Chapter 23: The Curse
The three men stood before the blocked road in a line, breathing hard, small against the wall of fallen trees.
Several large trees had fallen across the path, their thick roots torn completely from the frozen ground, black earth frozen to them like claws. The trunks lay tangled, blocking the whole road for at least twenty meters. The storm had destroyed everything in its way without effort.
The grey-haired man stared at the blockage, hands on his hips, calculating how long it would take to cut through. He sighed, a tired, annoyed sound.
"We’ll have to find another route. Through the side forest, go around. It will take longer."
The thin prisoner looked at the fallen trees, then slowly, deliberately, he looked at Danny. A strange, ugly smile appeared on his thin, frostbitten face. The kind of smile someone makes when they think they are smartest.
"See?" he said, pointing with his chin.
Danny looked at him, confused, still holding his bag with his bleeding hands. "See what?"
"I told you. I told all of you from the start."
The thin prisoner pointed toward the destroyed road, toward the storm damage, as if presenting evidence.
"This boy’s curse is following us. It’s been following us since the caravan."
Danny’s expression changed instantly. His tiredness vanished and his jaw tightened.
"What?" His voice was small but sharp.
The grey-haired man turned toward the thin prisoner, frowning hard. "Why are you saying that now? We’re trying to find a way around."
The thin prisoner shrugged, warming to his topic, enjoying having someone to blame.
"Can’t you see what’s happening? Look around you. Everywhere we go, something happens. First the worm. Then the eyeless wolf pack. Then a storm that almost blew us off the earth. Now the road itself collapses in front of us? That’s not bad luck. That’s him."
Danny clenched his fists, his fresh cuts screaming. Blood spotted his wraps.
_What a bastard._
The grey-haired man frowned deeper, his patience thin from cold and pain. "The road was destroyed because of the storm. A hundred-year storm. It tore up half the forest."
"So?" The thin prisoner spread his hands.
"So it has nothing to do with the boy. The storm would have happened whether he was here or not. Trees fall. It’s nature."
The thin prisoner laughed quietly, a nasty, cold laugh.
"You believe that? You believe it’s all coincidence? The kid appears and suddenly our escort mission becomes a nightmare? We lost everyone!"
"I believe what I can see," the grey-haired man said firmly, pointing toward the sky, toward the broken treetops. "The storm was strong enough to tear trees out of the ground and throw our caravan. This road being blocked isn’t surprising. It’s expected. Don’t bring your superstitions here."
The thin prisoner shook his head, looking at the grey-haired man like he was a fool. "You’re too trusting, old man. That’s why you got wounded. You don’t see the pattern."
Danny stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing, his chest getting hot despite the cold.
He couldn’t believe it.
First, the man had tried to use him as bait for the giant worm, pushing him forward with chains. Then he had hidden when the wolf came. Now he was blaming him for the storm, for trees falling, for everything that had gone wrong since they met.
Danny looked down at his arms instinctively, even though the black markings were hidden beneath his clothes, beneath the dead man’s big coat. The curse...
He remembered what the mercenaries had said when they captured him, drunk around a fire. Whispered words.
_The DoD. The Demon of Death. A clan that people feared. A clan that brought death wherever they went. Children born with black arrows are death itself._
A clan connected to death. A clan people killed on sight.
Maybe that was why everyone looked at him differently in his village. Maybe that was why his own village elder gave him away to the caravan so easily.
But this? This storm?
Danny looked at the fallen trees, huge and heavy, roots in the air.
He knew he hadn’t caused this. He hadn’t called the storm with his mind. He hadn’t destroyed the road. He hadn’t done anything except hold a rope and bleed.
He sighed, and the sigh hurt his throat.
_I know I’m unlucky... I’ve always been unlucky. Since birth. But..._
He looked at the thin prisoner with clear anger now.
_But this is too much. You blame me for everything so you don’t have to blame yourself for being a coward._
Danny’s hands tightened until more blood came. The System message from last night flickered faintly in his mind - DoD bloodline detected. What did it even mean?
_Wasn’t he the one who tried to use me as bait? Weren’t they the ones who captured me, chained me, deceived me and tried to sell me at the outpost for gold? Yet somehow, I am the curse. I am the problem._
Danny shook his head slowly. He didn’t understand adults. They were the ones who did evil, then said a child was cursed for it.
The grey-haired man, tired of the argument, walked past them both, stepping into the deep snow beside the road to scout.
"Enough. Both of you. We’re wasting daylight and heat standing here arguing about curses."
The thin prisoner looked at him, still wanting to argue, his mouth open.
"We’re wasting time staring at logs," the grey-haired man cut him off, pointing toward the dark forest to the left of the road. "We’ll find another path there. Old hunters use it. It’s longer, but it bypasses this."
The thin prisoner reluctantly followed, throwing one last dirty look at Danny, muttering "cursed boy" under his breath loud enough to hear.
Danny stayed still for a moment longer, alone in front of the wall of trees.
He looked back at the blocked road, at the straight path they were supposed to take to safety, now buried.
Then toward the forest ahead, dark, untrodden, unknown, where they would have to go now.
The journey had already taken everything from him. His village burned. His family gone. His freedom, taken with chains. And now even the people around him, the only two alive with him, wanted to blame him for things he couldn’t control, for wind and snow.
Danny lowered his head, snow falling on his black hair.
He didn’t know if he was truly cursed. The DoD mark, the Echo awakening - maybe he was. Maybe death really did follow him.
But he knew one thing, with absolute clarity as he looked at his bleeding, marked hands.
He couldn’t allow anyone to decide his fate for him anymore. Not the thin prisoner, not the grey-haired man, not some clan name he didn’t understand.
He picked up his bag, adjusted the heavy dead man’s coat, and followed the others into the forest, leaving the straight road behind.
Behind them, the destroyed road remained buried beneath the snow, silent and impassable, like a closed door.