The Mark of The Chosen One

One Week Later – The Struggle and the Shadow

Medar's body ached with the effort of his training, but his resolve was unbreakable. Every morning before the sun even began to rise, he would sneak out of the orphanage, moving silently through the village and into the fields beyond. The world was still asleep, and that silence, the solitude of the early hours, allowed him to focus without distractions.

He ran for miles, pushing his body harder than ever before. His gray hair was wild, falling into his eyes as his muscles burned, but he ignored the pain. Sister Livia had told him to take it slow, to be patient with himself, but Medar could not afford patience. The Sky Hunters were looking for people like him, people who were destined for something greater. He had to prove himself worthy of their attention.

After his runs, he would practice his stamina with basic exercises—push-ups, sit-ups, even lifting heavy rocks and logs to build his strength. Every movement, every breath, was focused on one thing: his future as a Sky Hunter.

But as the days passed, something strange began to happen.

While he trained, sometimes when his sweat stung his eyes or when he felt like collapsing from exhaustion, Medar would catch a glimpse of something in the corner of his vision. At first, it was nothing more than a flicker—a shadow, a fleeting shape. But with each passing day, it grew clearer.

It started as a vague, shifting silhouette in the sky. He would be running or lifting weights, and it would appear, just on the edge of his perception. The shape was large, towering, its wings beating through the air, like the beating of a drum in the distance.

The shadow took form, a massive, radiant phoenix. Its fiery red wings spread wide, and its body was like molten flame. It seemed to watch him, the intense gaze of the bird ever present, always just out of reach.

Medar felt his heart race every time he saw it, his breath quickening as if the creature was calling him, urging him to follow. The first time he saw it clearly, he was training late in the afternoon, his body drenched in sweat, eyes wide as he paused to rest.

There it was, floating in the sky above the distant mountains. The phoenix, a symbol of rebirth and power, its fiery wings shimmering against the backdrop of the setting sun. Its beak seemed to cry out, and Medar felt an unexplainable pull—something deep within him stirring, as if the bird was a reflection of himself.

"Who… who are you?" he whispered to the air, his voice thick with awe.

The moment he spoke, the figure faded, disappearing back into the horizon, leaving Medar breathless and confused. But something else lingered with him—an overwhelming sensation that this phoenix, this creature, was bound to his fate in some way. It was more than just a shadow; it was a sign.

The Phoenix Emblem

The following day, Medar pushed himself harder than ever. His body screamed in protest, but he refused to stop. As he ran, he could feel the weight of the phoenix in his heart, its presence in the sky urging him on.

But as he neared the edge of the village, something strange happened. A sharp pain surged through his forehead, and Medar staggered, clutching his head. His vision blurred, and he stumbled to his knees, gasping for air.

The scar on his forehead—the one that had been a mere faint mark since his birth—began to glow. At first, it was a soft light, almost imperceptible, but it quickly grew brighter. The scar burned with intensity, the heat radiating through his skin.

Medar groaned, his mind clouded with dizziness. He reached up to touch the scar, but the moment his fingers brushed against it, the pain became almost unbearable. His breath hitched as the light from the scar intensified, and in a flash, he saw it.

The phoenix. The bird he had glimpsed in the sky. It was now imprinted into his very flesh—burned into his forehead like a fiery mark, a glowing emblem.

The scar had transformed into an intricate phoenix emblem, the wings stretching out like flames, the body curving around the center of his forehead. The warmth from it radiated outward, filling him with a sense of purpose, of power—like something inside him had finally awakened.

With a final gasp, Medar collapsed, unconscious, as the emblem blazed brighter and brighter, illuminating the field around him.

The Recruitment

When Medar woke, hours had passed. The world around him was dark, the cool night air brushing against his fevered skin. He sat up slowly, his head spinning, but his forehead—his scar—was no longer just a scar. The phoenix emblem remained, its fiery glow now dimming to a soft, steady light.

"What… what happened?" he whispered, his voice weak.

He touched his forehead, feeling the coolness of the symbol against his skin. It was as though it had always been there, waiting to reveal itself. But what did it mean?

As he pondered this, he felt a shift in the air—a sudden change in the atmosphere. He wasn't alone.

From the shadows of the nearby trees, a figure stepped forward, tall and imposing, his eyes scanning Medar carefully. The man wore a dark, hooded cloak, and his presence radiated authority.

"You… you are the one," the man said, his voice deep and steady.

Medar tensed, confused, yet strangely calm in the face of the stranger.

"Who are you?" Medar asked, his voice low and cautious.

The man smiled, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "My name is Ardan, and I represent the Sky Hunters Association. We have been watching you, Medar. You have something special within you—something we've been searching for."

Medar's heart skipped a beat. The Sky Hunters… the organization he had dreamed of joining. He had heard of them, but never imagined they would come looking for him.

Ardan took a step closer, his gaze falling on the glowing phoenix emblem on Medar's forehead. "The mark of the chosen," he muttered, more to himself than to Medar. "You have the potential to be one of us, to rise to a place of power and influence. You will be trained, tested. And if you succeed, you will join the Sky Hunters."

Medar's mind raced. This was it—the chance he had been waiting for. But there was a question, one he had to ask.

"Do I have permission?" Medar asked, his voice firm, though his chest was tight with anticipation.

Ardan raised an eyebrow. "Permission?"

"From Sister Livia," Medar explained. "She's the one who raised me. She has to be the one to decide if I go with you."

Ardan seemed to pause for a moment, as if considering the request. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. We respect the bond you have with her. We will wait for your answer. But know this, Medar—the Sky Hunters are not patient. The decision you make will shape your future."

The Decision

The next day, Medar stood before Sister Livia, the woman who had raised him, the woman who had given him love and care when he had none. His heart was torn, but his resolve was unwavering.

"Sister Livia," Medar began, his voice filled with emotion, "I've been given an opportunity. The Sky Hunters… they want me to join them."

Sister Livia's eyes softened as she looked at the glowing emblem on Medar's forehead. She had known this day would come, but it didn't make it any easier.

"Medar," she said, her voice filled with both pride and sadness, "I've always known you were meant for something greater. But you must understand, joining the Sky Hunters is not just about power. It's a choice that will change everything about your life, your future, and the world you live in."

Medar nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "I understand. But I have to do this. I have to know what's out there. I have to find my place."

Sister Livia smiled gently, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Then go, Medar. Go and find your path. But know that no matter where you go, you will always have a home here with me."