The Guild didn't let Ethan leave the compound for three days.
His room was bare—no weapons, no windows, and only one guard at the door. Not because they feared he'd escape.
But because they feared what might try to reach him.
He barely slept. Every time his eyes shut, he heard the Riftwalker's words echo in the dark:
"Your blood will awaken the gate."
He saw his parents—only, this time, they wore armor. Black, hunter-forged steel. And both bore the same glowing mark pulsing on their forearms.
He always remembered their deaths.
Now he was starting to question the life they hid from him.
---
Juno returned on the third morning. She wore her usual crimson coat, but her face was paler than usual, and her eyes carried a wariness she never showed in the field.
"You're moving to the eastern annex," she said without preamble. "They cleared a private chamber for you in the Shadow Wing."
"Am I a prisoner?"
"No. You're a classified asset now."
Ethan scoffed. "Nice promotion."
"You're lucky you're not dead."
He followed her through the winding stone halls of the Guild fortress. The Shadow Wing was old—built before the Guild even had a name. Torches lined the walls. A metallic scent lingered in the air. The silence was thicker here, the shadows deeper.
When the door to his new room opened, he stopped cold.
On the stone wall opposite the bed was a massive mural carved into obsidian.
A figure—hooded, face unseen—stood with a blade of fire and a mark glowing on their arm. Surrounding him were Rift beasts kneeling, bowing, worshipping.
Ethan stepped forward slowly. "Who is that?"
Juno didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, "That is the First Marked."
---
They debriefed him that night.
Malric. Sayen. Lira. Dren. All sworn to silence.
The Guild commander, a silver-haired man named Rowan, sat at the table like a statue. His eyes rarely blinked. But when Ethan described the mark flaring to life—when he told them what the Riftwalker said—Rowan leaned forward.
"The Rift recognized you," he said quietly.
Ethan nodded. "It called me heir."
Rowan turned to Juno. "He's ready."
Ethan frowned. "Ready for what?"
She looked at him. "The Abyss Gate."
---
That night, they gave Ethan his sword back.
Not the standard hunter steel.
This one was older—obsidian blade, wrapped in leather that was cracked and dry. As he gripped it, the Beastmark on his arm pulsed once.
The weapon recognized him.
So did the darkness beyond the eastern wall.
---
Two days later...
They took Ethan to the edge of the Wastes—where Rift storms brewed like eternal hurricanes and the air smelled like rust and ozone.
There, buried beneath stone and scar, was the Abyss Gate.
A black spire, taller than the Guild tower, stood like a fang thrust into the sky. At its center was a door—sealed with ancient runes and teeth carved from Rift beasts.
It opened when Ethan approached.
Just like the Riftwalker said: The mark remembers.
Inside was a trial no hunter had faced in centuries.
A place untouched by time. Forgotten by the living.
---
Day 1 – The Hall of Reflections
Ethan wandered endless tunnels carved from obsidian, each wall polished like glass.
Reflections followed him.
Not just of his body.
But of his fears.
His failures.
One mirror showed him holding his mother's corpse.
Another showed him slaying Dren.
The third? He stood crowned in bones, the world burning behind him.
"No," Ethan whispered. "That's not me."
The mark flared.
The mirrors cracked.
---
Day 2 – The Hunger Below
Something stalked him in the second chamber.
Not a Rift beast.
A hunter.
It looked like him. Fought like him. Moved like him.
Every swing of the blade was a mirror image.
Ethan was forced to fight smarter, harder, faster.
In the end, he baited the doppelgänger into lunging—then used his mark to channel a pulse through the floor, disrupting its footing. One clean slice to the throat.
It vanished into smoke.
But not before whispering:
"The mark feeds."
---
Day 3 – The Voice
At the heart of the gate, Ethan collapsed.
No water. No food. He hadn't slept in 48 hours.
But the voice returned.
Low. Familiar.
"You survived the Abyss."
Ethan's eyes fluttered open.
Before him stood a man. Clad in tattered robes. A Beastmark ran across both his arms, brighter than fire.
"I'm... dreaming," Ethan said weakly.
"No," the figure said. "You're awakening."
"Who are you?"
"I was the first," the man replied. "And now... I am the last gatekeeper."
He reached forward. "Take the blade, Ethan. Reclaim your path."
A sword floated in the air.
It was the same one from Ethan's visions—shaped like the Rift, forged in black metal veined with red. The mark pulsed on the hilt.
Ethan grabbed it.
It burned into his hand.
Knowledge. Pain. Memories not his own.
Thousands of years. Endless battles. Every bearer before him screaming, burning, rising.
He fell to his knees.
The man placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You are not alone."
---
When Ethan emerged from the Abyss Gate, his eyes glowed faint blue.
A mark pulsed across his back now, branching from his arm.
He didn't speak for hours.
But the moment he looked up at the stars that night, he whispered one thing:
"They're watching."
---