Chapter 2: The Village in the Night

The darkness still clung to Niko's mind as he pushed himself up from the damp forest floor. His hands trembled, fingers clawing at the mud for stability. His breathing was ragged, his chest burning as if something inside him had been set ablaze.

His tunic stuck to his skin, soaked with rain and sweat. His entire body ached, not from exhaustion but from change—something deep, something irreversible. He felt like a door had been forced open within him, and on the other side was something watching.

His hand moved to his chest, and as his fingers brushed against his skin, he hissed in pain. The mark was still there. A swirling, shifting sigil of black and silver, moving as if alive. It pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, sending a cold fire through his veins.

The book lay before him, now unchained, its pages undisturbed despite the rain. Symbols danced across its surface, waiting. Expecting.

A whisper echoed in his mind.

"You have taken the first step. There is no turning back now."

A shiver ran down his spine, but he ignored it. He could not sit here, drenched and shaking, staring at a book that had no right to exist. He needed to return to the village before someone noticed his absence.

But as he reached for the book, a single thought struck him.

"If I take it with me, I will never escape it."

The idea of leaving it behind gnawed at him, but he knew the truth. It had already marked him. Whether he carried it in his hands or not, it was part of him now.

So, with a deep breath, he lifted the tome from the stone. The instant his fingers closed around its spine, the symbols on the trees dimmed, as if retreating into the forest's shadows. The unnatural silence lifted, and the distant rumble of thunder reminded him that he was still in the real world.

Without another glance back, Niko turned and made his way home.

The village was eerily silent as he approached. The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle, and the streets were empty. Only the flickering lanterns in the windows gave any sign of life.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Every shadow between the houses felt deeper, as if the night had grown heavier in his absence. The storm should have driven people inside, but the air held an expectation, as if the village itself knew something had changed.

When he reached his home, he hesitated at the door. He had snuck out so many times before without being caught, but tonight felt different.

Taking a breath, he pushed the door open.

The inside was warm, lit by the faint glow of the hearth. The scent of damp wood and old parchment filled the space, familiar and grounding. His father's cloak was draped over a chair, untouched. That meant he was awake.

As if summoned by the thought, a voice cut through the silence.

"You were in the forest."

Niko froze. His father stood in the doorway to the next room, his eyes dark and unreadable. His weathered hands were clenched at his sides, his posture tense.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Niko could lie. He had done it before, sneaking out, returning just before dawn. But something about tonight made that impossible. The mark on his chest burned, as if reminding him that the truth had already been decided.

So he did not deny it.

His father exhaled, running a hand over his face.

"You don't understand what you've done."

Niko frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

His father's gaze fell on the book, still clutched in Niko's hands. A muscle in his jaw tightened.

"You touched something you shouldn't have."

Niko's fingers tightened around the tome.

"You knew it was there."

Silence.

His father turned, moving toward the hearth, staring into the fire as if it held an answer. "It wasn't always there. But something has been waiting. Watching. And now, it's chosen you."

A chill ran through Niko's spine. He should have been afraid. A week ago, he would have been. But the fear did not come. Only curiosity.

"What happens now?"

Niko asked, his voice steadier than he expected.

His father turned back to him, studying his face as if searching for something. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with something deeper than anger—resignation.

"Now, you walk a path that no one can guide you through. Whatever you have awoken, it will not stop."

Niko swallowed. He had known, deep down, that his life would never be the same the moment he touched the book. But hearing it out loud made it real.

"What if I don't want it?" he asked.

His father shook his head. "It doesn't matter what you want."

The fire crackled in the silence that followed. The weight of the night still clung to Niko's skin, the memory of that unnatural cold embedded in his bones.

Finally, his father sighed and turned away. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll talk."

Niko knew that meant he would talk, and I would listen.

But he also knew something else.

He wouldn't stop.

No matter what his father said, no matter what warnings were given—he had already chosen this path.

As he lay in his bed that night, the book resting beside him, he ran a hand over his chest, feeling the pulse of the mark. He was no longer just a boy in a forgotten village.

Something ancient had marked him, and whether for good or ill…

It was only the beginning.