Page 4 of The First Scar
That was the wound beneath everything. The fracture that split us into light and dark, blessed and cursed—and the city that built its laws around the scar. That was what the Sorting did—lined children up bare-chested in the Square of Names and read their futures off their skin. Luminar marks got temple assignments, trades, futures. Shadowmarks got the Veil Mines. No appeal. No return. Just a one-way walk into the dark, and a city that learned not to flinch while it watched.
The street opened up ahead—wider, busier, the last of the market stalls being dragged inside for the night. A tailor yanked a bolt of dyed cloth off a rack, her eyes darting toward the bell tower. Counting the time she had left. Everyone was counting now.
Chapter 2
AMARIA
I licked the last of the sugar from my thumb, already turning back toward the alley's mouth—toward smoke, stone, and whatever waited in the dark. Some girls spent their sugar on kisses. I spent mine on buns. Safer that way.
Serenya's voice came quiet behind me.
"You don't know how to stop loving the wrong things, Amaria."
I swallowed, eyes fixed on the split stone at my feet. She wasn't wrong.
"But one day, that will save us."
My eyes snapped to hers. Warmth spreading in my chest. Sometimes... I could swear, the strongest medicine is a friend's faith in you.
I glanced at the bell tower. Just past the eighth mark. Two hours to dusk. Plenty of time, if nothing else went wrong. So, no time at all.
Smoke curled in slow ribbons from the spires—sweet with burnt myrrh, bitter beneath it. Iron, maybe. Or blood. It clung to my tongue, erasing the last of the cinnamon.
The satchel thudded against my hip. Dull and traitorous.
A reminder of what we carried. Of what we'd already paid to get it. The Mark-Eater balm.
Not in coin or favors. But memory. One of Serenya's.
She never told me which and I knew better than to ask.
The only thing I knew for sure was that she flinched when certain rituals were performed. Rites she once had full access to, now lost to buy a chance we might never use.
The little vials of balm couldn't help me. Not with what I carried. The balm could blur a single mark: one clean signature on the skin. But mine wasn't clean. Something deeper stirred beneath the amulet as if it could feel how close we were to the Sorting, a pull at the base of my sternum that had nothing to do with the Luminar light I wore on the outside. I shoved it down. Held it there. It never stayed down for long.
She stepped close and reached into the pouch, fingers rooting through its contents. She didn't pull out the balm. Just a sprig of Hearthsage, wilted, but scent still acute. One of her temple things, meant to calm the nerves. She tucked it behind my ear without looking at me—like I'd forget it was a blessing if she made it seem like nothing.
I inhaled, letting the Hearthsage do its work. Four streets. Two more crossings. Almost there. The gods could give me that much. They owed me more, but I'd settle.
Then—
My breath fogged once. Then didn't. The air shifted. Thickened. Watching.
My skin prickled. A rhythm had changed. I didn't know what. But my body moved on instinct. Rhain. The boy. The mark. The risk. I held them firm and kept moving.
Three more streets...
My balance tipped forward, like I was being pulled by an unseen force.
My mark stirred—soft at first, then firm.
Threads of magic tugged with a deep, rhythmic pull at my core. I froze, cloak stirring around my ankles. Serenya touched my arm.
“Something's coming," she murmured. I nodded, our heads turning in unison towards the gates.
Then the sound came—
Not a bell or a shout—
