THE MARK BENEATH THE SKIN
1459 Words
“Then rest,” Winter said quietly, and almost tenderly. “You’ll need your strength when the truth comes out.”
The man offered a slight nod as he settled back against the pillow. His eyelids felt heavy, but just before he slipped into sleep, he whispered, "What’s your name?”
“Winter,” she answered.
He managed a faint smile. “That’s a fitting name… for someone who rescued me from the cold.”
Winter froze, but she was caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. Turning back to the fire, she tried to conceal the slight blush creeping onto her cheeks.
Outside, the night grew darker. Yet inside the cozy cabin, for the first time in days, there was a delicate sense of peace... something neither of them was quite understood yet.
The storm had passed by dawn. The forest was quiet again... too quiet.
Winter stirred from her sleep when she heard something scratching against the wooden floor. At first, she thought it was an animal that had slipped in through a c***k in the wall. But when she turned her head toward the sound, her breath caught.
The wounded man was not in bed.
The blanket lay crumpled on the floor, and his bowl the one she had washed last night, was shattered beside it.
Winter rose slowly, gripping the small dagger that her father used to keep above the fireplace. The soft light of dawn crept through the window, touching a gentle glow on the floorboards.
Then she saw him.
He was crawling.
Crawling across the floor like a wounded beast, his movements low, tense, and primal. His bare hands dug into the wood, and his breath came out in rough, animal-like growls.
Winter froze, her heart pounding.
“Hey...” her voice trembled. “What are you doing?”
The man stayed silent. As he shifted, the muscles in his back flexed, and when the light caught his skin, Winter noticed it.
A faintly glowing mark lay just beneath the surface of his shoulder blade, its presence both mysterious and captivating. This ethereal emblem pulsed rhythmically, reminiscent of veins coursing with molten fire, as it spread across his skin in intricate patterns that bore an uncanny resemblance to ancient symbols. Each pattern suggested a connection to forgotten lore, inviting curiosity and intrigue about its origin and purpose.
Winter gasped. The dagger nearly slipped from her hand.
“What… what is that?” she whispered.
He stopped, his body going still. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward her, his eyes no longer the soft brown she remembered, but streaked with gold.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said, his voice lower, rougher, almost like another person speaking through him.
Winter stepped back, fear and fascination tangling in her chest. “Who are you?” she demanded. “You said you were a farmer. Farmers don’t...” she gestured to him, her hand shaking, “...glow!”
He pushed himself to his knees, panting, trying to fight whatever was overtaking him. “I didn’t lie completely,” he said, his tone strained. “I was a man once… before they marked me.”
“Marked you?” Winter echoed, her mind racing. “By who?”
His eyes flickered, human for a second, then beastly again. “By those who call themselves the Hunters of the Red Moon. They cursed me to live between two forms, a man and creature, so I could never belong to either.”
Winter tightened her grip on the dagger, torn between her desire to protect him and the pity she felt for him.
“Then what are you now?” she whispered.
The man glanced down at the floor, his voice trembling as the warm golden light slowly disappeared from his skin.
“I don’t know anymore.”
Silence filled the room, heavy, strange, and sorrowful.
Winter slowly lowered the dagger. “You need to tell me everything,” she said. “Because if they find you again, they’ll find me too.”
He nodded weakly, exhaustion creeping back into his voice. “Then you should know this… the night you found me, Winter... wasn’t an accident. I was running from them… and toward you.”
Winter’s blood ran cold. "Toward me?”
“Because,” he said, meeting her eyes with haunting sincerity, “you’re not just a girl from the forest. You’re part of what they’re hunting.”
Winter spent her silence for the moment to think, what she did is just helping him, now she's part of a hunting show? is this for real? How come she came this far, when she only wanted to be alone in this place.
The day grew heavy with mist.
Winter stood by the window, watching the pale fog snake through the forest. She could still hear his words echoing in her mind... “You’re part of what they’re hunting.”
But how could that be? She was just a farmer’s daughter, raised in solitude and sorrow. Her father’s death, the lonely garden, the cabin... none of it hinted at anything beyond an ordinary, quiet life.
And yet, her heart refused to believe she was ordinary.
Behind her, the man whose name she still didn’t know sat quietly by the fire. His wound had stopped bleeding, but his eyes carried the same restless energy, like a storm barely contained.
Winter finally broke the silence. “You said those men, the Hunters of the Red Moon... cursed you. Why? What did you do to them?”
He stared into the fire. “I was born different,” he murmured. “Stronger. Faster. I could sense things before they happened. They saw me as a threat, a tool they couldn’t control. When I refused to serve them, they used the mark to bind me to the curse.”
“So you ran,” she said.
“I ran,” he nodded. “And they’ve hunted me ever since.”
Winter crossed her arms, thinking deeply. “And somehow I’m part of that hunt? That makes no sense.”
He looked up at her, his golden-tinged eyes studying her wrist. “It’s because of that,” he said quietly.
Winter frowned and followed his gaze, to the bronze watch she had worn. The one her father told her to wear when he died, and never to remove.
“This?” she scoffed softly. “It’s just a watch.”
“No.” His voice deepened. “That’s not a watch.”
Winter raised her wrist, confusion twisting in her chest. The bronze metal gleamed faintly in the firelight, its surface etched with intricate designs, a spiral, a scale, a faint outline of wings.
“What are you talking about?”
He stood up slowly, limping closer. “It’s a seal,” he said. “A dormant guardian bound to your bloodline. I can feel its presence, like something ancient sleeping beneath the surface.”
Winter’s pulse quickened. “A guardian? You mean like a spirit?”
“Not a spirit,” he said, his gaze steady. “A dragon.”
The air around them shifted, the fire crackled, the shadows danced.
Winter let out a nervous laugh. “That’s impossible. Dragons are myths.”
“So is surviving a curse like mine,” he replied softly. “And yet, here I am.”
Winter stared at the bronze watch, her throat tightening. She remembered the nights her father would whisper before bed: “If the world turns dark, Winter, your guardian will wake.”
She had thought it was just a bedtime story.
“Why would they hunt someone like me?” she whispered.
He hesitated before answering. “Because the dragon bound to you… is the last of its kind. And whoever controls it, it controls the balance between our world and theirs.”
The fire flickered, and for a brief moment, the bronze on her wrist shimmered with a faint, golden light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Winter stepped back, terrified and mesmerized. “What’s happening to me?”
The man reached for her arm gently, his voice calm but urgent. “It’s waking. And if the Hunters sense it… they’ll come for you next.”
Winter swallowed hard, at the same time her mind is spinning. “Then what do we do?”
He looked at her, not as a stranger anymore, but as someone whose fate was now tied to hers.
“We run,” he said. “And pray your dragon wakes before they find us.”
After his last words, in the dense mist of the forest, a soft echo drifted through the trees, reminiscent of wings spreading wide in the distance
- Writer
