Chapter 13 – The Mark of the Curse
883 Words
The storm had broken by dawn, leaving the world soaked in mist and silence. The forest dripped with the weight of last night’s rain, and the scent of earth and ash clung to everything. Elias rode through the narrow ravine, his cloak heavy on his shoulders, his horse uneasy beneath him. He could still feel the echo of the witch’s magic humming faintly in the air, a melody of sorrow he could neither ignore nor forget.
When he reached the clearing, he dismounted slowly. The ruins of an ancient shrine lay before him—half-swallowed by ivy and moss. Stone pillars leaned like broken teeth, carved with runes that shimmered faintly under the morning light. In the center stood a pedestal, cracked and cold, bearing a symbol scorched deep into its surface.
A circle of thorns entwined around a heart.
Mira’s mark.
He’d seen it before—etched in burnt wood, whispered in prayers of fear. It was said that anyone who dared touch it would feel the witch’s grief seep into their soul. Yet something in him, stubborn and reckless, urged him closer.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the stone, agony seared through his hand. He staggered back, a cry tearing from his throat. The mark blazed bright, burning like molten silver against his skin. He fell to his knees, clutching his hand, the smell of scorched leather filling the air.
Visions surged through him—fragments not his own. A woman kneeling in the rain, her hands covered in blood. A man’s lifeless body on the forest floor. The heart-shaped mark glowing faintly on her wrist as she wept beside him.
“No…” Elias gasped. “Mira…”
The images shifted. He saw her standing at this very shrine, carving the symbol into the stone with trembling hands. Her voice broke as she whispered to the wind:
“If love was my sin, then let it be my curse.”
The vision shattered. Elias collapsed against the pedestal, panting, his burned hand trembling. When he dared to look, the mark had imprinted itself on his palm—a perfect circle of thorns and flame.
It pulsed faintly, in time with his heartbeat.
“So,” a voice murmured from the shadows, “you’ve taken her mark.”
Elias turned sharply. An old woman stepped out from the mist, her eyes sharp as knives beneath her hood. She carried a staff carved with talismans, and the air around her shimmered faintly with power.
“Who are you?” Elias demanded.
“A guardian of what remains,” she said. “And a witness to fools.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, and a grim smile touched her lips. “You shouldn’t have touched it, hunter. That mark binds you to her sorrow. It will burn until the curse finds its end.”
“I don’t care about the pain,” Elias said through gritted teeth. “If this connects me to her, I’ll bear it.”
The woman’s expression softened, though pity lingered in her eyes. “Then you are either brave… or doomed.”
She turned toward the shrine. “This place was once sacred—a sanctuary for healers. When Mira’s grief consumed her, she came here to seal her heart. That mark is both her protection and her punishment. It keeps her power contained, but it hungers for the touch of those who still feel.”
“Why show me this?” Elias asked. “Why not stop me?”
“Because,” she said, “she dreamed of you long before you came.”
Elias’s breath caught. “She… dreamed of me?”
The woman nodded. “A man with sorrow in his eyes and silver at his belt. A man who would one day carry her curse so she could remember love without destroying it.”
The words struck deep, echoing through him like thunder. He looked down at his marked hand, the pain fading into a dull, constant throb.
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“Between worlds,” the woman said. “Neither ghost nor mortal. But the mark will lead you. It will burn when you draw near, and it will burn when you stray too far. You are tethered now, hunter. Her fate is your own.”
A chill passed through him. “And if I try to break it?”
She smiled faintly. “Then it will break you first.”
The wind picked up, scattering the mist, and when Elias looked again, the old woman was gone. Only the whisper of her staff against stone lingered in the air.
He rose slowly, flexing his hand. The mark glowed once more, faint but steady, as though pulsing with life.
He mounted his horse, eyes fixed on the forest path ahead. Somewhere beyond the trees, Mira waited—trapped in a curse she had woven from love and loss. And now, he carried a piece of it.
As he rode away, the ruins behind him shimmered faintly, the ancient symbol flickering one last time before fading into the moss.
But even when the forest swallowed him, the mark on his hand continued to burn—quietly, endlessly—like a heart that refused to stop beating.
- Writer
