THE PURPLE MARK.
Somewhere in the forest, a teenage girl with a mark of purple skin and a fully violet right eye was hiding in a tree. She quietly aimed her matchlock gun at a deer, focusing hard. She took a deep breath.
"Missing means no second chance…"
She pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
A loud shot echoed through the trees. Birds scattered into the sky.
The deer staggered, hit in the lower chest, and ran a short distance.
"Yes! Perfect shot—and it's a deer! Johnquis will love this!"
The girl quickly slid down from the tree and followed the blood trail.
"We take this life with thanks and return its spirit to the forest," She prayed.
She knelt, pulled out a knife, and began to gut the deer.
"Alright, I beat Johnquis today. He probably just caught a rodent! Haha."
She slung the deer over her shoulder and looked around.
"Where did he go...?"
A roar echoed nearby.
"I-Is that...?"
She dropped the deer, readied her gun, and crept toward the noise.
"Johnquis?"
He didn't hear her. He was in the middle of a fight with a grizzly bear. Just fifteen years old, wielding two daggers—one attached to a chain.
She raised her gun, ready to help—but something made her stop.
Johnquis moved fast, ducking a wide swing from the bear's paw. He slid to the side, dirt flying, and threw the chained dagger around a tree. The chain wrapped tight.
He pulled hard.
WHOOSH!
The chain yanked him forward.
As he flew past, he slashed.
SHLICK!
The blade cut deep into the bear's leg.
ROAAAR!
The beast turned—but Johnquis was already gone.
He used the chain to trip the bear, pulling one leg off balance. The beast dropped to a knee.
Johnquis climbed onto its back in one quick motion. He stabbed down near the neck—once, twice—but the bear thrashed violently.
Then he jumped off, yanked the chain tight—and the dagger sliced deeper around the bear's neck.
The bear staggered.
One final pull—
the dagger sliced clean through.
The bear collapsed.
Johnquis stood over it, panting. Scratched, tired—but alive.
Tarah lowered her gun and stared.
"You fought well, beast… your strength now feeds our own," Johnquis said.
"You surprise me every day…"
"Oh, Tarah. This grizzly bear will feed the village for one or two weeks. And its hide will make great cloaks."
"Even on your birthday, you think of others."
"Well… I saved this beast for today. You're covered in blood—are you okay?"
"Yeah, I... I hunted a deer for you, but..." She glanced at the massive bear.
"That's nice of you. T-thank you, Tarah," Johnquis said, blushing.
"I should thank you. You made me a fine firearm. I really love it."
"You inspired me to forge it. You're great at long-range, so I made the perfect weapon for you,"
He wrapped the chain around the bear's feet. "Alright. Let's go home and prepare a feast!"
"W-Wait... Can you carry it alone?!"
———
As the sun set, they reached the village gate. The village was surrounded by a tall wooden fence.
The wooden gates creaked open as Tarah and Johnquis stepped inside—dragging a grizzly bear and carrying a full-grown deer. The sight stopped the few villagers outside their huts.
An elder leaning on a crutch squinted.
"Is that… a grizzly?"
"A grizzly?!" the children shouted.
Villagers peeked out from behind huts, their purple-scarred faces lighting up. A few healthier adults ran over to help.
They all crowded around Johnquis.
"Whoa! It's so big!" said a little girl.
"How do we even eat this much?" asked a little boy.
"You're so strong, Johnquis!" said one of the adults.
"How about me?! I one-shotted a deer!" Tarah yelled.
No one seemed to hear her. All attention was on Johnquis.
More villagers gathered—maybe twenty in total. Most had purple marks like Tarah, some light, others covering half their faces or limbs. A few were missing fingers.
"We'll eat well tonight!" the elder said.
"It'll be a feast!"
"And we'll make it extra special—today is Johnquis's birthday!"
"Yaaay!" the children cheered.
The villagers began gathering wood, knives, and pots.
Johnquis smiled at them, happy to see their joy. He looked toward a hut at the edge of the village.
"Go on. I'll handle things here," Tarah said.
"Thank you, Tarah," Johnquis replied.
He entered the hut.
