The Eternal Hunt

The Mark of the First Blood

## **Chapter 6: The Mark of the First Blood**

Vaelen's steps echoed softly as he left the Vale of Silence behind. The mist clung to his cloak, reluctant to release him. But as he emerged from the shadows of the twisted woods, the cursed air gave way to the biting chill of the open night.

The stars above flickered like distant embers, offering no warmth. Yet they remained untouched by the corruption below — a reminder that some things still endured.

But Vaelen could not linger.

He pressed onward, following the fragmented memories that tugged at his thoughts. The words of the crimson-clad woman echoed in his mind.

> *"The path to the First Blood awaits."*

The Hunt’s presence lingered, though dulled. The whispers had quieted, but the hunger within him stirred. Even now, the distant pulse of cursed blood coursed through his veins — a reminder of what still bound him.

Hours passed. The trees thinned, and the skeletal remains of ancient ruins rose from the earth like forgotten sentinels. Cracked stone arches, toppled pillars, and shattered carvings littered the landscape.

This was once a city.

But time had devoured its name.

Vaelen traced his fingers along the scorched stone, the marks of the past still visible. Symbols of blood and flame. Sacrifice and power. The echoes of a forgotten covenant.

Then he saw it.

At the heart of the ruins, a massive circular altar stood, its surface blackened and cracked. Ancient sigils pulsed faintly with crimson light, as though still tasting the memory of spilled blood.

> *"The First Blood."*

Vaelen approached, the weight of the moment pressing upon him. Whatever had begun here centuries ago had not truly ended. The power that stained these stones had never fully died.

He knelt before the altar, his hands trembling as he traced the central symbol — a mark of interlocking fangs, surrounded by a ring of ancient runes. The language was unknown, yet its meaning was clear.

> *"Bound by blood. Freed by choice."*

The ground beneath him pulsed. Shadows shifted. And then, without warning, a presence stirred.

A voice — ancient and cold — echoed from the depths of the ruins.

> *"Who seeks the truth of the First?"*

Vaelen's jaw tightened. "I seek freedom. From the Hunt. From the blood that binds me."

The voice rumbled, like distant thunder.

> *"Freedom demands a price. Are you prepared to face it?"*

Vaelen's heart pounded. He had fought through the Vale, silenced the Shade Priest, and defied the whispers of his curse. He would not turn back now.

"I am."

The altar ignited. Crimson light surged from its core, casting long shadows across the ruins. The symbols blazed with power, and the mark of the First Blood pulsed beneath Vaelen’s hands.

The Hunt had begun anew.

But this time, Vaelen would no longer run.