The wind howled through the ruins like a ghost mourning the past. Stone pillars crumbled around us, and ash-laced soil crunched beneath my boots as we moved deeper into the shadows. The deeper we went, the more I felt it—that invisible pull beneath my skin. Like something ancient had awoken and was watching us. My heart was racing, but there was no turning back. The journey we had started—our quest to uncover the truth—had brought us here, to the heart of the ruins where it all began.
Killian stayed close, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade. For someone who had spent his life pretending nothing could touch him, he was tense. Too tense. The air was heavy with unspoken tension, and I could feel his presence behind me like a shield. As much as I wanted to believe that we could handle whatever we found, part of me felt uncertain. The weight of the journey had settled on my chest, pressing in with every step we took further into the unknown.
"What are you feeling?" I asked quietly, trying to make sense of the strange sensation gnawing at me.
He didn't look at me, eyes fixed ahead. "Like we shouldn't be here."
I exhaled slowly, my breath visible in the air. It was getting colder. Not just physically—but spiritually. The temperature seemed to drop with every step, the cold sinking into my bones. The walls, once proud and steadfast, now seemed to bend and groan under the weight of time. The ruins were alive in a way—alive with memories of things long forgotten, things best left undisturbed.
The path opened into what must have once been a hall or temple, its ceiling long collapsed. Vines twisted through the stone, clinging like desperate fingers, reaching for something that had been lost. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay, the faintest trace of something ancient and unnatural. In the center stood a raised platform. On it, a cracked stone slab, covered in faded, unfamiliar glyphs. I couldn't make sense of them. The symbols were foreign to me, even with everything I had learned so far.
I took a step forward. The pull toward the slab was undeniable. It called to me—an invitation, or perhaps a warning. The weight of it, the way the air felt around it, told me this was the place where everything had started. This was where the truth we had been seeking would finally reveal itself.
But before I could move any closer, Killian grabbed my arm, his grip tight and urgent.
"Wait."
I looked at him, startled. His grip was gentle, but his eyes—they were locked on the slab with something close to fear. Fear. I had never seen Killian show fear before. It was a feeling I thought he was immune to. And yet, in that moment, he looked like he was staring at a ghost.
"What is it?" I whispered, a sense of unease creeping up my spine.
He didn't speak immediately. His gaze never left the stone, and his jaw was clenched tightly. Then, finally, he muttered, "I've seen this before."
My brows drew together. "Where?"
"In a dream," he said, voice low and distant. "When I was younger. After the scar."
The scar. The mark's punishment. The mark that had twisted our lives into something unrecognizable. I had seen the scars on Killian's body, the one that trailed down his collarbone—a jagged reminder of the price he paid for defying the Council's rules. But this wasn't just about the mark anymore. This was about the past, about what had happened to us long before we were born.
A chill settled over my spine. "What happens in the dream?"
Killian shook his head, his eyes still locked on the slab. "It always ends the same. I bleed. I scream. And the mark burns until I wake up."
I swallowed, trying to ignore the knot that was forming in my stomach. "And this stone?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What does it have to do with the dream?"
He glanced at me briefly, but there was something haunted in his eyes. "This slab. It's part of it. It's connected to everything that happened. Everything that the Council did."
My gaze drifted back to the stone. The markings pulsed—barely—but I saw it. A flicker of light deep in the grooves, like something alive was buried beneath them. Something old. Something dangerous.
I stepped forward, slipping from his grasp. The pull was too strong. My fingers brushed the surface of the stone—and everything changed.
The world around me vanished.
Darkness swallowed the ruins, and for a heartbeat, I thought I had gone blind. The emptiness stretched on for what felt like an eternity, a void that consumed me, that threatened to break me apart. Then, a flash—golden, searing—ripped through the darkness, blinding me. It wasn't just light. It was a vision. A flood of memories that weren't mine. But they were so vivid, so real.
