The Cursed Gift

The underground chamber was silent except for the flickering of a lone candle.

Kian sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his breaths slow and measured, his hands resting on his knees. His body still ached from the escape, his ribs bruised from the frantic chase across the rooftops. But none of that mattered.

Because his mind was trapped in a single moment. "You are not ready." The words had not been spoken aloud. They had bypassed his ears entirely, sinking straight into his mind like a voice older than time itself.

Something had been inside that relic—something alive. And it had recognized him. "Explain it again," the Ashen Fox said, his tone unreadable. He stood with his arms crossed, watching Kian carefully.

"I touched the chest," Kian said, rubbing his temples. "And the moment I did, something… spoke to me."Spoke?"

Kian hesitated. "Not exactly. It wasn't a normal voice. It was… inside my head. Like a thought that wasn't mine."

The Ashen Fox was silent for a long moment. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he turned and walked toward a nearby bookshelf—one overflowing with old scrolls and brittle pages. "You said the relic was chained and locked in iron?" he asked, running his fingers across the spines of the books.

Kian nodded. "The Magi were guarding it like it was a goddamned crown jewel." The Ashen Fox exhaled, pulling out a leather-bound tome and flipping through the pages. Kian caught glimpses of faded ink, sigils of power, and ancient names written in a language he didn't recognize.

Finally, the Ashen Fox stopped on a page. "Here," he murmured, tilting the book toward Kian. He leaned in—and his breath caught.

A sketch of the iron chest was drawn across the page, its chains detailed down to the smallest rune. Beside it, in slanted script, was a single phrase. "A Prison of the First War."

Kian looked up sharply. "Prison?" The Ashen Fox nodded. "There are relics in this world that do not store power." He tapped a finger on the page. "They contain it." Kian frowned. "You're saying the Magi weren't transporting a weapon?"They were transporting a prisoner."

Kian's mind raced. "A prisoner of what?" he demanded. "Who—what was inside that chest?" The Ashen Fox shut the book, his expression unreadable. "I don't know."

Kian scowled. "That's a lie." The Ashen Fox sighed. "It's a partial truth. I suspect I know, but I need more time to be sure." Kian pushed forward. "Tell me what you suspect."

The Ashen Fox studied him carefully. Then, after a long silence, he said, "There were once others like you." Kian's breath hitched. "The Godmarked?"

"Yes," the Ashen Fox said. "You are not the first to be born with the remnants of old magic. But the Magi have spent centuries hunting your kind, erasing you from history."

Kian swallowed hard. He had always known he was different, but to think there had been others like him? Others who had been hunted down and erased? "What does that have to do with the relic?" Kian asked.

The Ashen Fox's eyes darkened. "Because some of them weren't killed." A chill crawled up Kian's spine. The Ashen Fox continued, his voice quieter now. "Long ago, when the Magi purged the last of the old world, they did not just destroy those who carried the blood of Solmira. Some, they captured. Some, they sealed away."

Kian's breath came slow and uneven. "You're saying the relic contained—" A prisoner," the Ashen Fox confirmed. "Someone like you."

Kian clenched his fists. The Magi weren't just hunting him because of what he was. They were hiding something. They had buried an entire generation of the Godmarked, locking them away in iron prisons.

And now, Kian had come close to uncovering their secret. "What happens if they open it?" he asked, his voice quieter now. The Ashen Fox hesitated. Then, finally, he said, "I don't know." Kian exhaled slowly.

But he knew one thing for certain—he couldn't let the Magi have it.

The Ashen Fox seemed to sense Kian's determination. "I know that look," he muttered. "What look?" "The one that says, 'I'm going to do something reckless.'" Kian met his gaze. "I can't let them keep it."

The Ashen Fox sighed. "I expected as much." He turned away, grabbing a small satchel from the shelf and tossing it to Kian. "If you're going after that relic, you need to be smarter than you were last night."

Kian caught the satchel, frowning. "What's this?"Tools," the Ashen Fox said. "Smoke bombs. Lockpicks. A dagger coated in sleep poison. Everything you'll need to infiltrate without being seen." Kian raised an eyebrow. "And if I am seen?"

The Ashen Fox gave him a humorless smile. "Then I hope your training has been enough to keep you alive."

That night, Kian became the hunter. He moved like a shadow across the rooftops, watching as the Magi's enforcers escorted the relic toward the Ivory Keep.

The Magi would not leave something this dangerous unguarded. That meant they had taken it to their vault. Which meant Kian needed a way inside.

He scouted the perimeter of the Keep, his eyes tracing every entrance, every window, every possible weak point. The walls were too well-guarded. But then—he saw it.

A supply cart, passing through a side gate, its contents being checked lazily by two distracted guards. Kian smirked. That would do.

Kian waited for the right moment, then slipped toward the cart. With precise movements, he climbed beneath the covered cargo, nestling himself between crates. The cart began to move.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears as they passed through the Keep's entrance. The air changed—no longer the open breeze of the streets, but something colder, staler. They were inside.

Minutes later, the cart stopped. Footsteps. Muffled voices. Kian waited, listening carefully. Then, the guards left. Slowly, carefully, he slipped out from beneath the tarp. The room was dimly lit, filled with wooden crates and iron-bound chests.

And at the far end of the chamber, he saw it. The relic. The chains still bound it, the runes along its edges pulsing faintly with power. Kian stepped closer, heart racing. He reached out a hand—And the moment his fingers brushed the iron, the whisper returned. "You are not ready." But this time, it was louder.

This time, the air trembled. And this time—The chains began to break.