Inside, he knelt beside a pale woman. She was breathing hard, every word an effort. Purple spread from her neck down. Her fingers bent in painful angles.
"Mom…"
She gently touched his hand, like she had when he was little.
"Johnquis… come closer."
He leaned in.
"There's something I kept… something for when you came of age." She reached under her pillow with shaking fingers and pulled out a thin silver ring with an orange-red stone. "Wear this and never take it off."
"It's beautiful… T-thank you, Mom."
"Mmm… ah… ah!" She suddenly cried out in pain.
Johnquis pulled back the blanket. Her feet were twisting, bones cracking loudly.
"Mom!" He grabbed her hand. His eyes flicked briefly to his daggers.
With a sharp crack, her feet bent horribly. She screamed in pain, gasping for air. Her violet eyes throbbed as she looked at him.
"Soon… soon my whole body will twist. If I change… you must be ready."
She struggled for breath.
"Do you understand?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Her voice hardened. "Do you understand?"
He nodded slowly, eyes wet.
She relaxed a little, her tone softening. "Good boy… One last thing. I've always told you this—if you ever see…"
Their voices overlapped, quiet and in sync.
"…a man in black armor—hide," they said together. "Don't speak. Don't fight. Just hide."
"Yes… I will," Johnquis whispered.
She looked at him one last time and gave a weak smile.
"Alright, go now. Don't waste your birthday with an old woman in pain… Happy birthday…"
That night, the bear was skinned and smoked. The deer was roasted with herbs. Laughter filled the village for the first time in weeks. Johnquis tended the fire. Tarah helped distribute meat to the sick and the children first. No one ate alone.
At the edge of the village, Tarah and Johnquis sat by the fire.
At the edge of the village, Tarah and Johnquis sat by the fire.
Tarah stared into the flames.
"Have you heard about the Narah?"
"No. What's that?"
"It's a tree," she said. "Grows way up north, in the coldest part. It can survive any storm—cold winds, ice, even dragon fire. They say it blooms a single flower once every ten years. And if you cook it just right, it can cure anything. Even the purple sickness."
Johnquis looked at her, surprised.
"You believe that?"
"I don't know," she said. "But I want to believe it is."
He nodded.
"If something like that exists...If there's even a chance it's real, I'll find it. For her. And for you."
She turned to him, soft eyes searching his.
"You'd go that far for me?"
He looked at her, serious and steady.
"I would."
Tarah smiled, just a little.
"Then I guess I'll go with you. Can't let you get lost out there alone."
Johnquis smiled back.
"Deal."
For a moment, the fire cracked gently between them.
Suddenly, a woman came running toward them, panic in her voice.
"Johnquis… your mother…"
His eyes widened. He knew what that meant. He ran.
Inside the hut, the sounds of cracking bones echoed in the silence. Her body twisted rapidly, unnaturally. She screamed and cried as the purple marks spread. Her skin stretched. Her bones warped. She retched, grunted—and then, she crack her neck.
KRAK!
Johnquis reached the front of the hut, but it was too late. A long clawed hand burst through the door. Then her body emerged—twice the size of a human, hair completely white, skin pale with patches of purple.
It snarled.
She wasn't his mother anymore. She was a monster.
Johnquis froze. Tears fell as he stared.
He remembered her words:
"If I twist… you must be ready."
"No… Mom, I can't. I can't… Forgive me. I lied. I can't kill you." He dropped to his knees.
The monster lunged. Its mouth opened wide.
A gunshot rang out.
Blood and brain scattered.
The headless body fell beside him.
"Forgive me…" Tarah whispered.
Johnquis stared at the body.
"Mom…"
He touched her hand, the way she used to touch his.
Tarah ran to him and hugged him. He cried into her shoulder.
"Why… Why did she have to suffer like this?"
The villagers gathered around, silent and grieving.
A young boy asked his mother, "Will I twist like that too?"
The mother couldn't answer. But an older man stepped forward.
"Yes. We all twist. These purple marks we carry come from the Violet-Blood Sea. It's a curse. We all bear the sickness."
Johnquis touched the back of his neck. A hidden crest pulsed there, warm and alive.