A Mark of the Outsider

Elior held tightly to the saddle, his fingers aching from the constant strain. The Skelvyn moved smoothly through the air, but every slight tilt or turn felt dangerously sharp to him. He tried not to look down, yet found himself glancing at the world below more often than he wanted.

The ground stretched far beneath him, sprawling and vast. It was nothing like he had imagined—nothing like the neatly ordered towns and roads he knew from home. Here, rivers snaked across the land, their water glowing faintly, casting a soft, eerie luminescence. He saw vast forests whose canopies shimmered gently in hues of purple and deep green, trees unlike any he'd seen before, taller and broader, with branches that reached and twisted strangely.

In the distance, jagged mountains rose sharply into the sky, their peaks crowned with floating formations that glowed like crystals in the sunlight. Structures hovered impossibly around the highest peaks, suspended as if by invisible strings. Elior blinked, unsure if what he saw was real or some illusion caused by his exhaustion.

He spotted movement far below—a herd of creatures running swiftly through an open field. From this height, they looked small and oddly shaped. They weren't horses or deer, but something stranger, with bodies that moved fluidly, almost as if swimming through grass rather than running on solid earth. Birds—large, winged, and unfamiliar—rose and swooped in graceful arcs, some veering curiously closer to examine the Skelvyn before drifting away again.

His breath caught. It felt unreal, impossible, but it was there, clear and tangible beneath him. This was another world. Not simply another country or an unknown island—an entirely different reality, separated by a barrier he couldn't even begin to comprehend. The weight of that realization pressed hard into his chest, making him grip the saddle even tighter.

He felt alone in a way he hadn't felt before. 

Elior squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to steady his breathing. When he opened them again, the landscape below had changed slightly, the forests thinning out, replaced by gentle rolling hills and winding stone roads. They passed over what looked like settlements—clusters of buildings arranged in patterns unfamiliar to him, smoke rising from chimneys in steady columns.

Ahead, growing larger as they approached, he saw a massive structure nestled atop a broad hill—a fortified gate with tall stone walls surrounding it, clearly visible even from the air. Figures stood watch along the battlements, faint shapes moving with practiced precision.

Elior felt the Skelvyn shift its weight, descending slowly toward the outpost. His heartbeat quickened, a mixture of anxiety and relief filling him. Wherever they were headed next, it was another step into this unknown world, another moment closer to answers. But he knew deep down that nothing would ever feel quite normal again.

The Skelvyn slowed and tilted downward, gliding toward the large stone structure ahead. Elior held on tighter as they descended, fighting a wave of dizziness. The creature's wings stretched wide, catching the wind as they gently touched down inside a wide courtyard. Elior breathed out, relief washing over him as he felt solid ground beneath again.

The cloaked man stepped down first, landing lightly and smoothly. Elior hesitated briefly before climbing down. His legs trembled slightly, not yet accustomed to the feeling of standing again. A few deep breaths steadied him, and he straightened to look around.

They had landed in a large courtyard paved with smooth, pale-gray stones. High walls surrounded them, solid and imposing, their surfaces carved with symbols he couldn't read. Guards stood watch along the walls, wearing armor that looked both sturdy and practical, each with a crystal embedded into their weapons. Some crystals glowed steadily, others flickered softly with colors Elior couldn't recognize.

The cloaked man approached one of the guards and spoke briefly. Elior could understand nothing of the conversation. He stood silently, feeling awkward and exposed. The guards glanced at him, their eyes curious but cautious. He was clearly an outsider here, something unfamiliar and possibly unwanted.

After a short discussion, the guard gave a nod and stepped back. The cloaked man turned toward Elior and motioned for him to follow. Elior hurried forward, not wanting to lose sight of him. They moved across the courtyard and through a large wooden door set into the stone wall.

Inside was a smaller, quieter room. A guard stood nearby, watching carefully. In the center, a man waited, wearing a deep green robe and a gauntlet with a dark-green crystal embedded into it. His expression was calm and patient as he studied Elior.

"This one is the newcomer?" the green-robed man asked, glancing briefly at Elior.

The cloaked man nodded, still not speaking.

"Bring him forward."

