The Mark Of Destiny
1615 Words
"Don’t gaze at the ocean. "
This was the initial phrase I heard as I emerged outdoors.
A man was yelling it.
Not aimed at me.
Not directed at anyone specifically.
Just into the turmoil consuming Sylvan’s Reach entirely.
Yet it was too late already.
The ocean had ceased to be just that.
Individuals moved chaotically, slipping on moist sand, gesturing, shouting phrases that did not belong together.
“Damn—”
“It’s unveiling—”
“Gods save us—”
Children's cries intermingled with the chaos.
And in the place where the sea should’ve existed, the world had violently split open.
The waves had drawn back so far they seemed to have forgotten our existence.
The revealed seabed stretched infinitely, fractured and ancient, resembling skin stripped away from bone.
And at the core
Steps.
Stone steps leading down into lightless void.
No one approached them.
No one required a warning against it.
They simply remained still, as if the sight had drained their resolve.
I sensed a chill envelop my body before I even grasped the reason.
My wrist throbbed.
Intensely.
I instinctively tugged my sleeve down, though it made no difference.
The discomfort ran deeper than the skin.
It felt as if something within me had responded to the sea.
People began to gaze at me.
Not simultaneously.
One by one.
Like a gradually shifting tide.
Murmurs trailed behind.
“She was present when it occurred. ”
“She tumbled just before—”
“No, don’t utter it…”
I began to step back without realizing it.
The ground felt precarious, as though it doubted my presence.
My father's voice called from somewhere behind, yet I didn’t turn.
I was unable to.
Because I swear
For a brief moment
I perceived something beneath the bare ocean floor answer back.
I cannot recall how I arrived back home.
Only that my hands trembled as I closed the door.
The house was far too silent.
That kind of silence that seems poised for something to shatter it.
“Where have you been? ” my father inquired.
He stood by the table, still wearing soggy boots.
His eyes flicked over me quickly—too swiftly.
I parted my lips.
Nothing coherent emerged.
“I was near the cliffs,” I eventually stated.
His gaze lingered.
Not on my face.
On my sleeve.
On my wrist.
“Did you witness it? ” he asked softly.
I nodded once.
That appeared to suffice.
He did not probe further.
Which somehow made it even worse.
As night descended, I anticipated that sleep would claim me.
It didn’t.
Instead, I felt it again.
The mark.
Not igniting this time.
Shifting.
I immediately sat up in bed, my breath catching as I retracted my sleeve.
The patterns on my wrist moved slowly, like ink swirling in water.
They were no longer random.
They began to create something.
Figures I couldn’t decipher—but my body reacted as if it understood.
A memory just beyond reach.
Then pain surged.
Acute.
Overwhelming.
And the world vanished.
Flames.
That was the initial sight I encountered.
A city ablaze in silence.
Not crumbling.
Annihilated.
Figures stood in formations across the shattered landscape.
Not battling.
Kneeling.
All of them.
Gazing at something far away that I could not perceive.
A sensation of constriction filled my chest as I navigated through it—no, as it surged through me.
A crown hovered amidst the haze.
Not in repose.
Awaiting.
Then a voice
Near.
Recognizable in a manner that churned my stomach.
“Aeliana…”
I shifted my gaze.
A woman appeared behind the flames.
Her features distorted as if they couldn't maintain their form.
Yet she wept.
And she recognized me.
“You were never meant to make it through this time,” she spoke gently.
The earth fissured beneath her utterance.
Then everything splintered apart.
I awakened with such a jolt that I tumbled off the bed.
My breathing was rapid.
Too shallow.
My wrist continued to throb.
Not diminishing.
Not ceasing.
I pressed it against my chest, hoping to muffle the sensation.
But something had shifted already.
I could sense it.
As if the mark had discovered how to shout louder.
Morning lacked the essence of morning.
It felt like the result of something overwhelming.
The village had changed.
Individuals moved differently.
They steered clear of open areas.
Kept their distance from one another.
And from me.
I noticed it in their gazes.
The unspoken questions.
I walked past the baker’s stand, and the man inside averted his gaze too quickly.
I walked by two fishermen, and their dialogue ceased abruptly.
Even the children no longer looked my way.
They redirected their focus towards something less threatening.
Not me.
Never me.
Yet I was always lingering at the edges of their sight.
A blunder they could not overlook.
The elder arrived at noon.
I didn’t perceive his arrival.
I only sensed his presence when the atmosphere changed.
