones.
It was exceptionally old.
The boulder was cracked from sun and erosion, covered in a thin layer of sand, as though the wind had scoured it for centuries. Yet the rune etched into it was still visible, though time had blurred some of its lines.
Alex pulled out the remnants of a cloth and looked at Lyra.
— I need your dagger.
Without a word, she handed it to him.
He stared at the blade for a moment, as if hesitating. Then, before Lyra could ask what he was doing, he pressed the edge firmly into the tip of his finger.
Lyra flinched.
— What are you—?!
— We don't have coal or chalk, he cut her off, ignoring the stinging pain. — Blood will have to do.
A thin line of blood ran down his hand, and without wasting time, he began to trace symbols onto the cloth. Every movement was precise, though his hand trembled slightly. The lines formed familiar shapes—almost identical to the ones they'd seen before on the ancient stones.
When he finished, he handed the dagger back to her and slowly raised his hand to touch the stone.
The moment his fingers met the surface, the rune flared with bright, almost blinding light.
Alex inhaled sharply as a wave of heat surged through him—pleasant at first, then burning.
Black smoke began to rise from his back.
Lyra watched, eyes wide, instinctively taking a step back.
Alex hissed in pain, but didn't pull his hand away.
The light pulsed stronger, illuminating their surroundings. The smoke pouring from his wound thickened, rising into the air as though something was being burned out of him.
The air filled with the sharp stench of scorched flesh.
Lyra clenched her fists, fighting the urge to help—there was nothing she could do. She had to let him endure it.
The black marks on his back slowly faded until they vanished entirely. In their place remained only hot, red skin, as if the symbols had been branded into his flesh.
It lasted only moments, but to Alex, it felt like eternity.
Finally, his hand dropped, and he staggered, gasping for air.
The two runes he still held in his other hand glowed faintly.
Thin streams of blood began to trickle from his back.
The boulder he had touched suddenly trembled.
Cracks spread across its surface, deepening with each second. In a brief moment, the ancient stone crumbled into fine dust, which rose into the air like silvery mist.
Lyra stared, barely breathing.
— What the hell...?
Alex took a shaky breath and looked at the place where the ancient carving had just been.
— Looks like I drew too much power, he said quietly.
The dust slowly settled, drifting away on the wind.
The next person who came this way would no longer be able to rely on the rune's protection.