The guard stepped aside, allowing Elior to move closer. The mage in green robes regarded him silently, then lifted his gauntlet and indicated Elior's neck.

"You're about to receive the Lingua Glyph," the mage said quietly, speaking slowly even though Elior couldn't understand. "It will help you speak and understand us. It marks you as an outsider. The mark is permanent."

Elior hesitated, not understanding the words but sensing their weight. He stayed still as the mage reached out, gently but firmly pressing two fingers just below Elior's jaw. A sharp pain spread instantly, intense enough to make Elior grit his teeth. The mage held steady, and soon the pain faded into a dull warmth.

"There," the mage said softly, stepping back. "It is done."

Elior rubbed the spot beneath his jaw. The skin was warm, tender, but the pain had passed. He looked around, uncertain.

Slowly, voices around him became clear. A guard murmured quietly, "He looks fragile. Another outsider from the rift."

Elior's eyes widened. He understood every word, clear and sharp. Shock settled into him, and he turned toward the mage, who gave him a calm nod.

"You understand me now?" the mage asked gently, his voice steady and clear.

Elior swallowed, hesitating briefly before answering. "Yes," he replied, surprised at the sound of his own voice forming words he'd never spoken before.

"Good," the mage replied, offering a reassuring look. "Then it's time we explain why you're here, and what comes next."

Elior stared at the mage, still touching the warm spot beneath his jaw. For the first time since he'd arrived, the people around him weren't speaking meaningless sounds. He understood every word, and the realization sent a small shock through him.

"Can you truly understand me now?" the mage repeated gently, his voice patient and steady.

Elior hesitated before answering. He knew how to speak now—somehow—but the words still felt strange on his tongue. "Yes, I… think so."

"Good," the mage said, nodding slowly. He seemed satisfied. "This mark you've received is called the Lingua Glyph. It will allow you to understand our language and speak it clearly. It drains a small amount of your Aether each time you use it, at least until you no longer need it. Eventually, if you learn to speak naturally, it won't drain you at all. But the glyph itself will remain. Everyone will know you are from the other side of the barrier."

Elior's fingers traced the edge of the mark again, his heart beating faster. "Other side?" he repeated quietly. "You mean... another world?"

The mage tilted his head slightly, considering Elior carefully. "That's correct. You crossed over from the ordinary world, through what we call a rift. Sometimes, once every ten or fifteen years, a small amount of Aether leaks through the barrier into your world. Usually, it's stored in an object or place, and if someone from your side interacts with it, they absorb that Aether. When your body held enough of it, the ordinary world rejected you. That's how you ended up here, in Virelen."

Elior swallowed, his throat dry. He looked around the room, noticing the cautious eyes of the guards. He felt very small, standing in the center of them all. "Does that mean... I can go back?" he asked slowly, barely daring to breathe.

The mage's expression softened slightly, almost apologetic. "I'm afraid not. The barrier works only one way. Once you've crossed into Virelen, you can't return. No one ever has."

The words felt heavy. Elior's chest tightened. He'd known—deep down—that going home wasn't likely. But hearing it said clearly, openly, by someone who clearly understood what was happening, was something else entirely. He glanced down, biting his lip hard to keep himself steady.

The mage noticed his reaction and took a gentle step forward. "I'm sorry. It's not easy, I understand. But this is your reality now. Your best chance at survival is learning about this world. We'll start by seeing how much Aether you absorbed when you passed through the rift. It will help us know how to handle your training and what role you might fill here."

"Training?" Elior whispered, feeling suddenly overwhelmed again.

"Yes," the mage said firmly, though still calm. "You will need to control your Aether. Without proper training, it could harm you, or others. Don't worry—we'll guide you."

Elior closed his eyes briefly, fighting off another wave of panic. His head spun, thoughts racing uncontrollably. Aether, barriers, glyphs, training… This isn't my life. It can't be.

But the mage's steady voice and calm manner had already made it clear: It was real, and Elior was truly stuck here.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to speak, even though his voice trembled slightly. "All right. What do I have to do?"

A soft chime sounded, and a clerk stepped in.He was an older man in a charcoal waistcoat, carrying a thick leather‑bound ledger under one arm and a small inkwell that shimmered faintly. He set both on a narrow desk that rose from the floor with a quiet click.

