Night had fallen over the camp, and silence reigned across the rows of stone barracks assigned to the heirs. Each room was simple—barely more than a square of stone and wood with a bed, a cabinet, and a single window to the moonlit night.
Inside one of these rooms, Ari sat on the edge of his bed, his chest still damp from the shower. A cracked mirror rested in his palm, small enough to barely reflect his face. But he wasn't looking at his face—he twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of his back in the reflection.
The marks were still there.
Ten dark dots formed a circle across his upper back—tattoo-like in shape and ominously perfect. Nine small ones surrounded a tenth, larger dot in the center. They hadn't been there a year ago. In fact, they hadn't been there at all until ten months ago.
---
Way back, during the times Ari was training with Amy, It had been Amy who first noticed them.
"That scar... it's changing," she had said with concern in her voice. "Ari, that's not a scar anymore. That's a mark. A tattoo."
She had walked behind him, eyes narrowed with disbelief as she traced her fingers near the dots but never touching them. They pulsed faintly, glowing like embers buried in ash.
"It wasn't there before," Ari had replied. "It was just one scar... and now ten marks?"
"You said you awakened some kind of power back then. What if this is connected to it?" Amy asked, stepping around to face him.
He nodded slowly, mind racing back to that terrifying day—the day he'd died, only to wake up alive. Changed. The pain, the light, the silence before breath returned to him.
"I didn't survive that night. I died," Ari had said then, his voice distant. "I was dead. And then... I wasn't."
Amy had stared, silent.
"That means your power... it's resurrection," she whispered. "But if that's true... then maybe those marks are somehow connected to it, and the tattoo mark are the cost."
Ari had frowned. "A cost for each time I come back?"
She nodded. "Maybe each mark turned into scar as a cost everytime you come back, you only get to come back a few times. Ten marks. One for each resurrection. And look—there's only one in the center that looks different. What will happen if you use them all?"
He hadn't wanted to believe that. But something about it made too much sense.
"Then what if I try to use my powers", Ari said, "wait this is only my assumption, but what if it wouldn't work?" She said.
"Don't try anything stupid that you're not sure if you're doing the right thing", Amy added.
---
Back in the cold room of the camp, Ari stared at the mirror in thought.
"I haven't tried it since then... haven't dared," he whispered to himself. "Amy's right. If I die and it doesn't work—there's no second chance."
He let the mirror fall to the bed and leaned back against the stone wall. "Still... if there ever is a right time to test it, I'll know. Until then... I'll survive the old way."
He laid down. Closed his eyes. Let the world go dark.
But the night had other plans.
---
The door creaked open.
Ari didn't hear it.
Three figures stepped silently inside. Cloaked in shadow. One remained near the door—Ozai, heir to a powerful noble house, his eyes filled with disdain and satisfaction.
"This bastard humiliated me at the banquet," Ozai whispered. "Commoner scum. Daring to speak like a man of power."
He gave a nod, then slipped away, leaving two others behind. One of them—Roland—was already conjuring silver chains of mana that writhed in the air like serpents.
The other held a knife.
Ari stirred in his sleep just as the blade pierced his side.
He gasped—choked on breath—but before he could scream, the chains coiled around his arms and torso, pinning him to the bed.
"Wha—what the—!" he stammered.
More stabs.
The knife plunged into his chest. His abdomen. His thigh.
Blood soaked through the sheets, dripping onto the floor with soft, horrific patters.
"Hold him down!" Roland hissed, sweat pouring down his brow as he tightened the chains.
The other attacker grinned. "It's over. You should've stayed dead the first time."
Ari could barely move. Could barely breathe. His limbs jerked helplessly as his life drained from him.
Another stab.
Then another.
Then—
Stillness.
Roland let the chains dissolve. Ari's body, soaked in blood, lay lifeless on the bed.
"It's done," he muttered. "Let's go."
"If we get caught, it's just training punishment. Nothing more," the other one said, smirking. "No one cares if a bastard dies."
They left without looking back, quietly vanishing into the dark halls of the barracks.
---
Silence.
Then—stone.
Ari's body began to harden, his skin turning gray, textured, as if his flesh were being encased in petrified ash.
A faint wind stirred in the room. Magic. Deep, ancient.
Then—
Crack.
A fissure split across the stone chest of the corpse. A glow surged through it. From the core of the petrified shell, something emerged.
A hand. Then another. Gripping the sides of the cracked stone.
And then Ari, reborn, pulled himself free from the cocoon of his former self. A radiant aura enveloped him for a brief moment before fading.
His wounds were gone.
His clothes, whole.
And one of the marks on his back—once a black tattoo—was now a jagged, red scar.
"I died..." Ari whispered, panting. "And came back."
His eyes glowed faintly with that golden hue once more, the power still fresh in his veins.
He stood slowly. Stronger. His muscles felt heavier. More controlled. His heartbeat echoed in his ears—but it wasn't fear.
It was rage.
"I remember their faces," he whispered. "Roland. Ozai. The other one."
He clenched his fists.
"I'll make them wish they succeeded."
---
Dawn.
The cafeteria buzzed with cruel gossip. Some heirs laughed. Others whispered.
"The commoner boy's finally dead. About time."
"Guess he wasn't built to be King material."
Ozai leaned back in his chair, smug and relaxed. "You're welcome," he said coolly to Jasmine, a noble princess beside him.
Then the door opened.
And silence fell.
Ari walked in.
Not limping.
Not wounded.
Not pale.
Alive.
Whole.
His gaze scanned the room—and locked onto Ozai.
The noble's face went pale.
The laughter died in his throat.
Ari didn't say a word. He walked slowly, coldly, past the rows of stunned heirs. Took a tray of breakfast. Found an empty seat directly across from Ozai.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It wasn't warm.
It was the smile of someone who had seen death, clawed his way back from it, and returned with a vendetta written in blood.
Ozai gripped the edge of his seat, trembling. His eyes wide with disbelief.
"That... that look," he thought. "It's like... like a beast staring at its prey."
Ari took a bite of his bread, never breaking eye contact.
Ozai couldn't breathe.
Couldn't blink.
Couldn't run.
Because now he knew.
Ari Calvarin could not be killed.
And he would be coming for them.
One by one.