Page 87 of The First Scar
Dirt floor. Frozen beneath bare feet. Slick with perspiration.
Muscles engaged through the Ember-Vow sequence. Reach. Turn.
Hold. Breathe. Repetition count: irrelevant.
Then the sternum detonated.
Origin: soulmark.
Crimson flare beneath fabric. Heat signature beyond threshold—scorching through the weave. Not ritual feedback. Not overexertion.
Signal.
Knees hit stone. Impact registered late. Training chamber destabilized.
Hands found chest. Pressed.
Pressure did not reduce the flare.
One word. Unauthorized. Involuntary.
"Amaria."
Unknown origin. No memory file matched.
Output cut.
Sandals on stone. Hands at shoulders. Voices—layered, urgent, irrelevant. Priests.
"—Ember-Vow flare—"
"—uncontrolled, that's impossible—"
"—the High Priest—"
Data discarded. Pain retreating.
New Data. Tether. Dual-source signature—pulled taut across distance unmeasured, vibrating with damage.
Designation: unknown. Location: unknown.
Chapter 20
AMARIA
I woke to the smell of herbs and the taste of blood sitting stale on my tongue.
My body came back to me in pieces—the leaden weight of my limbs, then the rough wool of the bedroll scratching my shoulders. Our quarters. A single candle burned down on the crate beside me, wax pooled at its base. Beyond the curtain, the camp hummed—muffled voices, the scrape of someone dragging a bench across stone.
"Easy." Serenya's face swam into focus above me. "You've been out for an hour."
An hour. The Mark collision. Eryndor's scream. The way reality had fractured into dual timelines before Dreadscale tore us apart—
I tried to sit up. My arms gave out.
"I said easy." Serenya pushed me back down, her hand cool against my forehead. "Your marks are still settling. The surge took more out of you than you realize."
The surge. I could still feel the echo of it—that snag above my core, the way my Light and Shadow had reached for him like starving things. The way his thread had answered.
