The Fisrt Mark
523 Words
Branches whipped against the Nameless One’s face as he raced through Ashwood Forest. Behind him, the pounding of horses grew louder with every heartbeat.
“Spread out!” one of the riders shouted. “He can’t get far!”
The Nameless One had never run this hard. His lungs burned, and his legs felt as though they would give out at any moment. But the old traveler’s final words echoed in his mind.
The truth can survive only if you do.
An arrow hissed past his ear and buried itself in the trunk of an ancient oak.
He didn’t look back.
Instead, he plunged deeper into the forest, into a place the villagers had always warned him never to enter.
The Whispering Hollow.
The trees there were unlike any others. Their bark shimmered silver, and their twisted branches seemed to sway even though there was no wind. Strange whispers drifted through the air—not loud enough to understand, but impossible to ignore.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him gave way.
He tumbled down a steep slope, crashing through thick vines before landing in a hidden clearing.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
Above him, the voices of the riders faded.
They had lost him.
The Nameless One struggled to his feet and looked around.
At the center of the clearing stood a massive stone, half-covered in glowing vines. Ancient symbols were carved across its surface, symbols he had never seen before.
Yet somehow…
…he could read them.
“When the Nameless returns, the seal shall awaken.”
His heart pounded.
“How do I know this language?”
As he reached out, his fingers brushed the stone.
A brilliant flash of blue light burst from the carvings.
The earth trembled.
The whispers became voices.
“You have come at last…”
The Nameless One staggered backward.
“Who’s there?”
No one answered.
Instead, a searing pain spread across his right hand.
He cried out as glowing lines appeared on his skin, twisting together into the shape of an unfamiliar crest—a circle surrounded by seven stars.
The mark pulsed once.
Then everything went still.
At that exact moment, miles away, deep beneath the ruins of a forgotten fortress, an old man dressed in white opened his eyes.
He stared at the symbol carved into the wall before him.
“It has awakened,” he whispered.
Across the room, a young woman looked up from her sword practice.
“What has?”
“The First Mark.”
She frowned.
“I thought it was only a legend.”
“So did I.”
The old man slowly rose to his feet.
“Prepare yourself, Aria. The last Nameless Child has begun his journey.”
Back in the forest, the Nameless One stared at the glowing crest on his hand.
He had no idea what it meant.
But he knew one thing.
From this moment on…
…his life would never be ordinary again.
Far above the clearing, hidden among the trees, a pair of crimson eyes watched him.
A shadow smiled.
“So,” the voice whispered, “the game has finally begun.”
- Writer
