Three days had passed since I left Duskwind Hollow.
I walked west, deeper into the wilds. No roads. No signs. Just thick trees and strange winds. Every night, the forest felt colder. The shadows moved when I wasn't looking. And sometimes I heard whispers that didn't belong to anything I could see.
But I kept going.
Because I had nowhere else to go.
I couldn't go back to the Broken Spire. The hero party was out there, still hunting me. I had no allies. No shelter. Only the Grimoire, the bead from the Hollowmaster, and the growing weight of magic I barely understood.
And now, I had something else too.
A mark.
I first noticed it on the second night.
A faint shimmer on the back of my hand.
At first, I thought it was dirt. I tried to wash it off with water from a stream.
But it didn't go away.
Under moonlight, it glowed faintly like silver thread in my skin.
A symbol.
A spiral, inside a circle, with four lines around it like the points of a compass.
I checked the Grimoire.
Nothing matched.
Then I remembered what the Hollowmaster had said: "You're already half-cursed."
And the Veiled One—the spirit who gave the feather.
Maybe this mark was her sign.
Or maybe it was a warning.
On the fourth day, I found an old path.
Overgrown, but still there. Stones covered in moss. Broken wooden signs.
It led down into a shallow valley filled with fog.
At the bottom, I saw buildings.
Not houses.
A graveyard.
Hundreds of stone markers. Tall and wide. Some shaped like people, some like animals, some like things I didn't understand. A few glowed faintly, just like my mark.
At the center of the graveyard was a large arch made of black stone.
Carved across the top were the words:
"Here sleep the forgotten."
And beneath it, a wooden door.
Not part of any building. Just a door standing in the middle of the graveyard, all by itself.
I stepped closer.
As I did, the bead in my pocket grew warm.
I pulled it out. It pulsed softly with pale light.
Then cracked.
A small noise, like glass breaking under a blanket.
I remembered the Hollowmaster's words:
"When the bead cracks, speak your truth. Not Kael's. Yours."
I didn't know what it meant. But the door was calling me.
So I stood in front of it. Took a deep breath.
And said, "I'm not Kael Thorne."
The door opened.
Not just the kind you get in a room with no light.
This darkness moved.
It had depth. Weight.
And something inside it was breathing.
I stepped through anyway.
The Grimoire whispered: "This is where truth sleeps."
I found myself in a small chamber made of stone. Cold. Silent. The walls were covered in markings—runes, sigils, and names. Thousands of them. Etched in every language.
In the middle of the room stood a figure.
Not quite human.
It wore a cloak made of stitched faces. Not bloody. Not fresh. Just pale and empty, like masks. It had no hands, only long black sleeves that floated as if underwater.
Its head was covered by a veil.
Thin, silver, almost see-through.
Behind it, I saw nothing. No face. Just swirling mist.
The figure spoke without moving.
"You are not the one I chose. Yet you carry the mark."
"You gave me the feather," I said quietly.
"I gave it to the soul who whispered its name. That soul was yours."
"What do you want from me?"
"A trade. Memory for magic. Truth for power. Name for name."
I didn't answer.
It stepped closer.
"You walk the path of another. His shadow covers you. But you do not belong to him."
I felt the Grimoire grow hot in my bag.
"You wish to live. Then stop pretending to be dead."
It reached out with one sleeve and touched my forehead.
The mark on my hand burned.
I dropped to my knees.
Visions slammed into me like a wave.
I saw the real Kael Thorne.
Not me.
Him.
Standing in a tower. Laughing as blood poured down stone steps. Binding demons in chains. Breaking souls. Using the Grimoire like a weapon, not a tool.
I saw him fall.
Killed by the hero party.
But before death, he smiled.
Because he had done something no one saw.
He had tied his magic to the world.
To a mark.
To a place.
To a door.
Then I saw myself.
The real me.
Before I woke in this world.
Sitting at a desk. Reading. Alone.
Dreaming of being someone stronger.
Someone feared.
Someone like Kael.
Then waking up inside his body.
The vision ended.
I was back in the chamber, gasping.
The Veiled One stood over me.
"Now you know."
"I'm not him," I whispered.
"No. But his story is yours now. What you do with it is your truth."
"What if I don't want to be a villain?"
"Then don't. Be something else. But don't lie to yourself."
The mark on my hand changed.
The spiral opened.
The four points bent inward.
It became a new symbol.
Mine.
Not Kael's.
The Veiled One faded into the mist.
The chamber began to crumble.
I ran for the door and jumped through just as the world behind it collapsed into fog and flame.
I landed back in the graveyard.
The door behind me was gone.
The bead was shattered in my hand.
But I was still breathing.
I looked at my mark. It was warm. Alive.
I could feel something flowing through me.
Magic but different from the Grimoire.
It wasn't blood magic. Or binding.
It was voice.
Will.
The kind that made spells not by pain but by presence.
I spoke the first word that came to mind:
"Light."
A small orb appeared in my hand.
It glowed, bright and soft.
I almost cried.
That night, I made camp at the edge of the graveyard.
I sat by a small fire, the Grimoire in my lap, and the new mark glowing faintly.
I wasn't Kael.
I wasn't a hero.
I was someone between.
Someone trying to survive a world made of teeth and shadows.
But now I had something I didn't before.
A name. A truth. A path.
And I had one more thing:
A plan.
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And so, chapter 7 is done.
So here I am thanking you for taking yout precious time to read this and your patience.
See you in the next one!