"Intake record," he said, uncapping the inkwell. The ink inside glowed a muted silver, but the quill was an ordinary raven feather trimmed square at the tip.

"Name, please. Spell it."

Elior swallowed. "E‑L‑I‑O‑R W‑Y‑N‑N."

The clerk wrote each letter in careful strokes. The silver ink brightened for a heartbeat, then faded to dull gray as it dried.

"Date of birth?"

"June seventh, 2013."

The clerk made a quick note in the ledger. "Twelve—young one," he murmured.

"Place of origin?"

Elior hesitated. The mage supplied, "Beyond the Barrier, outside Virelen. Category: Rift Arrival."

At those words the clerk's brows lifted. "Oh."He drew a small sigil in the margin beside the entry, lips tightening thoughtfully.

"Next of kin?"

"None."

"Known illnesses?"

Elior shook his head. The clerk finished the line, then flipped to a blank page in back. From a wooden box he removed a small hexagonal token of dark oak inlaid with a single copper rune. Pressing the token against the wet corner of the page, he spoke a short binding phrase. The rune flared once, syncing the token with the written record.

He placed the token in Elior's palm. It was warm and a little heavier than it looked.

"Keep this with you," he said. "Shows the city guard you're properly logged. The Dominion office will issue a permanent badge later."

Elior curled his fingers around the smooth oak edges, feeling the shallow groove of the copper rune.

"Registration complete," the clerk announced. He snapped the ledger shut, gave a polite nod to the mage, and exited as quietly as he'd come.

The mage turned back to Elior, voice steady. "Now we measure how much Aether you're carrying—and then you rest."

The mage led Elior through a narrow stone corridor into another room deeper within the checkpoint. The space was wider, filled with natural light from narrow windows set high into the walls. In the center stood a small pedestal holding a transparent crystal sphere etched with delicate, swirling runes. It shimmered softly, reflecting the faint sunlight filtering through the glass.

Two guards stood near the entrance, observing silently. Elior could feel their eyes on him, careful but curious. He approached the pedestal slowly, uncertain what would happen next.

The mage stopped beside the pedestal and gestured toward the crystal sphere. "This is a testing artifact. It will measure how much Aether you absorbed from the leak in your world."

Elior stared at the crystal, anxiety building in his chest. Finally, he couldn't hold back the question any longer. "You keep saying this word—Aether. What the hell is Aether, anyway?"

The mage smiled slightly at Elior's bluntness. "Aether is energy—the source of all magic in Virelen. It flows through everything here, even the land itself. Every person born in Virelen has at least a small amount. And now you have it as well."

Elior's heart quickened. "Magic? Are you serious?"

"Quite serious," the mage replied evenly. "You'll get detailed explanations during your training. But first, we need to see exactly how much Aether you absorbed."

Elior took a deep breath, looking again at the crystal sphere. Magic. The thought seemed ridiculous, impossible—yet somehow, he'd always known something inside him wasn't quite right. The pressure he'd felt, the strange things happening around him at the orphanage—could it all have been this "Aether"?

The mage placed a reassuring hand on Elior's shoulder. "Relax. This will only take a moment. Just place your hand on the artifact."

Elior nodded slowly, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Carefully, he reached forward, pressing his palm against the smooth surface of the crystal.

Instantly, the crystal flared to life, glowing brightly beneath his hand. Elior gasped, a sudden pull erupting from deep inside him. It felt as if something were being drained, rapidly and forcefully, from his entire body. His legs shook, knees weak, arms heavy.

The mage's calm expression slipped into shock. "That's... impossible," he whispered, staring at the crystal, wide-eyed.

The glow intensified, blazing fiercely. Guards around the room murmured in stunned disbelief, moving uneasily in place.

Elior struggled to keep standing. His vision blurred, the crystal's light filling his eyes and overwhelming his senses. His breathing turned shallow, his thoughts fading rapidly into darkness.

He felt his legs give out. The last thing he heard before collapsing into unconsciousness was the mage's voice repeating quietly, as if trying to convince himself:

"Impossible…"

Then, darkness closed around him.