Kaelen walked until his legs gave out.
His boots were cracked. His satchel was nearly empty. His cloak smelled like smoke and blood.
He'd been walking for nearly two days through the forest trails, avoiding main roads, hiding when he heard hooves or metal clinking. Bandits still prowled the outer villages, but they weren't the only danger anymore.
He'd used magic.
Cursed magic.
And the mark on his arm still glowed faintly beneath the wrappings.
He hadn't dared look at it since the night he fled. Every time he thought of it—of the bandit who'd been blasted into the shelves—he felt his stomach twist.
It wasn't just a glyph.
It was alive.
Kaelen found a stream near dusk and knelt beside it. The water was cold, clean. His reflection stared back, dirt-smudged and tired.
Sixteen years old. Too thin. Ash in his hair. And eyes that didn't quite look like his anymore.
He splashed his face, took a deep breath, and tried to focus.
He needed a plan. Somewhere to go. Somewhere to disappear.
But then… where did someone like him even go?
The Tower controlled every major city. The Circle tracked magical anomalies. Even the outer reaches had informants. A cursed glyph lighting up on your skin was more dangerous than a bounty on your head—it was a death sentence.
His hand brushed against the bandages wrapped around his forearm. The skin beneath was warm again.
Still pulsing.
Still active.
Still dangerous.
He set up camp near the stream that night—if you could call a single blanket under a pine tree a camp. The stars were out. The wind had a bite. He was tired, sore, and hollow.
But not alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind him.
Kaelen froze.
He reached for the small knife hidden under the blanket and crouched low. His heart pounded. Another footstep—lighter this time. Careful.
Someone was approaching.
"I wouldn't try anything," Kaelen said, voice tight. "I'm armed."
A quiet voice answered. "So am I."
A figure stepped out of the trees, her hands raised slowly in the air.
She looked about his age—seventeen, maybe. Pale hair tied in a short braid, a traveler's coat lined with dark fur, and eyes that didn't look surprised to find someone else hiding in the woods.
Kaelen didn't lower the knife.
"Who are you?"
"Selene," she said. "I'm traveling. Same as you."
"Alone?"
"For now."
She sat down on a mossy rock, not asking for permission.
Kaelen eyed her warily. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"I didn't. You just don't listen very well."
He blinked. "Are you always this friendly?"
"Only when someone looks like they've been running from a burning village."
That shut him up.
They sat in silence for a while.
The fire between them crackled quietly. Kaelen didn't have much food, but Selene pulled a small packet of dried fruit and tossed it his way without asking. He caught it but didn't say thanks.
Not yet.
His eyes kept drifting to her cloak—specifically the way she kept one arm wrapped inside it like she was hiding something.
Her posture was calm, but too calm. Like someone used to danger. Like someone who didn't flinch when things exploded.
"Where are you heading?" Kaelen asked finally.
"North."
"That's vague."
"That's the point."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're not from Greystone. You're not a merchant. You don't walk like a farm girl."
Selene raised a brow. "You notice a lot for someone who's clearly starving."
"I notice things because I've survived by doing it."
"Good," she said, eyes sharpening. "Then notice this—I'm not your enemy."
Kaelen stared at her for a long moment.
Then he said, "That remains to be seen."
By morning, she was still there.
Most people would've left.
She hadn't.
Kaelen pretended not to notice the way she studied his movements, the way her eyes flicked to his wrapped arm whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
She was curious.
And that made her dangerous.
But part of him—stupid, tired, lonely—was glad she hadn't walked away.
Later that day, they passed through a burned-out farming camp. The soil was black. The homes had collapsed inward like they'd been sucked dry. Kaelen kept walking. Selene paused.
"This wasn't bandits," she murmured.
Kaelen looked over his shoulder. "How can you tell?"
She didn't answer.
Just crouched by the edge of the field and touched the scorched earth. Her fingers glowed faintly for a moment—like tracing invisible lines. Then she stood and brushed her hands off.
"Circle scouts came through here," she said. "Looking for something."
Kaelen's mouth went dry. "Magic?"
"Something rare. Something volatile."
He swallowed hard.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
That night, Selene finally asked.
"What's under the bandage?"
Kaelen froze. "Nothing."
"You lie poorly."
He looked away. "It's not safe."
"I didn't ask to touch it. Just to know what it is."
Kaelen hesitated.
He sat on a log, staring at the small fire, then slowly pulled back the bandage.
The glyph gleamed faint silver against his skin.
Selene said nothing at first.
Then: "Veritas."
He looked up, startled. "You recognize it?"
She nodded once. "Barely. It's old magic. Rare. And illegal."
"Didn't ask for it," he muttered.
"Doesn't matter. Now it's part of you."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "It killed someone."
Selene didn't look surprised. "Then it protected you."
He said nothing.
She poked the fire with a stick, sparks dancing between them.
"The Tower will come for you, Kaelen."
He flinched at the sound of his name.
"Don't look so shocked," she said. "You talk in your sleep."
Great. Just great.
"And what will you do?" he asked. "Turn me in?"
She smirked. "Not unless they pay very, very well."
He gave her a wary glance.
Selene looked into the flames. "I'm not working for them, if that's what you're worried about. I have… my own reasons for heading north."
"And they involve following a cursed stranger through the woods?"
"Apparently."
He shook his head.
"You're either crazy or you know more than you're letting on."
"Both," she replied easily. "You'll get used to it."
Later that night, Kaelen dreamed again.
Not of fire.
Of the Tower.
Rising in the distance like it had always been there.
A woman stood at its gate—tall, silver-eyed, cloaked in smoke and starlight.
She didn't speak this time.
She only raised her hand, and light poured from her palm—runes, symbols, forgotten words.
Kaelen stepped toward her.
But the ground cracked beneath his feet.
And the moment their fingers touched—
He woke up.
Selene was already awake, sitting with her back to a tree, sharpening a dagger.
"You talked again," she said without turning around.
Kaelen rubbed his face. "What did I say?"
"Her name. The Tower."
He shivered. "I don't even know what it means."
"You will."
He glanced at her. "How can you be so sure?"
She looked at him then—really looked.
"Because the mark chose you. And marks like that don't choose by accident."
They broke camp at dawn.
The road ahead was long, uncertain, and full of the kind of danger Kaelen never used to believe in.
He was hunted.
He was cursed.
And now, he wasn't alone.