The room felt smaller now, the space between us charged with something I couldn't name. Killian's fingers had barely left my wrist, the phantom of his touch still lingering on my skin. But I didn't have time to focus on that. Not when I finally had a chance to demand the truth.
I took a steadying breath. "Killian, tell me about the mark."
His gaze flickered to my wrist again before he stepped back, turning toward the small fire that crackled in the corner of his chambers. The shadows danced along the sharp angles of his face, casting him in an unreadable expression.
"You'll have to be more specific than that, little warrior."
I clenched my fists. "Why do we have them? Why are we born with them already deciding who we must kill?"
Killian was silent for a moment, his back to me. Then he exhaled sharply. "That's the question, isn't it?"
I frowned. "You don't know?"
His head tilted slightly. "No one does."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he turned then, his golden eyes locking onto mine with something dark and dangerous lurking beneath them. "Do you think we've never asked? That no one before us has ever tried to understand? We are warriors bred for bloodshed, Saphira. And the moment we are born, our fates are sealed."
The words sent a chill through me. "That doesn't make sense," I whispered. "Even newborns—before they can speak, before they even open their eyes—they already have a mark. Already know who they must kill to earn their freedom. How?"
Killian studied me, his expression unreadable. "There have been warriors who refused. Who defied the mark and tried to live without bloodshed."
A spark of hope flared in me. "And?"
He finally met my gaze, and the look in his eyes made my stomach drop. "They vanished."
I swallowed hard. "The Kingdoms—"
"No," he interrupted. "It wasn't the Kingdoms that erased them."
My pulse pounded in my ears. "Then what?"
Killian leaned forward, his voice low. "No one knows. They refused to kill. And then, one by one, they disappeared."
A chill ran down my spine. "Where?"
His jaw tightened. "There are places no one dares to tread. Places tied to the first warriors ever marked. Some say the lost ones went looking for answers." His gaze darkened. "They never cameback."
I took a step back, my mind racing. "That's impossible."
Killian's jaw tightened. "Tell that to the ones who tried."
My stomach churned. I had spent my whole life believing we had a choice. That warriors killed to gain their freedom because they were afraid of being trapped. But this… this was something else entirely.
"How does it happen?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Killian hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edge of his shirt. Then, with an almost reluctant movement, he tugged it down slightly, revealing a faint, jagged scar that trailed down his collarbone. The scar was uneven, as if it had been carved into him by something beyond human hands—something unnatural.
My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes widened. "You..."
His smirk was bitter, his gaze hardening as he met mine. "I wanted to know what would happen if I didn't kill."
I stared at him, shock flooding through me. The confident, cocky Killian—always so certain of himself—had once made the same choice I was now considering: he defied the mark. And he had barely survived.
I swallowed, trying to process it. He almost died... for defying the mark.
The weight of his words hit me, crushing down on my chest like a stone. The reality of it all felt suffocating.
Killian watched me closely, his eyes steady, not filled with arrogance but with something far darker—something almost resigned. "You wanted the truth, little warrior. This is it." His voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of his own experience. "We don't have a choice. Not really. The mark… it's not just a symbol. It's a law. If we refuse, we don't just lose our freedom, we lose our lives."
I felt a storm brewing inside me—anger, frustration, confusion all colliding together. "Then why are we doing this?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and desperation. "If this is all true, if the mark has such power over us, then why fight it at all?Why are we still living like this?"
For a long moment, Killian was silent. He didn't answer immediately, as if weighing whether or not to speak. His eyes softened, and he studied me like I was a puzzle he had long given up on solving.
For the first time, Killian didn't have a quick reply. He just watched me, his golden eyes searching. And then, something shifted in his expression. A flicker of something I couldn't quite place.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You sound like them."
"Like who?"
"The ones who vanished."
I stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Killian hesitated, as if debating whether or not to say more. Then he exhaled sharply. "There were warriors who believed the same thing as you. That if they found the beginning, they could find the end."
"And?"
"They disappeared. Every last one of them."
I swallowed hard, my mind spinning.
"What if they found something?" I murmured.
Killian's gaze darkened. "Then it means someone doesn't want us to know."
The realization sent a shiver through me.
We had been raised to believe this was our only path. That the mark dictated our fate. But if there was a chance—just a chance—that this wasn't the truth, then I had to find it.
And for the first time since stepping into Killian's territory, I saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. A glimmer of something dangerous.
Hope.