The Guild was quiet before dawn.
Ethan padded silently through the stone halls, boots echoing faintly. Sleep had evaded him again—images of the Razorhide's eyes, the weight of his sword plunging into its throat, the thrum of power in his veins.
The Beastmark had stirred.
He touched his wrist absentmindedly. The mark was dormant now, a faint glimmer beneath skin. But in those final moments of the hunt, it had felt alive. Like it had wanted the kill.
He shook the thought from his mind.
On instinct, his feet took him down a side corridor rarely used—past the mess hall, beyond the armory, to a locked door he'd only seen Juno enter once. He shouldn't have been here.
But the door was ajar.
Strange.
He pushed it open gently.
Inside, torchlight flickered against old stone. Dust floated through the air like ghosts. A long staircase spiraled downward.
He hesitated only a moment.
Then he descended.
---
The air grew colder the deeper he went. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound like thunder.
At the bottom, the passage opened into a chamber filled with relics—old weapons, broken armor, crystal shards glowing faintly.
But at the center stood a massive wall of stone, covered in claw marks.
And embedded in the middle—
A colossal, ancient sword. Black as shadow. Cracked with red veins.
Ethan stepped closer, drawn to it.
The Beastmark on his wrist began to burn.
"Don't touch it," a voice growled.
He spun, hand flying to his blade.
Juno stood in the doorway. She wasn't angry. But her face was hard.
"That blade belonged to a Beastmarked from the first era," she said. "One who let the mark consume him."
Ethan looked back at the sword. Its surface shimmered like smoke.
"What happened to him?"
"He became a beast worse than any Rift has ever produced."
Ethan swallowed. "And the Guild keeps this here?"
"To remember the cost," Juno replied. "And to warn those who think power makes them invincible."
---
Back in the training hall, Ethan couldn't focus.
Sparring with Dren, he took a blow to the ribs and staggered back.
"Still asleep?" Dren grunted, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Sorry," Ethan muttered.
"Don't be. Just keep your head straight. You're not the only newblood trying to climb."
That night, Ethan sat on the rooftop again. The moonlight felt colder now.
The Beastmark didn't glow. But he could feel it.
Waiting.
Watching.
Inside the Guild, behind closed doors, masters whispered. And in the shadows of the city, something stirred—drawn by the boy with blue eyes and the cursed mark.
---