LOCATION: EDGE OF THE DEAD GROUNDS – BELOW SOLAGUN
"He who walks back from the grave must carry what followed him there."
— Old Solagun Saying
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Damaso woke up coughing dirt.
His whole body hurt. His head was ringing. Something sticky ran down his nose. Maybe blood. Maybe not. The only thing clear was the burning in his chest.
He sat up slowly.
And saw it.
A glowing symbol, right in the middle of his chest, pulsing like it was alive.
Not a tattoo. Not paint. A Mark.
His first one.
---
> "You're awake. Good. I was starting to think you'd die before you even screamed."
The voice wasn't real. It was too smooth. Too loud. Too close.
He looked around. Nothing.
> "Stop looking around, child. I'm in your head. And I'm not leaving."
He grabbed his head. "Who—?"
> "Your rescuer. Your punishment. Your flame."
Then suddenly, there she was. Floating behind him. Bare feet. Long black locs that turned into fire at the ends. Her eyes glowed red. Her arms crossed like she was already tired of him.
> "I am Ayanda," she said. "You touched my prison. So now we are bound."
---
Damaso blinked. "No. No-no-no. I didn't—this isn't real. I'm hallucinating."
> "You died, Damaso. You think hallucinations give you Marks?"
She floated closer. Fire danced behind her, but the ground didn't burn. It bent around her.
> "Every time you die, I will bring you back. But it will cost you. One Mark for each return."
He shook his head. "I don't even have powers."
> "You do now."
---
Suddenly, the ground rumbled.
Something was coming. A slow scraping sound. Heavy. Sharp.
Ayanda's face changed. Calm, but colder now.
> "You drew attention. We need to move."
"What is it?"
> "Something that smells like old fire and wants to feed."
---
Damaso stood, wobbled. The Mark on his chest flared. It hurt, but also… didn't. Like the pain made him stronger.
"Wh—where's the sword?" he asked.
> "You don't summon the blade. The blade chooses when to be drawn."
"That's not very helpful!"
> "Neither is screaming while dying again."
---
Then the thing stepped into view.
It wasn't human.
Tall. Thin. Bent wrong. Its skin looked like stretched metal and broken rock. No eyes. Just a glowing hole in its head, where something red blinked slowly.
It sniffed the air. Then turned toward him.
"What is that?!" he shouted.
Ayanda tilted her head.
> "Something left behind by the war. A plague-walker. Very old and very hungry."
"Can I fight it?"
> "No."
"What?!"
> "But you can run."
"I'm not a coward!"
> "Good. Then die faster. I'll bring you back."
---
Damaso didn't wait to argue anymore. He just ran.
The creature screamed behind him—loud and sharp like metal on bone and the hunt, had begun.