The marking

The Marking of Warriors

The echoes of the cleansing ceremony still lingered in the air, the scent of burning incense and desert herbs mixing with the warmth of the evening. The celebrants stood in the central stone plaza, their bodies cleansed, their spirits renewed, awaiting the final rite—the Marking of Warriors.

All around them, the warrior factions of Targari gathered. Each group had its own customs, its own strengths. The Harbingers of the Dunes, known for their ruthless combat; the Stormcallers, masters of desert winds and long-range warfare; the Shadow Vipers, trained assassins who moved unseen; and the Scientias, the keepers of knowledge and strategy.

Leo and Cassian stood among the celebrants, watching as warriors stepped forward to claim their new recruits. One by one, symbols were traced in black ink and burned onto their shoulders, forever binding them to their chosen path.

When Cassian's turn came, a hooded elder from the Scientias stepped forward. "This one," he said, placing a firm hand on Cassian's shoulder, "has the mind of a trickster, the wit of a survivor. He shall walk with us."

Cassian smirked. "Finally, someone appreciates my genius."

The crowd chuckled, but Segrit, always quick with a jab, sniffed the air dramatically and said, "And yet, your stench remains unmatched."

Laughter rippled through the onlookers as Cassian was marked, though his face turned slightly red at the reminder of his carcass-hiding escapade.

Then came Leo's turn.

Nayomi herself stepped forward. "This one belongs to the Scouts of the Deep Dunes," she declared. "His path is with us."

The high priestess, Seraphis, approached with a bowl of sacred ink, ready to inscribe the mark of the scouts onto Leo's shoulder. But the moment she pressed her hand against his skin, she froze.

A collective gasp spread through the Targari.

There, already etched into Leo's flesh, was a mark older than any of them had ever seen—a symbol of Ordos, the forgotten lineage of warriors.

Seraphis took a step back, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is Takim's mark… This is the seal of Ordos."

The murmurs among the warriors grew frantic. Takim, the noble warrior of legend, had disappeared centuries ago on a mission to Delia. Had his bloodline survived in secrecy?

Nayomi's gaze hardened, her mind racing with possibilities. If Leo bore the mark of Ordos, then his existence was not an accident.

Leo, unaware of the full weight of this discovery, simply stared at the mark on his skin. It had always been there—a birthmark, nothing more. Or so he had thought.

But now, under the firelight and the judgment of the Targari warriors, it meant something else entirely.

It meant his destiny was far greater than he had ever imagined.