Kael's vision turned red.
The whispers in his mind became screams. His bones cracked as the Ruinmark's power flooded through him—muscles swelling, skin stretching tight over sudden, unnatural strength. The world sharpened into painful clarity: the stink of reaver sweat across the water, the coppery tang of blood on the wind, the rapid-fire pulse of every living heart aboard *The Wraith's Kiss*.
**Hunger. Need. KILL.**
Lirya's shout sounded distant: "Kael, don't—!"
He leapt.
Twenty feet of open sea vanished beneath him as he crashed onto the reaver ship's deck. Planks shattered under his weight. The robed figure recoiled, their green-lit hands rising in warding—too slow.
Kael's fist took the sorcerer in the chest. Ribs snapped like dry twigs. The reaver flew backward through their own crew, bones crunching against the mast.
Silence. Then—
Chaos.
Reavers swarmed him with rusted axes and jagged swords. Kael moved without thought, his body a weapon. A backhand sent two men flying overboard. A kick caved in another's chest. Blood sprayed hot across his face, and the mark sang with pleasure.
Somewhere beyond the red haze, a voice that wasn't his own hissed: **More.**
A blade bit into his shoulder—shallow, meaningless. Kael grabbed the attacker's wrist and crushed it. The reaver's scream cut off as Kael slammed his forehead into the man's nose, painting them both in gore.
Movement to his left. The robed figure had risen, one arm dangling useless, the other glowing brighter. They spat blood and hissed words that made the air vibrate.
Green fire erupted toward Kael.
He roared—not in pain, but in rage—as the flames washed over him. His skin blackened... then healed, the mark pulsing with dark energy. The sorcerer's eyes widened.
Kael was on them in two strides.
Up close, he saw the truth: this was no ordinary reaver. Beneath the tattered hood was a face as ruined as his own soul—skin etched with the same twisting marks as his palm, but in sickly green. Their eyes were fully black, no whites remaining.
A Ruinborn.
The creature gasped: "Brother..."
Kael's fist closed around its throat.
"Kael! Stop!"
Lirya's voice pierced the fog. He turned, the Ruinborn still dangling in his grip. She stood on the Wraith's rail, daggers drawn but not attacking. Behind her, Dain's crew gaped in horror.
The moment stretched.
Kael looked down at his hands—covered in blood, the fingers elongated into near-claws. At the corpses littering the deck. At the whimpering reavers crawling away from him.
The mark's power receded like a tide, leaving agony in its wake. His body shrank back to normal, every muscle screaming. The Ruinborn dropped to the deck, gasping.
Lirya jumped across, landing lightly. "You let it take over," she hissed. "You could have killed us all."
Kael spat blood. "I saved your lives."
Dain's voice carried across the water: "Debatable."
The Ruinborn coughed, drawing their attention. Its—*his*—green marks flickered weakly. "The Hollow... sends warning..."
Lirya went rigid. "What?"
"Blackreach... betrayed..." The creature's black eyes fixed on Kael. "They know... you come..."
Then—impossibly—the reaver smiled. And spoke in perfect, unbroken Common: "The Light sees all."
With a final shudder, the green marks flared—and the Ruinborn's body dissolved into acrid smoke.
---
Back aboard *The Wraith's Kiss*, no one spoke.
The surviving reavers had thrown down their weapons the moment their leader died. Dain had them chained below deck—"Cargo pays better than corpses," he'd grunted—but his crew gave Kael a wide berth.
Lirya worked silently, stitching a gash on Kael's arm. The needle prickled, but he barely felt it over the bone-deep ache from the mark's usage.
Dain finally broke the silence. "That thing called you 'brother.'"
Kael flexed his hand. The mark had receded, but the skin around it was now permanently gray. "It was Ruinmarked. Like me."
"Not like you," Lirya corrected. "It was fully consumed. A walking corpse."
"And that's my fate."
She didn't deny it.
Dain poured three cups of harsh-smelling liquor. "Drink. You look like you've fought the Abyss and lost."
Kael downed it in one gulp. The burn grounded him. "The Ruinborn said Blackreach was betrayed."
Lirya's hands stilled. "Veylan's enclave is hidden. Only other marked ones know its location."
Dain snorted. "Clearly not."
"The Church," Kael realized. "They turned one of yours."
The implications hung heavy. If the Eternal Light had infiltrated the Ruinmarked, nowhere was safe.
Lirya stood abruptly. "We change course. Head for the Shattered Isles instead."
Dain choked on his drink. "The hells we are! Those waters are—"
"The only place left Veylan might be," she interrupted. "There's an old temple there, from before the Church's rise."
Kael studied her face. "You're hiding something."
For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then: "Veylan isn't just the first Ruinmarked. He's the reason the marks exist at all."
Dain's cup hit the table. "You're taking us to meet the damn *source*?"
