4 THE FIRST MARK
Darkness wasn't empty. It breathed.
As Riven and Liora stepped beyond the gate, the world lost its shape. The walls behind them disappeared like smoke. The air thickened, pressing against their skin, turning each breath into a struggle. The darkness moved—not like wind, but like memory. It whispered, pulled, and clawed.
And then it spoke.
Welcome to the Hollow.
Riven's Mark flared—heat coursed through his spine. The pain was instant, like hot wire threading through nerves.
It knows we're here, he hissed.It's waking up.
Liora gripped his arm tighter. Her fingers trembled, but her eyes held.
Then let it. We came here to face it.
The ground under them shifted. Shapes took form from the black: ruins swallowed by vines and rot, pillars cracked in half, bridges leading into fog. A city buried in shadow.
They walked in silence, boots echoing against stone slick with old blood. Statues lined the path, twisted versions of once-human forms, each holding their face in agony. Names were etched at their bases—familiar ones.
These... these were others like you,Liora said, voice soft.
No, Riven corrected. They were me. In different lives. This place is older than time. It remembers every soul touched by the Mark.
A low growl echoed through the air.
A figure dropped from above, landing hard.
Not Huskborn. Worse.
It stood tall, flesh stitched by chains, with a cage for a head and glowing runes carved into its chest. It dragged a curved blade behind it, its edge sparking against the stone.
You carry the Mark, it said in a voice like rusted gears. You are not welcome here.
Riven stepped forward.
I didn't come for a welcome. I came for answers.
Then die.
The thing rushed him. Fast.
He ducked under the blade, rolled, summoned the curse for just a moment. Darkness surged through his limbs, strength not his own. He struck the creature's leg, snapping the bone.
But it didn't fall. It turned, blade flashing.
Liora screamed.
Riven caught the blade with his arm. Pain split through him like fire, but he held on. With a roar, he drove his own jagged blade up under the cage, into the creature's throat.
It choked.
Then crumbled.
He collapsed beside it, panting. Blood flowed freely down his arm.
You're hurt! Liora knelt, wrapping torn cloth around the wound.
It's nothing.
You always say that, but one day it will be something.
He looked at her, saw the tears she wasn't letting fall.
I can't lose you too, Riven. Don't do this alone.
He touched her hand.
Then don't let go.
They pressed forward.
Past towers that groaned. Past graves that whispered.
Until they reached the center.
A chamber vast as a cathedral, with a throne of bones.
And sitting on it, a figure.
Not rotted. Not decayed.
Alive.
Tall. Robed in black. Hair like silver thread. Eyes burning gold.
So. Another incarnation has come.
Riven froze.
Liora gasped.
You... you're—
The First, the figure said. I was the first to bear the Mark. I made it. I wore it. I killed for it.
Riven stepped forward.
Then you know how to break it.
The First rose.
Break it? No. There is no breaking what is bound by soulfire. But you may unchain it. You may pass it on. Or you may become its master.
Riven's fists clenched.
I won't do to others what was done to me.
The First tilted his head.
Then you will die. And your soul will scream for a thousand lifetimes. The curse doesn't end. It consumes, or it is consumed. That is its nature.
Liora stepped beside Riven.
There has to be another way. A cure. Something.
The First looked at her.
You were his anchor. The tether that bound his soul. You sacrificed much.
She looked down.
I'd do it again.
The First nodded slowly.
Then you both shall be tested. Not with battle. With truth.
He raised his hand.
The room shifted.
Riven found himself alone.
No Liora.
No throne.
Just a mirror.
In it—his face.
But twisted. Ash-skinned. Eyes glowing with corruption. The future he feared.
You cannot save them, the reflection said. You never could. Every life you touch ends in fire.
Not this one.
She'll die, Riven. And you'll watch. Again. And again. And again.
Riven stepped forward.
Then I'll choose differently this time.
He punched the mirror.
It shattered into dust.
And he was back.
The First stared.
You rejected the fate. You may yet change it.
He stepped down from the throne, hand outstretched.
Take it. The core of the Mark. Your soul will scream. Your bones may break. But if you survive... you may command it.
Riven hesitated.
Then took his hand.
Agony.
His body convulsed. The Mark burned like a star inside him. Memories poured in—every life. Every death. Every scream.
He saw a woman's face.
Liora. In every life.