A battlefield soaked in blood. A council of cloaked figures, their faces hidden in shadow, chanting in unison. Their words were foreign to me, their language ancient. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but their power was undeniable. A child, crying out in pain, their hand burning with a fresh mark. The mark. It had always been there, a symbol of control, a symbol of power.
I gasped, stumbling back. The visions faded as quickly as they had come, leaving me breathless and disoriented. I clutched Killian's arm, trying to steady myself. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my legs felt like they might give out beneath me.
"What did you see?" Killian asked urgently, his voice low and frantic.
I clutched his arm, struggling to breathe, trying to gather my thoughts. ''They made it. The mark. The council... centuries ago. They created it. It wasn't fate. It wasn't divine punishment. It was a choice. A terrible one."
His eyes darkened. "Why?"
shook my head, unable to answer. "I don't know. But they weren't gods. They weren't even human. They were something... else. Something ancient, something that should have been forgotten. Creatures who wielded powers beyond comprehension. Creatures who decided that we were nothing more than tools in their twisted game. We've been living under their control, trapped in their lie all this time."
Killian stared at me, stunned. His mouth parted slightly, as if trying to process what I had just said. "So it wasn't divine punishment. It wasn't fate."
I nodded slowly, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "It was all a lie. A cruel, horrible decision made by beings who were neither gods nor humans. They were... something else entirely. Their power wasn't born of divinity. It was born of something far darker—something monstrous. And they used that power to control us, to make sure we could never escape their grasp."
Killian's eyes widened, disbelief creeping into his features. "Then what are they? What do they want from us?"
"They want to keep us bound," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "They want to use us, to feed off our power, our fear, our very existence. The mark is just the beginning of their twisted control, and the Reckoning... it's their final test, the way they break us. But they're not gods, Killian. They're ancient, malevolent forces who've been hiding in the shadows, feeding off us, and manipulating everything for their own gain."
The air seemed to grow colder, the shadows around us deepening. I could feel the weight of their presence—something lurking just out of sight, something watching us, waiting. And in that moment, I realized that the creatures who controlled the mark weren't just the architects of our suffering—they were the true monsters.
The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy. For the first time since this journey began, I felt like I understood something. The truth. It wasn't what I had expected. It wasn't a divine curse, a punishment from the gods, or some cosmic mistake. It was the result of a choice made by someone—someone who had set this system in motion centuries ago, someone who had decided that the warriors marked with the symbol would live and die by the Council's will.
And that meant we had a choice too.
"We can undo it," Killian said softly, breaking the silence. "If they made it, then we can break it. We can end this. We can stop it from continuing."
Hope and fear warred inside me. "But how? How do we undo something this old, this powerful?"
Killian's jaw clenched, his fists tightening. "We find the records. The truth they tried to bury. We find the pieces of the past they thought they could erase."
I nodded, my mind racing. "And if they don't exist? What if there's nothing left? What if we're too late?"
His gaze hardened, the firelight flickering in his eyes. "Then we make them regret ever trying to erase it."
We were quiet as we made camp in what remained of the temple. The fire barely caught; the air was too damp, too heavy. The shadows seemed to press in around us, thick and suffocating. I sat close to the flames anyway, needing the light, needing something warm to hold onto. The darkness of the ruins had seeped into my bones, and it was hard to shake the feeling that something else was watching us—something ancient and malevolent.
Killian sat beside me, hands clasped between his knees. For once, he wasn't smirking. Wasn't teasing. Just... quiet. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him too. He had carried this burden for so long, and now, we were finally facing the truth. The truth about the marks, the Council, and everything we had been told was a lie.
"What now?" I asked, breaking the silence.
He didn't answer at first, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought. Then, finally, he spoke. "We find the rest. The records. The pieces they tried to bury. The truth. It's out there. We just have to dig deep enough to find it."
I nodded, but a question lingered in the back of my mind. "And if they don't exist? If there's nothing left? What will we do then?"
His jaw clenched. "Then we make them regret ever trying to erase it. We make sure they never have the power to control us again."
The fire crackled softly in the silence, the flames dancing in the darkness.