Morning light crept through the curtains, pale and watchful, as if the sky itself was waiting to see what Marcus would do next. He hadn't slept. He couldn't. Not when the night before had stirred something within him—a need deeper than rest, heavier than fatigue.
He sat across from his father for the first time in days. The man looked tired, but not weak. There was a shadow in his eyes—regret, maybe, or remembrance.
Marcus didn't waste time.
"How does someone take the Walkers' Trial?"
His father's hand paused over the pages of a worn book. Slowly, he closed it and met Marcus' gaze.
"Are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious."
A long breath escaped the old man, not of annoyance, but of weight—like a truth long carried was finally ready to be laid down.
"The trial isn't something you apply for," he said. "It's something that happens to you, when you're on the edge—between who you are and who you might become."
"But no one talks about it. No one tells how it works, when it comes..."
"Because they're afraid of it. Those who survived it never returned the same."
He paused, his voice quieter.
"And because there are those who don't want the people to know the way."
"Who?"
"The Lords. The Council. Even the High Sovereign himself. The system isn't meant to be open. It's meant to be preserved. Controlled. Used."
Marcus' tone sharpened. "And you? What have you been doing all this time?"
The man didn't flinch. "Searching. Just like you are now."
Silence held for a long beat, then the father stood. He moved to one of the upper shelves and retrieved a small, weathered journal.
"Take this. My personal notes. Between what's permitted and what's hidden. You'll need them—if you're truly set on walking this path."
Marcus took it with both hands, as if the weight of it had gravity beyond its pages. This was more than guidance. It was recognition. His journey had truly begun.
---
That night, Marcus didn't wander aimlessly.
He observed. The nobles with small, deliberate marks on their wrists. The gestures passed between certain figures in the crowd. Meetings that weren't accidental.
He took notes. He traced patterns. He began to see.
By the time the stars returned, he had a list.
A list of those who might be Walkers.
---
But something else was moving—quietly, just beyond his sight.
The ones who watched over the system...
...had begun watching him.