The Scroll

Months passed since Morvane's long slumber. Life in the palace had settled into a semblance of normalcy, with his friends and allies growing more comfortable with the peace that followed the chaos. Yet, for Morvane, the days felt surreal. He was grateful for the calm but couldn't shake the weight of the unknown—his powers, his past, and his purpose.

It was during a quiet morning, while walking down one of the palace's vast hallways, that he felt it—a chill, faint but familiar. He stopped, glancing around. The light from the grand windows cast shadows that danced softly with the sway of the curtains. Then he saw her.

Hiraya's spirit stood a few steps ahead, her ethereal form as graceful and warm as he remembered.

"Are you okay now?" Hiraya asked, her voice gentle, as though it could shatter the silence like glass.

Morvane froze, his breath caught in his chest. He had thought he would never see her again, yet here she was. Slowly, he nodded. "I'm fine."

He paused, struggling to process the moment. Finally, he spoke again, his voice trembling with wonder. "I can't believe this is my life now. You... I can converse with you."

A soft smile touched Hiraya's lips. "Get used to it," she said, her tone teasing but kind. "You'll be seeing more spirits more often."

He frowned slightly, his curiosity overpowering his initial awe. "I want to know more about this power. About me."

Hiraya's expression shifted, her features thoughtful, almost wistful. "I wish I could tell you everything," she began. "But the truth is... even I don't know all there is to know about us."

"Us?" Morvane tilted his head.

"Yes, us," Hiraya continued. "We're both markless. But not in the way the world thinks."

Morvane's heart quickened. He had spent years wondering about the mark he lacked—an insignia every gifted being possessed. "What do you mean?"

Hiraya's gaze grew distant as she spoke. "There's a book I once read, long ago, when I was alive. It claimed that those without marks aren't truly markless. Instead, their powers are different—given not by the gods of heaven but by something... older. Another force entirely."

Morvane's brow furrowed. The gods of heaven? Something older? The concept was foreign, almost impossible to grasp. "What else do you know?" he asked eagerly, his voice low but insistent.

Hiraya hesitated, her form flickering slightly as if the memories themselves strained her. "Not much. Only that those like us, the so-called markless, are rare. And feared. The gods themselves may have hidden truths about us. Perhaps they feared our origins—or what we could become."

Morvane's mind raced. "So we're not powerless... just different?"

"Exactly," Hiraya affirmed. "But that difference is dangerous. And misunderstood."

A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with meaning. Morvane finally asked, "Then how do I learn more? About the gods? About this... older force?"

Hiraya's spirit dimmed for a moment, as if fading into thought. "The answers lie in the places untouched by heaven's light. Forbidden places. Forgotten places." Her voice softened. "But be careful, Morvane. Seeking truth often leads to sacrifice."

As her form began to fade, Morvane reached out instinctively. "Wait! Hiraya—what did you mean by—"

But she was gone.

He stood there for a long moment, the echoes of her words ringing in his mind. Something older. Forbidden places. He clenched his fists. If there were truths to uncover, he would find them. For himself, for Hiraya, and for the markless.

With newfound determination, Morvane turned and walked down the hallway, his steps heavy with purpose. Hiraya was right—this was his life now. It was time he embraced it fully.

Morvane's footsteps echoed through the grand hallway as he tried to process Hiraya's cryptic words. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Who are you talking to?"

Startled, Morvane turned to see Crimson standing a few feet away, his piercing eyes studying him intently. Dressed in his usual dark attire, the air around Crimson always carried an edge of mystery, his commanding presence impossible to ignore.

For a brief moment, Morvane hesitated. Should he mention Hiraya? His connection to her felt personal, almost sacred. "No one," he said instead, forcing a casual tone.

Crimson raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Probably one of the spirits you can see," he said, his words laced with subtle amusement.

Morvane blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, right... I forgot you know about my ability."

Crimson's smirk deepened as if to say he never forgets. Morvane, feeling slightly cornered by the conversation, quickly shifted the topic. "You've not been here for a while. Are we going to train again?"

Crimson crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the stone wall. "I'm not actually supposed to be here," he admitted, his tone quieter now. "But I found something that could help you understand your power."

Morvane's eyes widened. "What? What did you find?"

Crimson straightened, gesturing with a nod down the hallway. "Why don't we go to your room? It'll be easier to explain there."

Without waiting for a reply, Crimson started walking, his confident stride beckoning Morvane to follow.

Curiosity and anticipation bubbling within him, Morvane fell in step beside Crimson, his earlier conversation with Hiraya still fresh in his mind. Whatever Crimson had to show him, he knew it could bring him closer to uncovering the truth about himself—and the mysterious forces shaping his destiny.

Once inside Morvane's room, Crimson closed the door behind them with a quiet click. The atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with anticipation.

Morvane watched as Crimson reached into a small satchel slung across his shoulder, pulling out an old scroll. The parchment looked ancient, edges frayed and stained with time. The faint smell of dust and age wafted as Crimson carefully unrolled it on Morvane's desk.

"I don't fully understand everything written here," Crimson began, his voice unusually serious, "but when I saw this figure in the middle..." He gestured to a detailed drawing in the center of the scroll.

Morvane leaned closer. The image depicted a dark entity, its tendrils wrapped around what appeared to be a human figure. Surrounding them were faint, glowing figures, each hovering like whispers in the air.

"It looks like a person being... embraced?" Morvane said, narrowing his eyes.

