The Mark

I hesitated for only a moment. How could I call myself human if I abandoned someone in front of me, left them to die? My grip tightened around my sword, and I surged forward.

With a swift motion, I severed the head of the nearest bandit. The others froze, their faces contorted in fear-not just at the sight of their fallen comrade, but at something else. They were staring at me. More specifically, at the mark on my forehead.

I had always believed it was just a scar—an accident from childhood training. But the way they looked at me made my blood run cold.

Before they could react, I struck them down one by one, faster than even I thought possible. In the blink of an eye, they were gone. I turned to the

girl.