Close to Death

Nox had watched his brothers die one by one, each marked by the same cruel fading.

Cael, his eldest, he had noticed the change and said nothing. It didn't happen all at once, it was slow, cruelly patient. At first, he hid it. They both did. Cael had always tried to be strong, the protector, the shield. But soon, the strength left his limbs. Then came the fever, the breathlessness. Two years after his Mark started to fade, Cael was gone.

Ryen followed the same path months later, his mind unraveling before his body gave in. And Ryen... Ryen had fought it harder, screaming at the gods, refusing to be next. But the Mark had no mercy. Each of them had believed, for a time, that they might survive. Each of them had hoped they were different. And Nox had been the next in line, watching his world shrink with every shallow breath his brothers took. By the end, Karn's estate felt like a mausoleum: quiet, hollow, and heavy with mourning.

Nox still remembered the first time he noticed a change to his own Mark.

It was three years ago, when, as usual, he had been preparing for a morning sparring session at the family estate. Before leaving his bedroom, Nox reached for his leather gloves, which he wore daily to conceal his Mark from curious eyes. But this time, something caught his attention just before pulling the glove onto his right hand.

His Mark looked different.

One edge of the circle seemed uneven, as if someone had smudged the outline.

He rushed to wash his hands, hoping the Mark would return to normal.

It didn't.

"What's happening..." he whispered. But deep in his heart, he already knew. Just like with his older brothers, his Mark was slowly fading. 'The curse', he thought. And fear gripped him.

His heart dropped. He rubbed his hands, still submerged in the water basin, desperately hoping it was all an illusion.

His hands had always been slender, with narrow fingers, unlike those of other warriors. There were small calluses on the palms from gripping a sword, but no one who shook his hand would believe he was a seasoned fighter. Still, that didn't matter much as Nox always wore gloves to keep his Mark hidden.

When he pulled his hands out of the water, his soft skin was now bright red. It only made the blurred edge of the Mark stand out more.

He still remembered how he trembled in fear. Should he tell his family? How much time did he have left? How long could he keep this hidden? Did it mean Abram was next?

Nox felt weak. He didn't want to die, but he feared even more for his younger brother Abram and their father. Since his brothers had passed, he had felt responsible for Abram. He had done everything he could to become a worthy successor to their father.

That same day, while practising sword strikes, he decided to try and change his fate. To find a way to save, if not himself, then at least Abram.

A month later, he was already strapping a small luggage onto his horse. He saw his father, Karn, and his brother standing just a few steps away. Abram was only sixteen back then, far too young to lose his last brother.

Nox didn't approach them. He was afraid that if he got too close, he wouldn't be able to mount the horse and leave.

He looked into his brother's reddened eyes, gave a slight nod, and rode off. Thus began his wandering, his search for a way to break the curse.

Nox had spent most of the last three years chasing leads, travelling throughout their dukedom. He questioned scholars, herbalists, and anyone who claimed to know anything about Marks or curses, and his family roots. He visited libraries full of crumbling scrolls and traded gold for old books and vague advice. He even went to a distant, freezing village in the north seeking answers there, but no matter where he went or who he spoke to, the result was always the same: no cure, no solution, no hope. The curse couldn't be undone. Having given up, he spent most of his last remaining months close to his house, as a mercenary for the neighbouring lord. But he was too proud and too ashamed to return home.

All for nothing.

He snapped back to reality just as a raindrop struck his cheek, cold and sharp, dragging him from the fog of memory. He blinked slowly, his vision smeared by water and exhaustion. The sky above was the colour of wet ash, weeping gently onto the ruined earth below.

A harsh cough ripped through him, expelling a spray of blood that splattered onto the dry ground. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of it. His vision, already fading, flickered with dark spots, and the ache in his chest sharpened into a piercing pain. Each breath was difficult, like breathing in razor blades. The last of his body's warmth quickly left him, replaced by a cold, creeping numbness that started in his fingers and began to spread.

'I should've died in battle,' he thought bitterly. 'Like a hero, not like this; half-buried in mud'. stomach caved in from hunger, limbs trembling. His body was giving out. The fire had gone out hours ago, leaving only wet embers.

He lifted his right hand with great effort, peeling it from the muck. The Mark was still there; the once-filled brown circle now warped and hollow. It had been burning under his skin for days now, as though it too was trying to escape his failing body.

Through the haze, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help noticing movement. Yet instead of seeing what he expected; a half-starved coyote sneaking closer, he instead recognized a small black rider. No.... He wasn't small just really far away.

The rider was moving swiftly down the slope from the north. His figure steadily grew bigger until finally he stopped beside the fallen warrior and got off his horse. He looked like he'd been riding for days without rest. His black shirt hung open just enough to reveal a glimpse of his chest. Strands of raven-black hair fell in disarray, giving him a rugged, wind-swept look. Tall and powerfully built, he cut an imposing figure.

Their eyes locked.

In that man's black eyes, Nox thought he saw... Anger? Disappointment?!

For a moment, he feared that the tall, raven-haired warrior had come to rob him. Silly thought. As if any of it mattered now.

Nox gathered what little strength remained and managed to rasp out, "Finish me," he said.

"Finish me, and send the letter in my bag. I don't have much, but you can keep my sword and horse."

The stranger squinted his eyes in disdain but said nothing.

The tall man looked down on Nox as if he were nothing but a mere bug.

He picked up Nox's sword.

Nox closed his eyes, waiting for the blow.

It didn't come.

He tried to open his eyes to see what was happening, but at that moment, he began to lose consciousness.