The tunnel stank of salt and rot.
Kael's boots slipped on the damp stone as he followed Lirya through the narrow passage. The only light came from a rusted lantern she carried, its flickering flame casting long shadows on the walls. The air grew thicker the deeper they went, until the sound of lapping water echoed ahead.
"We're close," Lirya muttered.
Kael flexed his marked hand. The pain had dulled to a steady throb, but the darkness inside him stirred like a restless beast. "This Blackreach Vale—what's waiting for us there?"
"A man who knows more about the Ruinmarks than anyone alive." She glanced back at him. "If you can keep your temper long enough to listen."
Kael gritted his teeth but said nothing.
The tunnel opened onto a crumbling dock, half-rotted planks groaning under their weight. The harbor sprawled before them, a maze of ships and shadows. Most were legitimate traders, their crews asleep or drunk in nearby taverns. But at the far end, tucked between two larger vessels, floated a sleek, black-hulled sloop.
*The Wraith's Kiss.*
Even in the dark, Kael recognized the type. A smuggler's ship. Fast. Dangerous.
Lirya didn't hesitate. She strode down the dock, her cloak flaring behind her. Kael followed, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
A figure stepped from the shadows as they approached the ship—a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and a blade strapped across his back.
"Lirya," he rumbled. "You're late."
"Had to drag this one out of trouble," she said, jerking a thumb at Kael.
The man's eyes—one blue, one milky white—raked over Kael. "So this is the last Aranthor." He smirked. "Doesn't look like much."
Kael's fingers twitched. "Who's asking?"
"Captain Dain Marros," the man said, spitting over the dock's edge. "And you're standing on my ship."
Lirya cut in before Kael could reply. "We need passage to Blackreach. Tonight."
Dain folded his arms. "Price just doubled."
"Why?"
"Because the Church's templars are swarming the docks," he said, grinning. "Seems someone's got them riled up." His mismatched eyes flicked to Kael's gloved left hand. "And I'm guessing that someone's you."
Kael's mark burned.
Lirya sighed and pulled a small pouch from her belt. She tossed it to Dain, who caught it one-handed and weighed it in his palm. The clink of gold was unmistakable.
"That'll do," he said, pocketing the pouch. "Get aboard. We sail within the hour."
---
The ship's deck was cramped but well-kept. A handful of crewmen moved in the dark, preparing to cast off. None spoke to Kael or Lirya as Dain led them below deck to a narrow cabin.
"Stay here," the captain ordered. "And don't touch anything."
When the door shut, Kael turned on Lirya. "You trust him?"
"As much as I trust anyone." She sat on a narrow bunk, rubbing her marked arm absently. "Dain's a bastard, but he's reliable. And he hates the Church more than we do."
Kael leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You still haven't told me who we're meeting in Blackreach."
"A man named **Veylan the Hollow**," she said. "The first Ruinmarked."
Kael stiffened. "That's impossible. The marks are ancient."
"And so is he." Lirya met his gaze. "He's the one who gave me my mark the night your family died. He's been waiting for you, Kael. For years."
A chill crawled down Kael's spine. "Why?"
Before she could answer, the ship lurched. The groan of wood and rope echoed through the hull as *The Wraith's Kiss* pulled away from the dock.
Then—**shouts**.
Lirya was on her feet in an instant. Kael drew his sword as heavy footsteps pounded above them.
Dain threw the door open, his face grim. "Templars. They're boarding the docks."
Kael pushed past him, storming up to the deck. The harbor was chaos. Torches flared along the piers as armored figures surged toward the ships. At the forefront stood a tall templar in gilded armor, his visor raised to reveal a face like chiseled stone.
**Serath the Zealous.**
Kael knew that name. The Church's most feared hunter.
Dain barked orders to his crew. "Cut the lines! Full sails!"
The templar's voice boomed across the water. "By the order of the Eternal Light, surrender the marked ones!"
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. The Ruinmark pulsed, whispering of blood and power.
Lirya grabbed his arm. "Don't. We can outrun them."
But the templars were already spreading along the docks, crossbows raised.
And then the first bolt flew.
The crossbow bolt thudded into the mast inches from Kael's head.
"Get down!" Lirya yanked him behind a barrel as another volley of bolts rained across the deck. The crew scrambled, some returning fire with short bows while others hauled at ropes, desperate to catch the wind.
Dain bellowed curses from the helm, spinning the wheel hard. The ship groaned as it cut sharply through the black water, sails snapping full.
Kael risked a glance back. Three sleek Church cutters had already cast off, their oars slicing through the waves in perfect unison. Faster than any smuggler's sloop.
"We won't outrun them," Kael growled.
Lirya's jaw tightened. "We don't have to. Just reach open water."
Another bolt whistled past, this one skimming Kael's shoulder. Pain flared—but beneath it, something darker stirred. The Ruinmark pulsed in answer, tendrils of shadow writhing up his wrist. His blood felt hot, his muscles coiled like springs.
**Kill them. Drown them in their own blood.**
He shook his head, forcing the whispers back. Not yet.
