The Voice Beneath the Skin
The jailer's breath hit Cassius Locke's face like a slap—hot, foul, and reeking of rot and gin.
Elias flinched.
No… Cassius's body flinched. A memory older than thought, embedded in bone. Reflexes the scholar never had.
His wrists burned. Rope fibers bit into the raw skin as his hands clenched on instinct.
The jailer grinned. Yellowed teeth flashed like broken tombstones."Still feeling clever, alchemist?" he sneered, leaning in close. "That pretty neck of yours will—"
A flash of heat surged beneath Elias's collarbone. Then, the whisper.
"His left knee buckles when he lies."
The Mark.
Elias stayed still. Watched. Waited.
"—snap clean if you confess," the jailer finished, unaware.
There. A tremor in the left knee. Subtle, but real.
He's under orders. They need me alive.
The chair creaked beneath Elias's weight. Dry wood. Old. Brittle. Breakable.
"Who paid you?" Elias rasped, using Cassius's voice. Rough, deeper than his own. Worn from years of shouting over fires and fumes.
The jailer blinked. "What?"
"The Obsidian Choir doesn't bribe jailers," Elias muttered. He tested the ropes. "So who wants me breathing?"
A twitch. The same knee.
The jailer's fist drew back.
Elias didn't wait.
He threw his weight to the side. The chair cracked against the stone. Pain flared in his shoulder as he slammed to the ground.
But his hands were already moving.
The Price of Knowing
Thirty-seven seconds.
That's how long it took to cut free.
Elias counted each one. Cassius's fingers moved on their own—fast, precise. Even slick with blood, they knew what to do.
The jailer lay in a heap nearby. Unconscious. A dark welt rising where the chair leg had shattered skin.
A ring of keys dangled from his belt.
Too easy.
The Mark pulsed.
"The third key opens nothing.""His shoulder wound itches.""He dreams of drowning."
Elias hesitated.
The third key looked off. Darker. Older.
He tested it on a random lock.
Snap.
The metal broke off with a sharp crack.
A trap. If he'd tried that on the cell door, it would've sealed shut for good.
He stared at the broken piece.
What are you? he thought.
The Mark answered.
—A silver dagger carving a star into a crying newborn——A hundred faces melting together——Elias, standing over his own corpse—
The visions tore through him, then vanished.
Cassius's memories filled the space:
Mercury hissing in coiled glass.A woman's voice trembling: "The Hollow Star chooses who—"Porcelain masks crashing through the workshop door.
Elias staggered to his feet.
"They're coming."
The Mark's whisper was quieter now, but it cut deeper than ever.
The Alchemist's Legacy
The Dredge District reeked of piss and burnt sugar.
Cassius's legs moved on their own. They knew the way, even if Elias didn't.
Down cracked alleys, past slumped buildings and shuttered brothels. Until they reached a half-collapsed shopfront. The sigil on the sign—an ouroboros—was barely visible beneath the grime.
Inside, dust hung like fog in shafts of moonlight pouring through a broken roof.
The Mark pulled him to the hearth. Toward a warped floorboard.
Beneath it:
A vial of black liquid that shivered to the touch.
A journal bound in skin that might once have been human.
A pistol, its grip carved with screaming faces.
Elias opened the journal. The final page read:
"They know about the Catalyst. If you're reading this, I'm dead. Finish the—"
The rest was torn.
Below it, a single word had been carved so deep it bled through the paper.
LIAR
The Mark seared white-hot.
Truth unfolded like a poisoned blossom.
The black liquid was Cassius's last invention. A way to see through the world's skin.
The pistol could kill things that weren't supposed to die.
The journal's writing… shifted under moonlight.
Elias's breath caught.
Something moved outside.
A shadow.
He grabbed the pistol.
The Mark pulsed.
The window shattered.
A porcelain mask stared in from the darkness.
Elias fired.