That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
The old well haunted his mind—and the red eye staring back from the darkness stayed open behind his closed eyelids.
In his narrow room at Bishop Eluon's house, Kael leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
The Mark on his chest… felt different.
Not just pulsing. But… speaking.
"You have seen it."
The voice—it didn't come from outside. It came from within. A voice both foreign and... familiar. A vibration from his own bones.
"Who are you?" Kael whispered. Cold sweat trickled down.
"I am not a 'who'. I am a 'what'."
Kael bit his lip. The Mark glowed faintly in the dark.
"This Mark was never given. It was inherited. And that well… is not a place. It's a door."
A door to where?
The voice didn't answer. Only a sensation followed.
A feeling of being pulled. Of not being whole anymore.
---
By morning, Kael found a crack beneath his bed.
No—not just a crack.
It formed a symbol. Two overlapping circles, an eye at the center.
And somehow, he knew: this wasn't chance.
When he touched it, the world shifted.
Not physically—but in presence.
As if he was no longer alone.
As if the world he knew was only a thin layer above something far older, far vaster… and watching back.
---
That afternoon, Ilya appeared at Kael's window.
"It has begun, hasn't it?" she said calmly.
Kael nodded.
"Then it's time to learn. You can't fight if you don't understand the 'Mark'."
"What do you mean?"
Ilya smiled. "The Mark is not power. The Mark is truth.
And truth… always hurts."