The Cursed Gift

The stars stretched wide above Eldrinth, their light barely piercing through the city's rising smoke. From their vantage point high on the rooftop, Kian could see the Ivory Keep, its towers gleaming in the moonlight. Somewhere within those walls, the Magi were recovering from their defeat, their plans shattered—for now.

But Kian wasn't thinking about them. His gaze was fixed on the figure beside him. "My name is Solrien."

The name sent a shiver through him. He had heard it before—but where? "You… you're one of them, aren't you?" Kian whispered. "One of the Godmarked."

Solrien turned their silver-fire eyes to him, studying him in silence. The night breeze stirred their long, tattered cloak, its silver threads glinting faintly. "I was," Solrien murmured at last. "Once."

Kian's pulse quickened. He had so many questions—who were they? Why had the Magi sealed them away? What did they know about him? But before he could speak, Solrien let out a slow breath and turned away.

"The Magi will not stop," they said. "They will hunt you. They will hunt me. The fact that we have escaped only makes us more dangerous to them." Kian clenched his fists. He had known that ever since he'd first discovered his power, but hearing it spoken aloud by someone who had lived through it made it feel even heavier.

Still—he wasn't going to run. Not anymore. "Then tell me," he said firmly. "What do I need to know?" Solrien's gaze flicked back to him. "You wish to understand what you are?"

Kian met their eyes. "Yes." A faint smirk touched Solrien's lips. "Then listen well, Kian of Eldrinth." And they began to speak of the past.

Kian listened in stunned silence as Solrien told the story of an age-long burial. "There was a time," Solrien murmured, "when magic was not feared. When it was the lifeblood of this world. The cities of men thrived under the guidance of the Godmarked—those born with power not from study or ritual, but from blood and spirit."

Kian's mind reeled. The Godmarked had ruled? He had always been taught that magic had always been dangerous and unnatural. But Solrien wasn't finished. "But men are creatures of ambition," they continued. "And power, when left unchecked, breeds conflict."

The war had begun with whispers—kings and priests fearing the Godmarked, fearing their power. Fear had turned into laws. Laws had turned into purges. And then—"The Magi were created." Kian's breath hitched.

Solrien nodded. "The Magi were not always the keepers of knowledge they claim to be. They were warriors. Assassins. Created by the High Kings to hunt us."

The war had lasted a hundred years. Cities had burned and nations had fallen. And in the end, the Godmarked had been defeated. "Most were killed," Solrien said quietly. "But a few of us were… taken. Sealed. Buried in prisons of iron and rune-forged chains."

A cold dread settled in Kian's stomach. "You were one of them," he said softly. Solrien nodded. "I was sealed away before you were even born."

Kian exhaled slowly. The weight of it all pressed against his chest. The Magi hadn't just hunted people like him—they had erased them. And now, Solrien was free.

The wind stirred, carrying the distant sounds of Eldrinth's restless streets. Somewhere, far below, the city was still reeling from what had happened in the Magi's vault.

Kian frowned. "They'll come for us." Solrien tilted their head. "Yes." Kian clenched his fists. "Then we need to move first." Solrien gave him an amused look. "So eager for battle."They tried to erase me," Kian said coldly. "They tried to erase you. They're not going to stop."

Solrien studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, they nodded. "Then we must strike before they can." Kian took a deep breath. "How?" Solrien's gaze turned toward the Ivory Keep.

"The Magi fear the past," they said. "They have spent centuries burying the truth of what they did." Their silver eyes gleamed. "So we will drag that truth into the light." Kian frowned. "What does that mean?"It means," Solrien said, "that deep within the Ivory Keep, beneath their archives, there is something even more valuable than the relic they stole away."

Kian felt his breath quicken. "What is it?" Solrien turned to him fully. "The records of every Godmarked who ever lived." Kian's mind raced. Proof.

If they could get to those records, they could expose the Magi. They could uncover who else had been taken and who else might still be locked away. They could show the world the truth. But that also meant breaking into the very heart of the Magi's power. A suicide mission.

Kian let the thought settle for a moment—then, finally, he nodded. "Tell me what I have to do."

Solrien stepped closer, their gaze unreadable. "This will not be easy. The Magi will not show mercy. Once we do this, there is no turning back."

Kian met their gaze. "I wasn't planning to turn back." For a moment, there was only silence between them. Then, Solrien gave him a rare, fleeting smile. "Then let us begin." Meanwhile, in the Ivory Keep…Deep within the heart of the Magi's stronghold, Master Edran stood before the shattered remains of the vault.

The air still crackled with the remnants of Kian's power, the scent of scorched runes thick in the air. The guards stood at attention, their faces pale, their hands shaking. One of them finally spoke. "The prisoner… they're gone. The boy, too." Edran said nothing.

His cold gaze swept across the destruction, his hands clasped behind his back. Then, finally, he turned to the assembled Magi. "They are coming," he said. Silence. Then—Master Edran lifted his hand.

And the entire chamber shuddered as dark magic pulsed outward, rippling through the stone. "The boy believes he has found an ally," Edran murmured. His lips curled slightly. "Let him believe it."

The Magi watched as dark energy coiled in his palm, taking shape—a sigil, ancient and unreadable, pulsing like a heartbeat. "He is untrained. Predictable. And soon… he will lead us straight to the others." A smile—small and cruel. "And when he does…" The sigil in his hand flared violently. "We will erase him properly this time."