Chapter 9: The Mark
Danny couldn’t sleep.
He remained in the corner of the small camp, his back against a rough pine tree, the bark cold even through his rags. The snow beneath him had melted from his body heat and then refrozen, sticking his clothes to the ground.
The others had fallen asleep, or collapsed. Breathing was shallow, broken. The middle-aged man twitched in his sleep.
The mercenaries were still awake. Their voices had become quieter, low murmurs around the big fire, but Danny could still hear them if he tried.
He didn’t listen anymore. He was tired of hearing what they thought he was.
His attention was on his own body. On the itch that wasn’t an itch.
The black markings.
Slowly, careful not to make his chains clink, he pulled the torn sleeve of his shirt higher with his teeth, because his hands were too numb to grip properly.
There they were.
In the faint red light from the embers, they looked even darker.
Thin black lines shaped like perfect arrows, but not drawn. They were under the skin, like veins of ink. Some pointed toward his shoulder, converging. Others traveled down his arm toward his wrist, then stopped right where the chain rubbed. Some were so thin they looked like cracks.
They had always been there. Since the day he was born. He didn’t remember a time without them.
Danny remembered his mother once touching them. He had been very young, maybe four. Sitting on her lap. She traced one arrow on his forearm with her fingertip, very gently.
He didn’t remember what she said. Her words were gone. Only the expression on her face remained, burned into his memory.
Fear. Not disgust. Not hate. Deep, quiet fear, like she was looking at something that would one day take him away from her.
That was the first thing he remembered about the marks. That look.
People had always stared at him because of them. In his village, children whispered and pulled their own sleeves down. Adults avoided touching him. Others called him names when his mother wasn’t around — demon child, ink-skin, bad omen.
But nobody had ever explained what they truly meant. When he asked, his mother would just pull his sleeve down and say, "Don’t show them."
Now he knew a name. DoD. The Demon of Death clan.
Danny lowered his sleeve. The cloth was rough against the marks, which suddenly felt too warm.
He didn’t know whether it was true. He didn’t know if his clan really worshipped death, or if they were just warriors who lived near the mountains. He didn’t know if the stories about them kneeling to a demon were true or just stories mercenaries told to make them sound worse.
He didn’t know why the monsters had destroyed his village, why they chose that night, why they left only him.
And right now... he didn’t care. Caring about the truth wouldn’t fill his stomach or take off his chains.
His village was gone. His people were gone. Whatever the DoD had been — feared, cursed, powerful — it no longer mattered. It was ash and snow now.
Danny looked toward the forest. Black trees against a black sky.
He needed to escape. Not tomorrow. Tonight. Before they reached the city.
He studied the camp again, forcing himself to think despite the cold.
The grey-haired man was sitting near the big fire, his back straight, whittling a stick with his knife. He never seemed to sleep. Two men were sleeping in the tent, snoring. Another was checking the horses, patting them, checking their hooves for ice.
And one man stood several steps away from the captives, alone. He was watching them. He had been watching for a long time.
Danny’s eyes stopped on him. He felt his stomach tighten.
That man. The one with dark hair tied back, wearing a coat without fur, as if he didn’t feel cold.
Something was completely different about him. The others carried weapons, showed their strength, laughed loud to prove they were dangerous.
This man didn’t need to show anything. He simply stood there. Still. Like a stone in the snow. And yet everyone gave him space. Even the grey-haired man spoke to him differently, quieter.
Danny remembered seeing him earlier, during the march. When one of the horses became frightened by something in the woods and reared, kicking, the man had placed a single hand on its neck. No force. Just a touch.
The animal had immediately calmed down, its eyes rolling back to normal, its breathing slowing in an instant.
Danny didn’t understand how. It wasn’t normal.
But there was something else, something that bothered him more. When the man walked, his footsteps barely made a sound in the snow. No crunch. No print that lasted. And when he passed near the fire, the flames leaned away from him, as if pushed by an invisible wind.
Danny watched him carefully, his breath shallow.
The man suddenly turned. Smooth, too fast.
Their eyes met across the dark.
Danny immediately looked away, his heart slamming so hard it hurt his ribs. He stared at his frozen feet.
Had the man noticed him watching? Did he know what Danny was thinking?
"You’re awake."
Danny froze. His blood went cold.
The man’s voice came from right behind him. He hadn’t heard him move at all. One second he was by the big fire, the next he was behind the tree.
Danny slowly turned his head, his neck stiff with fear.
The man was standing a few steps away, hands in his pockets. Up close, he looked younger than Danny thought, maybe twenty-five, but his eyes were tired and old.
"Why aren’t you sleeping?" the man asked. His voice was calm, not cruel. Almost curious. "Everyone else is. It’s warmer if you sleep."
Danny said nothing. He couldn’t. His tongue was stuck.
The man stared at him for a few long seconds. Then his eyes moved, slowly, down toward Danny’s arms. The sleeve had ridden up again when Danny flinched. The black markings were partially visible beneath his torn cloth, catching a little ember light.
The man’s expression changed. Not fear. Not disgust. Something like... recognition.
"So it’s true," he murmured, almost to himself.
Danny quickly pulled his sleeve down, covering the marks with a sharp yank that made his chains rattle.
The man smiled faintly, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who had just confirmed a rumor.
"Don’t worry," he said, turning away already, losing interest. "I’m not interested in hurting you. You’re more valuable alive."
Danny watched him walk back toward the big fire, his feet still making no sound, snow not even sticking to his boots.
He didn’t believe him. Not a single word. Nobody here had given him a reason to trust them. "Valuable alive" was worse than being hated.
He looked down at the chains around his wrists. The iron was biting into the marks, as if trying to cover them. Then at the dark forest, which promised monsters. Then back at the man who now sat by the big fire, his hands held out, and the flames near him burned a strange, pale blue for a second.
Awakened.
Danny had heard the word before, in hushed tones in his village when the elders thought children were asleep. They used it when speaking about warriors who possessed strange abilities, powers that broke the rules of the world.
People who could do things ordinary humans couldn’t. Some were said to control fire that didn’t burn them. Some could strengthen their bodies until swords broke on their skin. Others could manipulate strange forces called Echoes, which whispered and answered.
Danny didn’t know what _this_ man could do. Fire? Wind? Something that made animals obey?
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty, cold certainty.
If he tried to escape — if he ran tonight — that man would be the one to stop him. Not the grey-haired leader. Him. He would hear the chains, see him in the dark, catch him before he reached the trees.
Danny looked down at his small, shaking hands. They were trembling again.
Not from the cold this time. From fear. Real, deep fear that made his stomach drop.
He wanted to run. Every muscle in his legs wanted to sprint into the black forest and not stop.
But where? The forest was filled with monsters that had killed everyone he knew. The road behind them led only back to ash. The people around him were armed and hated him. And one of them was Awakened — a living wall between him and freedom.
Danny closed his eyes. For a second, he remembered the little boy left in the snow. The whip cracking. The burning village. His mother’s fearful face as she touched his marks.
His small fists slowly tightened, chains clinking, until his cracked knuckles turned white.
He couldn’t remain powerless forever. He couldn’t be cargo, cursed, or pitied.
He opened his eyes. The dying embers reflected in them, two small red dots in the dark.
I will escape.
He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know how to get past an Awakened.
But he would. Even if it took everything he had. Even if he had to crawl through the snow bleeding. Even if he had to face the monsters outside, who were at least honest about wanting to kill him.
He would escape.
Because Danny had already lost everything once to monsters.
He wasn’t going to let these people take the rest and sell it in a city.