The air outside the ruined chamber was thick with tension. Ryn's pulse still pounded in his ears, the weight of the strange inscription burning against his palm. He clenched his fist, willing the sensation away, but the mark remained—an inescapable reminder of what had transpired.
The masked figure stood beside him, scanning the surroundings. His demeanor was unreadable, but his stance betrayed vigilance. "This place is no longer safe," he said after a moment. "That thing will not be contained forever."
Ryn swallowed. "What was it?"
"A remnant," the figure replied. "An echo of something far older than this land. You were marked because it recognized you."
Ryn's jaw tightened. "Recognized me? As what?"
The figure did not answer immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the path ahead. "Come. We need distance."
Despite the ache in his limbs, Ryn forced himself to move. The two of them traversed the uneven terrain in silence, the remnants of the underground structure crumbling behind them. The night was unnaturally still, as if the world itself held its breath.
After what felt like an eternity, they stopped beneath a twisted tree. The masked figure finally turned to face Ryn, his voice low. "You are at the center of something vast. That mark is a key—but also a chain."
Ryn narrowed his eyes. "What does it mean?"
The figure hesitated before answering. "It means that forces beyond your comprehension have taken an interest in you. And that your choices will no longer be your own."
Ryn's chest tightened. He had always known that power came with a cost. But this... this felt different. He glanced at the mark on his palm, watching as the inscription shifted ever so slightly. He could almost hear a whisper in the back of his mind.
The masked figure sighed. "I will teach you how to control it. But you must understand—this is not a gift. It is a burden."
Ryn exhaled slowly. "Then I'll carry it."
The figure studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Your training begins now."
As the night deepened, the whispers grew louder, weaving through the wind like a secret yet to be unveiled.
And Ryn knew that his path had only just begun.
The cold night pressed against Ryn's skin as he sat cross-legged beneath the twisted tree. The masked figure stood before him, silent and watchful, as if weighing Ryn's resolve. The eerie whispers from the inscription on his palm had not ceased; if anything, they had grown clearer, words forming and dissipating like echoes in his mind.
"Listen carefully," the masked figure said at last. "The mark has already begun affecting you. It is both a key and a burden, and if you do not learn to control it, it will consume you."
Ryn swallowed. "How do I control it?"
The figure reached into his robes and withdrew a thin engraving tool, its tip gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "By understanding its nature. By engraving your will upon it before it engraves its will upon you."
Ryn's fingers tightened around his knees. "And if I fail?"
"Then you will cease to be yourself."
A chill ran down Ryn's spine. He thought back to the moment when the inscription had burned itself into his palm. He had felt something—an ancient presence, a force beyond his comprehension. And yet, it had not rejected him.
The masked figure knelt before him, placing the engraving tool in Ryn's hand. "Focus. Let the mark reveal its nature to you. Do not resist it—observe it."
Ryn took a slow breath and pressed the tip of the tool against the mark. At once, the whispers surged, filling his mind with fragmented images—ruined halls, celestial glyphs, shadows shifting through endless corridors of knowledge. He clenched his jaw and held his ground.
The inscription on his palm pulsed. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he felt as though he were standing at the edge of something vast and unknowable. Then, from the depths of his mind, a voice emerged—one distinct from the whispers.
"Who are you?"
Ryn's breath caught in his throat. The voice was neither threatening nor welcoming. It was simply there, waiting.
The masked figure's voice cut through the haze. "Answer it."
Ryn exhaled shakily. "I am Ryn."
The silence stretched. Then, the whispers receded, leaving behind a single word etched into his thoughts:
"Incomplete."
His eyes snapped open, his breathing ragged. The masked figure watched him carefully. "What did it say?"
Ryn hesitated, then spoke. "It called me... incomplete."
The figure nodded, as if he had expected as much. "Then we have much work to do."
As the night stretched on, Ryn understood that this was only the beginning. He had touched the edge of something immense, something that sought to shape him. And if he was to survive, he would need to carve his own path before it was carved for him.
The words lingered in Ryn's mind—"Incomplete."
A single, damning judgment, uttered by something beyond his understanding. The whispers had faded, but the mark on his palm still pulsed faintly, a quiet reminder of what had transpired.
The masked figure remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "You've taken the first step."
Ryn exhaled sharply, his hands tightening into fists. "What does it mean?"
The figure studied him. "It means that you are not yet whole. The inscription recognizes this. And so long as it does, it will test you."
Ryn scowled. "Test me how?"
"You will see." The figure rose, his voice carrying a note of finality. "For now, you need rest."
Ryn wanted to protest, but exhaustion pressed down on him like a weight. His limbs felt leaden, his mind sluggish. The moment he closed his eyes, the world faded.
He dreamed of shifting corridors, of symbols etched into walls that glowed and twisted in unnatural patterns. A presence loomed at the edge of his awareness, watching, waiting. In the distance, he saw something—someone—standing with their back to him.
Ryn stepped forward. The figure did not move.
As he drew closer, the markings on the walls began to shift violently, reforming into something new. The whispers returned, indistinct but urgent. And then, just as he reached out—
He woke.
A sharp gasp tore from his throat. His body was drenched in sweat, his pulse hammering in his ears. The masked figure was seated nearby, watching.
"A vision," the figure said. "What did you see?"
Ryn swallowed, his throat dry. "Someone. I think... I think they were waiting for me."
The figure inclined his head. "Then you must find them."
Ryn's brows furrowed. "How?"
The masked man stood. "By completing yourself."
The weight of those words settled in Ryn's chest. He clenched his marked palm, feeling the quiet thrum of power beneath his skin.
He was incomplete.
But not for long.
As dawn broke over the horizon, Ryn rose to his feet, a new determination burning in his gaze. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear.
He would carve his own fate—one inscription at a time.