He did not knock.
Simply stood in the entrance as though he had forgotten the meaning of permission.
“You’ve witnessed it,” he remarked.
Not posed as a query.
I remained mute.
His gaze meticulously examined my face.
Too meticulously.
Then it fell.
To my wrist.
A change flickered in his expression.
Fear, yet deeper than mere fear.
Memory.
“When did the voices start? ” he inquired.
My throat became parched.
“I don’t hear voices. ”
Yet another untruth.
He showed no reaction to my denial.
Instead, he stepped inside.
As if the house itself had called for him.
“This occurred once prior,” he said in a hushed tone.
The statement felt alien in my realm.
Not in Sylvan’s Reach.
Not in any reality I knew.
“A long time ago,” he went on. “Before kingdoms recalled their own titles. ”
My fingers clenched.
“What are you referring to? ”
He faltered.
That uncertainty bore more weight than honesty.
“The sea did not recede by chance,” he finally stated. “It opened. ”
A brief silence.
Then softer:
“And when it last opened… a kingdom disappeared under it.”
My breath hitched.
He regarded me then.
Truly regarded.
“If your mark has stirred,” he said, his voice now lower, “they will arrive. ”
“Who? ” I murmured before I could restrain myself.
His jaw clenched.
But he chose not to respond.
Instead, he turned away.
As if uttering more would invoke something.
At the entrance, he paused.
“If you happen to hear the whisper once more,” he warned, “do not pursue it.”
Then he departed.
Just like that.
Creating an emptiness that surpassed the spoken words.
That evening, sleep eluded me.
I was unable to rest.
Something was lurking outside.
I sensed it even before I could see it.
A presence positioned close to the edge of the woods.
Motionless.
Observing.
As I stepped out, the temperature dropped instantly.
I instinctively followed the sensation.
Past the homes.
Beyond the final lantern.
Into foliage that felt unnaturally hushed.
Then I spotted them.
Dark feathers scattered on the ground.
Excessive in number.
Too intentional.
No birds soared above.
Silence enveloped me.
Only the whisper once more.
Now nearer.
“Too late. ”
I turned quickly.
Nothing was there.
Yet I knew I was not alone.
That fact was clear now.
Something had recently passed through this area.
Something that understood exactly where I was.
My wrist throbbed again.
More intensely.
As though it was urging me forward instead of providing a warning.
Against every instinct I possessed
I chose to follow it.
Deeper into the woods.
Where the trees inexplicably grew sparser.
Where the ground felt unfamiliar beneath my feet.
Until the surroundings opened up into desolation.
Stone, concealed beneath roots and the passage of time.
Too ancient to belong to any place I recognized.
I moved forward cautiously.
The mark ceased to burn.
As if it was content.
Awaiting.
In the midst of the ruins stood an altar.
Unadorned.
Substantial.
Uneasy.
And resting on it
A relic.
Dark metal, shaped like something that defied definition.
Not a weapon.
Not an ornament.
Something far older than either.
Symbols crept across its surface.
And I recognized them.
Even if I didn’t fully understand.
My hand reached out before I could prevent it.
The instant my fingers made contact
The world fractured once more.
I found myself in a war zone.
The sky ripped apart like fabric.
Thousands of fallen bodies surrounded me.
Not howling.
Just… collapsing.
A crown levitated above it all.
And someone stood solitary in the center.
Waiting.
Then the words emerged.
Not uttered.
Recalled.
When shadows rise, empires collapse.
When blood remembers, the final heir stirs.
The Shadowborn returns.
My breath hitched.
The figure in the center rotated gradually.
And I recognized her face.
Mine.
I awoke screaming on the ground of the forest.
The relic remained clasped in my hand.
I instantly released it, trembling.
The world snapped back too rapidly.
Too tangible.
Too unsettling.
A branch snapped behind me.
I halted.
Slowly turned.
A silhouette lingered at the edge of the trees.
Observing.
Not near enough to intervene.
Close enough to witness everything.
And then
It retreated.
Disappearing into the darkness without a sound.
I attempted to move.
Could not.
My wrist burned one last time.
Words emerged on my skin like ink rising from below:
THE LAST SHADOWBORN LIVES
Then faded away.
I gazed at my vacant wrist, breath quaking.
Something far greater than the forest stirred.
Neither advancing toward me.
Nor retreating.
Simply… aware.
And somewhere far away
I sensed it smile.
- Writer