Always there.
Always dying.
He screamed.
Then the pain stopped.
He stood.
And the First... was gone.
In his place, only ash.
Liora rushed to him.
You... you did it. Riven?
He nodded slowly.
It's mine now. Not the other way around.
He touched her cheek.
And I remember your name.
She smiled. She hugged him fiercely.
Good. Because I'm not telling you again.
They left the Hollow.
Changed.
The Mark, once a curse, now burned in his hand—but it obeyed.
They had time. Not much. But enough.
And ahead, the world waited.
Dark. Bleeding. Broken.
But maybe not beyond saving.
Not if Riven still stood.
The path out of the Hollowed Peaks was steep and jagged. Rocks broke underfoot. The wind howled like a grieving widow. Riven walked ahead, silent, the Mark on his hand still pulsing in dull rhythm. Liora followed, cautious, watching his steps.
You've barely said a word,she finally said. What did you see back there? What did he show you?
Riven didn't answer at first. Not because he didn't want to—but because the images still tore through his mind like broken glass. Every time he blinked, he saw lives not his own but still him.
Memories, he said hoarsely. Thousands. All mine. All... mine.
What does that mean?
He stopped. Turned. The look in his eyes was hollow. Not weak—but shaken to the marrow.
Every time I've lived, every life I've touched, ended in death. In betrayal. In failure.
But you're different now, she insisted. You broke free.
Did I? Or am I just playing out another version of the same tragedy?
They walked in silence for hours after that, the only sound their footsteps crunching gravel and the cold wind clawing at their cloaks. When night fell, they camped beneath the arms of a dead tree, and Riven finally spoke.
The very first life i had I remember... I was a soldier. Young. Angry. I was given the Mark on a battlefield by a dying king. He begged me to protect the kingdom. I used the power. I won. Then I lost myself. I killed the king's son. The people revolted. I was hanged.
In another life, I was a priest. Devoted. Kind. I thought I could cleanse the Mark with prayer. But I used it—once—to save a village from raiders. The power took root. The next time I opened my mouth, fire poured out. They burned my church with me in it.
Then there was a life where I was a healer. A good one. They called me a miracle-worker. I never used the Mark, but it fed anyway. Fed on the gratitude. Fed on the hope. The sicker I got, the more they loved me. Until I died curing a plague I'd caused.
There was one where I ran. Just ran. Across lands. Across years. Built a life in the mountains. Had a daughter. And then they came. An order of knights. They found me. Said the curse had awakened in her. I killed them. All of them. She saw. She ran. and never came back.
In every life, the Mark wins. So why should this time be different?
He looked at Liora. Why should I believe in change now?
She looked at him like she'd been waiting for that question.
Because this time, you remember. You've never remembered youre lives before. Not like this. That matters. Memory is change. If you know who you were... maybe you can choose who you want to be.
He stared into the fire. Said nothing. But something shifted in his eyes.
Not hope.
Something harder. More useful.
Will.
The next morning, the dreams came.
Not just memories now. Echoes. Haunting visions that danced on the edge of sleep.
He saw a hall of mirrors, each showing a different version of himself—warrior, beggar, tyrant, king. Each one reached for him. Begged. Warned. Screamed.
He woke with a gasp, clutching the Mark.
It was glowing again.
Liora sat nearby, sharpening her blade. She didn't flinch.
Another vision?
He nodded.
The Mark is... evolving. It's not just feeding anymore. It's remembering. It's making me feel what they felt. The rage. The regret. The grief. Gods, the grief.
Is it trying to break you?
He shook his head.
I think it's trying to test me.
She looked at him, steady. Then pass the test. Beat it. For good.
He smiled faintly. You always make it sound so simple.
I never said it'd be simple. I said it'd be worth it.
They reached the edge of the mountains by dusk.
Below lay a vast ravine—the Bleeding Hollow. Somewhere beneath it, ancient records told of the Vault of Echoes, where the first sigils of the Mark were carved. A place older than kingdoms.
If the First told the truth, that's where I'll find the root,Riven said.
Then let's burn it down,Liora replied.
He looked at her.
You don't have to come further. You've done enough"
She frowned.
If you say that again, I'm throwing you into the ravine myself. I'm with you, Riven. End of story.
He exhaled.
Then let's finish what they started. All of them.
Together, they descended.
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To Be Continued...