"Or consumed," Crimson added. His finger traced the glowing figures. "And these—floating, faint... they reminded me of the spirits you see. That's why I thought of you the moment I saw it."

Morvane stared at the scroll, his heart pounding. The resemblance was uncanny, unsettling. "And you think this has something to do with me?"

Crimson nodded. "When I read more of this scroll, it started to feel less like a coincidence and more like... fate."

"What does it say?" Morvane asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Crimson glanced at the text etched around the illustration, his brow furrowing. "It's written in an old dialect, but I managed to decipher parts of it. It speaks of beings who are 'touched by another god,' not marked by the heavens. Their powers come not from the light but from the shadows—older forces that even the gods fear. The scroll calls them... the Embraced."

"The Embraced?" Morvane repeated, the word heavy on his tongue.

"Yeah," Crimson said, looking up at him. "It says they are both a blessing and a curse, connected to the spirit realm and capable of influencing it. But their power comes with a price—one that could unravel them if they're not careful."

Morvane felt a chill run down his spine. "A price?"

Crimson nodded. "It doesn't explain what the price is, but it warns of balance. If the balance is tipped, the Embraced could become something far more dangerous than even the gods themselves."

Morvane took a step back, his mind reeling. Hiraya's words about being feared, about powers not from heaven—they all aligned with what Crimson was saying.

Crimson placed a steadying hand on Morvane's shoulder. "I don't know what this means for you yet. But I thought you should see it. You need to understand who—what—you are."

Morvane swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the scroll. "The Embraced..." he murmured again, his fingers brushing the edge of the parchment.

A strange resolve filled him. If this scroll held the truth about his kind, he needed to uncover the rest. Whatever this power was—blessing or curse—he would find a way to master it.

Crimson leaned back, his arms crossed as he studied the scroll. "This bottom section here," he said, tapping a faded part of the parchment. "I couldn't decipher it. The script is... different, almost like it's alive."

Morvane frowned, leaning closer to examine the intricate markings. They swirled like whispers trapped in ink, their meaning just out of reach.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open. Both men turned to see Medas entering the room, his usual composed demeanor carrying an air of quiet authority.

"What's that?" Medas asked, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto the scroll.

Crimson straightened, gesturing toward the parchment. "It's an old scroll I found. It talks about Morvane's kind—the markless. I've deciphered most of it, but this bottom section..." He shrugged, his frustration evident. "It's beyond me."

Medas approached, his steps deliberate. He glanced at Morvane, then back at the scroll. "Let me see," he said, his voice steady but curious.

The room fell silent as Medas bent over the parchment. His eyes narrowed as he traced the strange symbols with his finger, murmuring softly as if speaking to the script itself. After a few moments, he straightened, his expression grave.

"This part," Medas began, his voice low, "is a warning. It says: The markless is the powerful. Awakened by anger, accompanied by a beast. Their power finds its true potential the more spirits they consume."

Morvane's breath hitched. "Consume?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Medas nodded. "It's clear. Your connection to the spirit realm isn't just about seeing them. It's about absorbing them. Drawing strength from them."

Crimson's brow furrowed. "That... doesn't sound right. It sounds dangerous."

"It is dangerous," Medas agreed, his gaze locking onto Morvane. "The scroll suggests that the more spirits you consume, the stronger you become. But anger seems to be the key to unlocking that power—perhaps even unleashing it uncontrollably."

Morvane took a step back, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. "I don't want to... consume spirits. That's not who I am."

Medas placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No one is saying you have to. But this is a part of your power—your truth. Ignoring it could be just as dangerous as embracing it recklessly."

Crimson crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "We need to figure out what this 'beast' means too. If it's literal... or metaphorical."

Morvane felt a lump form in his throat. Hiraya's words about the markless, Crimson's discovery of the scroll, and now Medas' interpretation—it all pointed to a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted but couldn't escape.

He clenched his fists, the image of the dark entity on the scroll burning in his mind. Whatever it meant, whatever path lay ahead, he would face it. He had to.

Morvane's eyes widened as the memory resurfaced, vivid and raw. "The spirit of the crying man in the forest…" he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt.

Crimson glanced at him sharply, catching on. "The one with air magic. Your shadow beast consumed him, didn't it?"

Morvane hesitated, then nodded. "I didn't understand what was happening at the time. I thought I was helping him, but…"

"But that was it," Medas interrupted, his tone steady but grave. "That was the first sign of this power. The beast, the consumption—it was always there, waiting for the right moment to awaken."

Crimson leaned closer to the scroll, his finger tracing the cryptic symbols. "If this scroll is right, that moment wasn't just random. Your power, Morvane, is tied to anger—and that day, the anger you felt brought the beast out."

"The spirits I consume make me stronger…" Morvane whispered, the weight of the realization sinking in. He stared at the scroll, dread curling in his chest. "But I don't want to be someone who preys on spirits. I don't want to be like that beast."

Medas's voice was calm but firm. "This isn't about what you want to be, Morvane. This is about what you are. The more you understand your power, the more control you'll have over it. Ignoring it will only make it worse."

Morvane clenched his fists, the memory of the crying man haunting him. "Then we need to keep studying this scroll. If there's more to this power—if there's a way to control it—I have to know."

Crimson gave him a faint smirk. "At least now you're thinking straight. Let's figure this out before the beast decides to act on its own again."

Medas nodded, his expression unreadable. "This scroll holds answers, but it also holds warnings. We'll uncover them, Morvane. Together."