Lirya ignored him, speaking only to Kael. "He was a priest, once. Of the old gods. The ones the Church erased. When his temple fell, he made a bargain with—"
"Stop." Kael rubbed his temples. The mark pulsed in time with his heartbeat. "I don't care about ancient history. I want to know two things: how to control this curse, and how to use it to burn the Church to the ground."
A slow smile spread across Lirya's face—the first real one he'd seen from her in ten years. "Then you'll like Veylan. He specializes in burning things."
Dain groaned. "I'm going to regret this."
Above them, the sails snapped full as the ship turned toward darker waters.
The sea turned black three days into the Shattered Isles.
Not the dark blue of deep water—this was thick, like oil, swallowing the sunlight. The air grew heavy, tasting of metal and old blood. Even the waves moved wrong here, sloshing against the hull in sluggish, uneven bursts.
Kael stood at the bow, his Ruinmark prickling. It had been restless since the reaver attack, twitching like a living thing beneath his skin. Now, as they entered the cursed waters, it burned with a low, constant ache.
"Don't touch the water," Dain muttered, joining him at the rail. The captain's usual smirk was gone. "Anything that falls in doesn't come back."
Kael glanced down. For a second, he thought he saw shapes moving beneath the surface—pale, elongated things that vanished when he blinked.
Lirya came up beside them, her own marked arm wrapped in fresh bandages. "We're close. The temple should be on the largest island."
Dain spat overboard. "If it's still there. These isles don't obey normal rules."
As if to prove his point, the fog ahead suddenly parted, revealing jagged cliffs where none had been moments before. A broken landmass rose from the sea, its shores littered with the skeletal remains of ships. At its peak stood a crumbling structure of black stone, its spires leaning at impossible angles.
Kael's breath caught. The temple looked... *wrong*. The longer he stared, the more his eyes hurt, as if the building twisted away from sight whenever he tried to focus.
"Veylan's home," Lirya said softly.
Dain barked orders to the crew, steering them toward a half-collapsed dock. The wood groaned as they tied off, but held.
Kael was first onto the rotting planks, sword drawn. The air here was thick, pressing against his skin like a sweaty palm. The Ruinmark flared in response, shadows writhing up his forearm.
Lirya landed lightly beside him. "Stay sharp. The isles play tricks."
Dain stayed aboard, arms crossed. "You've got six hours. If you're not back by then, we leave."
Kael opened his mouth to argue, but Lirya shook her head. "Fair enough."
As they climbed the winding path up the cliffs, the temperature dropped sharply. Their breath fogged in the air, though the sun still shone weakly overhead. Strange carvings lined the trail—faces stretched in eternal screams, limbs twisted in unnatural poses.
Kael's skin crawled. "What *happened* here?"
"The Church's first purge," Lirya said. "When they overthrew the old gods, they drowned this place in holy fire. Veylan was the only survivor." She touched one of the carvings. "These are the dead. He remembers them."
The temple loomed ahead, its gaping entrance like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole. As they crossed the threshold, Kael's boot kicked something—a human skull, grinning up at him from the dust.
Then the shadows moved.
A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and gaunt, draped in tattered robes. His skin was corpse-pale, stretched tight over sharp bones. And covering every inch of him were Ruinmarks—not just black like Kael's, but red, gold, green, twisting together in a living tapestry.
**Veylan the Hollow** opened eyes that held no pupils, only swirling colors.
"Kael Aranthor," he rasped, voice like dry leaves. "I've been waiting."
---
The interior of the temple defied reason.
One moment they stood in a small chamber, the next a vast hall stretched before them, its walls lined with floating candles that burned with no heat. Veylan led them without speaking, his bare feet making no sound on the cracked tiles.
Finally, they reached a circular room dominated by a pool of still black water. Veylan gestured, and the surface shimmered, showing images:
—A burning city Kael recognized as Veldros, templars marching through the streets.
—A mountain cracking open, something monstrous stirring within.
—And finally, Kael himself, standing atop a pile of corpses, his Ruinmark glowing like a star.
"The future," Veylan said. "One possible path."
Kael tore his gaze away. "I didn't come for visions. I came for answers."
Veylan smiled, revealing needle-thin teeth. "You want to know how to control the mark. How to use it against the Church." He leaned closer. "But first, you must understand its *purpose*."
Lirya shifted uneasily. "Veylan—"
"The marks are not curses," the ancient one continued, ignoring her. "They are *gifts*, left by the true gods when the false Light drove them out. Each mark carries a piece of their power—their *vengeance*."
He reached out, pressing a cold finger to Kael's Ruinmark. Agony lanced up Kael's arm as the mark *writhed*, expanding up to his elbow in an explosion of black tendrils.
Kael fell to his knees, gasping. The whispers returned, louder than ever—but now he could almost *understand* them.
Veylan loomed over him. "The Church fears us because we remember what they tried to erase. Your family died because the Aranthor bloodline carries the old truth in its veins."
Kael gritted his teeth. "What truth?"
"That the so-called Eternal Light is a lie." Veylan's eyes blazed. "And you, Kael of the Ruinmark, are the spark that will burn it all down."