The Mark (1)

Zazm awoke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through his bedroom window, his gaze swept across his room eventually landing on the starge letter, the remnants of the strange letter still echoing in his mind.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the words "The clock strikes twelve, everything shifts." swirling like a riddle he couldn't quite grasp.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering fog of sleep, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

As he dressed for school, the mundane routine felt oddly surreal. The letter had ignited a flicker of curiosity within him, but the weight of exhaustion still clung to his limbs. He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to shake off the remnants of his dreams.

When he stepped into the bathroom, the air was thick with the scent of soap and the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead.

Zazm turned to the mirror, ready to brush his teeth, but his gaze froze.On his forearm, a mark had appeared overnight—a swirling sigil that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

It was a complex design, a blend of intricate lines and shapes that formed a mesmerizing pattern. At its center was a stylized hourglass, its sand suspended in mid-fall, surrounded by a series of concentric circles that radiated outward like ripples in water.

Each circle was adorned with tiny stars and crescent moons, symbolizing something he couldn't understand, not even in the slightest.

Zazm's heart raced as he leaned closer, his breath hitching in his throat. "What is this?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

The mark shimmered faintly, as if it were alive, and he felt a strange warmth emanating from it, a connection to something far greater than himself.

He traced the outline with trembling fingers, the sensation sending a jolt of energy through him.

Confusion and awe washed over him in equal measure. "How did this get here?" he murmured, his mind racing.

He had gone to bed a normal boy, and now he was staring at a symbol that felt ancient and powerful, yet utterly foreign. He felt a weird feeling of fear from it.

The memory of the letter flooded back, and he felt a rush of realization. "The clock strikes twelve, everything shifts..." His voice barely above a whisper and his face pale from worry.

"What does it mean?" His thoughts were a mess, his eyes slightly trembling. He looked at the mirror, greeted by his shocked self.

He put both his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection, as if it could provide answers. The reflection stared back, wide-eyed and bewildered, mirroring his own shock.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands creeping toward the hour. Panic surged through him. What if this mark was connected to the letter? What if it was a warning or a sign of something to come?

Zazm took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. The mark glowed softly, a beacon of potential and mystery. He felt a mix of fear and exhilaration, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.

"Now's not the time for this.... I'll figure this out, later.."

With a deep breath, he turned away from the mirror, his mind racing. He had to figure this out, but first, he needed to get ready for school.

Zazm stood in front of the closet, ramming his closet, his heart racing as he tried to process the mark on his arm.

The swirling sigil pulsed softly, a constant reminder of the mystery that had suddenly enveloped his life. He had to hide it--there was no way he could let anyone see it, not yet.

He quickly grabbed a long-sleeved shirt from his closet, pulling it over his head and adjusting the sleeves to cover the mark completely.

The fabric felt tight against his skin, it started to cause him a little itch, it was also extremely hot wearing a full sleeved shirt underneath his uniform made it feel hellish and stinky.

But it was a small price to pay for concealment. He glanced at the clock again; time was slipping away, and he couldn't afford to be late.

As he hurriedly finished getting ready, Zazm's mind raced with questions. What if someone noticed? What if his friends asked about the mark?

Once dressed, he grabbed his backpack and headed back to his room, where the letter lay on his desk, its cryptic message still haunting him. He picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper.

The words "The clock strikes twelve, everything shifts" stared back at him, but he felt an urge to search for more hidden meanings.

He scanned the letter for any additional clues, any hidden messages that might reveal what was happening to him.

The paper felt ordinary, but he noticed something strange: the ink seemed to shimmer slightly in the morning light, almost as if it were alive. He squinted, leaning closer, but the words remained unchanged.

"Come on, there has to be something else," he muttered under his breath, flipping the letter over.

Nothing. Just a blank surface. Frustration bubbled within him, but he couldn't dwell on it now. He had to focus on getting to school without raising suspicion.

Zazm shoved the letter into the front pocket of his backpack, hoping it would remain hidden. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He could do this.

He could act normal... Afterall, if anything he was sure of himself to act normal. Since, that's how he had lived up until now.

As he made his way downstairs, he felt the weight of the mark pressing against his skin, a constant reminder of the power he didn't yet understand.

******

He walked to school, his mind racing with thoughts of the mark and the letter. What would happen at noon? Would he discover the truth behind the mark?

As he approached the school gates, he felt a strange sensation, as if the world around him was shifting.

The air crackled with energy, and he glanced at his arm, the mark hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Just a normal day," he whispered to himself, but deep down, he knew didn't know that nothing would ever be normal again.

With a final deep breath, Zazm stepped through the gates, ready to face whatever awaited him, the weight of the unknown heavy on his shoulders.

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