The stars were unfamiliar.
Not because Ethan had never looked up before—but because now, something looked back.
He could feel it. Like a ripple in his blood whenever the wind passed through the trees. As if the sky remembered his face.
Juno watched him silently from the edge of the training courtyard. His movements had changed—no longer hesitant, no longer restrained by doubt. He wielded the new sword with calm, precise arcs. Each swing released faint pulses of energy that shimmered like heat in the air.
"You were gone three days," she finally said. "But the Abyss Gate kept you for nearly two weeks."
Ethan paused, lowering his sword. "Time moves differently inside."
"What else moves differently in you now?" she asked.
He looked at his hands. The Beastmark no longer flared uncontrollably, but it pulsed with awareness. Like it breathed. Like it waited.
"There was a man inside," Ethan said. "The First Bearer. He said he was the last gatekeeper."
Juno's face twitched slightly. "That's not possible. He's been dead for over a century."
Ethan met her gaze. "Then I saw a ghost. Or a memory. But he gave me this."
He held up the sword. Its surface shimmered, red veins pulsing with each heartbeat.
"That weapon hasn't been seen since the Rift Wars," she whispered. "It was sealed away after the first Rebellion."
Ethan frowned. "What rebellion?"
Juno didn't answer.
Not directly.
---
Later that night, Ethan found himself drawn to the lower levels of the Guild library.
Most hunters never ventured there—too focused on physical combat, too fearful of forbidden knowledge. But Ethan was beginning to understand that the sword wasn't his only weapon.
His past was one too.
And someone had rewritten it.
He traced old tomes with shaking fingers. Dust-covered manuscripts, sealed reports, war logs, redacted with black ink and deeper magic.
One record caught his eye:
> "Veilborn sighted in Sector 9. Null magic response observed. Five hunters lost. Subject marked. Identity unknown."
Veilborn.
That was the second time he'd seen the word. Once, whispered by the Riftwalker. Now here, buried in history.
He turned the page.
There was a sketch—blurred, rough—but unmistakable.
A figure cloaked in shadows, twin horns curling back over its head.
Eyes glowing blue.
And a mark. His mark.
Beneath the sketch were four words:
> "The Beastmarked shall return."
---
The next day, Juno summoned Ethan to the strategy hall.
She wasn't alone.
Rowan stood at the far end, along with several Guild commanders—each of them high-ranking, battle-hardened, and more scarred than armored. Maps littered the table. Red markers dotted the western border. Rift breaches, too many for a normal season.
"You're not the only one changing," Rowan said without preamble. "The Rift activity has tripled in the last month."
Sayen stepped forward, eyes troubled. "We're seeing beasts we've never classified before. Variants—ones that speak. Ones that disappear into shadows."
Ethan thought of the Riftwalker.
Dren crossed his arms. "You think they're organizing?"
"They're not just beasts anymore," Lira said. "They're scouts."
"Scouts for what?" Ethan asked.
Juno exhaled. "A new invasion. Or worse—an awakening. One that's tied to the mark you bear."
The room fell silent.
Then Rowan turned to Ethan. "We're sending you north. Past the Frost Divide."
Ethan blinked. "What's out there?"
"A contact," Rowan said. "A half-blood Veilborn who defected during the last war. He knows the truth behind the marks. And why they're activating again."
"And if he's dead?"
Rowan looked grim. "Then the last piece of your past dies with him."
---
That night, Ethan prepared.
He cleaned his blade. Packed rations. Checked his armor. Then he stared into the mirror for a long time. His reflection no longer looked like a boy. The Beastmark, once a thin line of symbols, now curled over his shoulder like a chain.
He was changing.
And he had no idea where it would end.
Before dawn, Lira caught him at the stables.
"Don't die," she said simply.
"I'll try not to."
She hesitated. Then kissed his cheek. "And don't forget who you are, Ethan. Even if the mark tries to."
He watched her go, heart pounding louder than his thoughts.
---
The north was cold. Cruel.
But Ethan didn't turn back.
Not when the first Rift beast ambushed him beneath a frozen bridge.
Not when the wind howled like voices.
Not even when he crossed the Divide and felt eyes watching him through the fog.
On the sixth night, he reached a crumbling temple half-buried in ice.
Torches flickered inside.
And a voice—low, ancient, layered—echoed across the stone.
"You wear the mark well... child of the void."
Ethan stepped forward, sword drawn.
"I need answers."
A figure stepped into view.
Not quite human. Not quite beast.
Eyes like frozen moons.
And on his chest—a fractured Beastmark.
"You seek the truth?" the figure said.
Ethan nodded.
"Then be prepared to lose everything else."
---