The sun rose slowly over the lawless island of Brimvale, casting a dull red glow over its crooked buildings and scarred stone walls. The blood from last night's fight was still fresh on the tavern floor, and the whispers had already begun to spread like wildfire through the alleyways and docks.
"The boy with silver hair...""He cut down Daggerhand in a single strike...""He bears the Mark of the Damned."
Raizen sat alone in the upstairs room of the tavern, staring out the cracked window as the wind swept through the torn curtains. He wasn't interested in the fear. Fear was expected. Necessary. But he wasn't after whispers — he was after loyalty… and conquest.
His reflection stared back at him faintly in the glass: silver hair wild and untamed, eyes too sharp for someone so young, and the faint glow of the Mark still pulsing faintly on his chest beneath his shirt. It hadn't stopped burning since the night of the pact. And lately, it was starting to feel… restless.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, there was silence.
And then—
"You move quickly, Raizen D. Crow."
The voice wasn't his own. It came from the shadow that pooled in the corner of the room. Raizen turned sharply, hand flying to the hilt of his blade.
From the darkness emerged a hooded figure, old and gaunt, with a staff carved from black bone and a single, silver eye gleaming under the hood.
Raizen didn't draw — not yet.
"You know my name," he said calmly.
"I know much more than that," the man said, stepping into the dim light. His cloak billowed despite the still air. "I know what you've done. And I know what follows a pact like yours."
Raizen said nothing. His instincts told him the man was dangerous, but not in the way of swords or brute force. This one had seen things. Known things.
"So what are you, then? Prophet? Sorcerer? Another devil in disguise?"
The old man chuckled. "Once, I was like you — young, hungry, desperate to change the world. I too made a deal. Not with your Devil, but one just as ancient. I came to warn you… before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Raizen asked, voice cool. "My brother's already dead. My home is ash. There's no going back."
The old man pointed his staff at Raizen's chest — at the Mark.
"That thing on you… it is not just a symbol. It is a seed. And soon, it will bloom. The power it gives you is not free, nor infinite. It will feed on you, Raizen. It will change the way you think. The way you feel. You'll begin to lose pieces of yourself. Your pain. Your joy. Even your memories. It will take them all."
Raizen's eyes narrowed. "I don't need memories. I need power. I need to break this world."
"Then listen carefully, boy," the man said, voice rising. "You will. You will break this world. But you will break with it. That mark doesn't make you a king. It makes you a weapon. And all weapons are meant to be used — and discarded."
Raizen stood abruptly, his energy flaring, the mark glowing brighter.
"I made my choice. Whatever price there is, I'll pay it. You think your warning scares me?"
The man didn't flinch. He only lowered his voice.
"It's not meant to scare you. It's meant to give you a sliver of hope. Because somewhere, out there, there's another who made the same pact — long before you. And he's still alive. Still fighting. But he's no longer human."
A silence fell over the room. Raizen looked into the old man's eyes and saw something he didn't expect — regret.
"Where is he?" Raizen asked, voice low.
"You'll find him when the mark begins to consume you. And when you do, ask yourself this: will you still be Raizen D. Crow? Or just another shadow in the Devil's game?"
The man turned and walked back into the corner — and vanished like smoke in wind.
Later that night, Raizen sat by the docks alone, staring at the black water. The mark on his chest was calm… for now. But his mind replayed the words over and over.
"The mark will bloom."
"You'll begin to lose yourself."
"There's another like you."
Raizen clenched his fist. He wouldn't be controlled. Not by fate. Not by a mark. And not by a Devil.
But for the first time since Noctis burned, a flicker of doubt touched his heart.
And it chilled him more than any sword ever could.
End of Chapter 7: Whispered Warnings