The ship pitched violently as it hit the harbor mouth, waves crashing over the rails. Salt spray stung Kael's eyes. Behind them, the lead cutter was gaining, its golden sunburst banner snapping in the wind. At its prow stood Serath, his gilded armor gleaming even in the weak moonlight.
Dain spat over the rail. "Bastard's like a bad copper—won't stay buried." He turned to his crew. "Ready the firepots!"
Kael grabbed Lirya's arm. "What's he doing?"
Her eyes gleamed. "Buying us time."
The crew hauled up clay pots from below deck, each wrapped in oil-soaked rags. Dain struck a flint, lighting the first one himself before hurling it in a high arc.
It shattered on the lead cutter's deck.
Flames erupted, licking up sails and ropes. Shouts turned to screams as the fire spread. The second cutter swerved to avoid collision, its oars tangling in the chaos.
But the third cutter came on, unshaken.
Serath raised a hand—and a blinding light erupted from his palm. The fire on his ship guttered out like a snuffed candle.
Kael's stomach dropped. "He's a Sunmarked."
Lirya's grip on her dagger turned white-knuckled. The Church's blessed warriors, gifted with holy light to purge darkness. Of course they'd send one after Ruinmarked fugitives.
Dain roared a new order. "Hard to starboard!"
The ship veered sharply, throwing Kael against the rails. The cutter adjusted seamlessly, closing the gap. Close enough now that Kael could see Serath's cold smile.
Then the sea erupted beside them.
A massive shape breached the waves—scaled, sinuous, with eyes like smoldering coals. A **leviathan eel**, drawn by the blood in the water from a crewman's earlier bolt wound.
The creature's maw gaped, rows of needle-teeth glistening. It struck the cutter mid-ship, wood splintering like kindling. Templars screamed as they were thrown into the dark water—where more shadows circled.
Dain didn't wait to see more. "Full sail! Now!"
The Wraith's Kiss surged forward, leaving the chaos behind. But Kael couldn't tear his eyes away as Serath—**damn him**—leapt clear of the wreckage, landing on a floating spar. Their eyes met across the churning water.
The templar raised his sword in silent promise.
*This isn't over.*
---
Dawn found them adrift in open sea, the coast a smudge on the horizon. The crew moved quietly, tending wounds and repairing rigging.
Kael sat against the foremast, flexing his marked hand. The skin around the sigil had turned gray, the veins darkening. Every beat of his heart sent a pulse of unnatural warmth through him.
Lirya dropped beside him, passing a waterskin. "Drink. You look like death."
He took it grudgingly. "How long to Blackreach?"
"Three days. If the winds favor us." She studied his face. "The mark is eating at you faster than I expected."
Kael snorted. "You mean the *curse*?"
"Power always has a price." She rolled up her sleeve, showing her own mark. The edges were silvered, the center less volatile than his. "The more you fight it, the worse the hunger gets."
"And if I give in?"
"You become what the Church says you are." Her voice dropped. "A monster."
Footsteps approached. Dain loomed over them, his scarred face unreadable. "We lost two good men back there."
Kael met his gaze. "You knew the risks when you took gold to ferry fugitives."
The captain's hand twitched toward his knife. "Aye. But I'd like to know *why* the Church's best sword-saint is hunting a washed-up noble and a knife-ear assassin."
Lirya stiffened at the slur but said nothing.
Kael stood slowly, the mark flaring as his temper rose. "Careful, smuggler."
Dain's mismatched eyes flicked to Kael's blackened veins. Then, surprisingly, he laughed. "Oh, I see now. You're one of *them*. The old blood." He shook his head. "Should've charged triple."
Before Kael could respond, a shout came from the crow's nest. "Ship off the stern!"
All three rushed to the rail. A single-masted vessel trailed them, still distant but gaining fast. No banners. No identifying marks.
But the hull was painted red.
Dain cursed. "**Reavers**."
Lirya went pale. "How? We're in deep waters!"
Kael's stomach turned. Reavers didn't sail these lanes. They haunted the eastern isles, preying on coastal villages. Unless...
"Someone sent them," he said quietly.
The mark throbbed in agreement.
Dain was already barking orders. "Arm yourselves! And someone get me the damn windcaller!"
A frail old woman was brought up from below—wrinkled, blind, with strange tattoos covering her arms. She pressed her hands to the mast and began to chant in a language that made Kael's teeth ache.
The sails billowed unnaturally, the ship lurching forward as if pushed by invisible hands.
But the red ship kept pace.
Lirya drew her daggers. "They have a caller too. A strong one."
Kael flexed his fingers, feeling the darkness coil in his veins. The whispers returned, louder now.
**Let us out. Let us feast.**
The reaver ship closed in. He could see them now—pale faces painted with blood, jagged blades raised in anticipation.
And at their prow stood a figure in tattered robes, their hands glowing the same putrid green as Kael's mark.
Lirya sucked in a breath. "That's impossible..."
Kael didn't wait to hear more. The hunger was too strong now, the whispers too loud.
He let the darkness rise.