The Mark's Burden

The city had never felt this suffocating before. Every alleyway seemed tighter, every street felt more like a maze designed to trap them rather than guide them forward.

Kael and Ronan moved swiftly, their footsteps muted by years of instinctual survival. Despite their close call with the robed figure, an unease still clung to the air—one that even Ronan, usually unfazed, couldn't shake.

Kael felt the weight of it too, but it wasn't just the city pressing down on him. It was the mark

A searing sensation burned against his skin, though no visible flames existed. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to clutch at it. The feeling wasn't just pain—it was deeper, as if something had lodged itself within his very being. Something foreign.

Something unnatural.

And Ronan noticed.

The usual light-hearted glint in his eye was gone, replaced with a furrowed brow and a careful distance. He wasn't afraid of Kael, not yet, but he wasn't comfortable either. He had seen something like this before.

Finally, Ronan stopped in his tracks and exhaled sharply. "Alright. Enough walking. Let me see it."

Kael hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to refuse. He wasn't sure if it was paranoia or the mark itself twisting his thoughts, but he felt an aversion to showing it—like a part of him didn't want Ronan to interfere.

Still, he sighed and rolled up his sleeve.

The mark pulsed faintly, dark veins creeping from its core. It almost resembled an eye, though only for a split second before shifting into something less recognizable.

Ronan cursed under his breath.

"Well?" Kael prompted, his patience running thin.

Ronan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowly reached out, his fingers crackling with energy as he attempted to channel his Dominion to analyze or suppress it.

The reaction was immediate.

As soon as his power touched the mark, it twisted violently, contorting like a living thing rejecting his influence. Ronan pulled back, his breath hitching as if he'd just glimpsed something he wasn't supposed to see.

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Kael's frustration boiled over. "Enough with the dramatics. What is it?"

Ronan exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't know. But I know one thing—marks like this? They don't just disappear."

Kael scowled. "You've seen this before?"

Ronan hesitated. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something eerily close to fear. "Once," he admitted. "And let's just say… the guy who had it didn't stay himself for long."

Silence hung between them.

Finally, Ronan forced his usual smirk back onto his face, though it was clearly strained.

"Listen, if you start hearing whispers that aren't there or if reality stops feeling real… you tell me immediately."

Kael didn't respond.

He wasn't sure he would.

They eventually found shelter in an abandoned safehouse—if it could even be called that. Half of the walls were crumbling, and the air smelled of dust and rusted metal. But it was better than nothing.

Ronan tended to their injuries, using what little supplies he had left. "You're lucky you don't have broken ribs," he remarked as he tightened a bandage. "Or worse, a bruised ego."

Kael rolled his eyes but said nothing.

For a while, they sat in relative quiet, exhaustion settling in.

Then, unexpectedly, Ronan broke the silence.

"You ever wonder if this is all pointless?" he asked.

Kael frowned. "What?"

Ronan leaned back, staring at the broken ceiling. "Running. Fighting. Surviving. You ever wonder if it actually leads to anything? Or if we're just delaying the inevitable?"

Kael didn't answer immediately. He had never allowed himself to think that way. Surviving was all he had ever known.

"...If it's pointless," he finally said, "why are you still here?"

Ronan chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe I just like pissing people off."

Kael scoffed, but there was something in Ronan's tone—a layer of truth beneath the humor.

The moment didn't last.

A sharp sound from outside shattered their fragile peace.

They had been found.

The city was shifting against them.

News of Kael's bounty had spread faster than expected, and now the streets were filled with opportunists looking to cash in.

They didn't have time to think—only to move.

The first pursuer was fast. A shadow darting through the ruins, their movements precise.

They weren't some mindless enforcer—they were a tracker, trained to hunt people like Kael.

The battle was immediate. No hesitation.

Kael barely dodged the first strike, a thin blade whistling past his ear. The tracker wasn't relying on overwhelming power but calculated precision, each attack aimed at forcing them into a corner.

Ronan met the attacker head-on, his abilities flashing to life as he clashed against them.

Sparks flew as steel met energy, but even with his skill, this wasn't an easy fight.

Kael lunged at an opening, but the tracker twisted their body unnaturally, dodging at the last possible moment. Their movements weren't entirely human. Something was off.

A sudden pressure filled the air. Kael felt his vision blur for a second.

The mark on his arm pulsed.

His head snapped up just in time to see the tracker falter—just for a split second.

And in that moment of hesitation, Ronan's fist connected with their ribs, sending them sprawling.

They didn't stay down.

The tracker clicked their tongue and vanished into the shadows—retreating, but not giving up.

Kael and Ronan didn't waste time. They ran.

They didn't stop until they were sure they weren't being followed.

Only then did Kael realize something was… wrong.

The world felt off.

The air seemed thicker. The sounds of the city were distant, distorted. And then—

A whisper.

It wasn't from Ronan. It wasn't from anyone.

Kael blinked rapidly, shaking his head. But as he did, the world flickered.

Just for a moment.

Buildings seemed to shift, their shapes unfamiliar. Shadows stretched too far. And then—

It was gone.

His breath came fast. He turned to Ronan, his expression unreadable.

"...Tell me you didn't just see that," Ronan muttered.

Kael didn't answer.

Because he knew the truth. The mark wasn't just a sign of being watched.

It was changing something inside him.