Chapter 32 – The Hidden Mark

The first thing Thorne felt was pain.

Not the sharp kind that roared through open wounds—but the cold, sinking ache that came after death had tried and failed to take him.

He opened his eyes to darkness.

No fire. No wind. Just silence—and then a flicker. Not of light, but of memory.

A child. Silver eyes. Standing in a ring of salt and blood. Screaming.

Not from fear. From power.

Thorne gasped and sat up, lungs heaving as if he had clawed his way out of a grave. The visions clung to his skin like ash, too vivid to be dreams, too ancient to be his own. His chest still bore the wound from the last battle—stitched hastily, pulsing with each throb of his racing heart.

He wasn't alone.

Kael stood near the window of the chamber, arms crossed, staring into the early blue light of dawn. His face looked carved from stone—but the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his side, gave him away.