“Your blood carries a fragment of a power that was lost long before your world named it,” he said. “An energy that's in your blood and tied to the constellations themselves. It’s faint… but it’s awakened the gate.”
I swallowed hard. “You say you can help me.”
“My words are neither tales nor storiesborn ofGods or curses,” he replied. “We seek only to restore what was broken. And your mark—your blood is part of that restoration.”
“What is the journal?
“I know only that the ancient writings belong to you,” the monk said.
“They contain guidance and understanding of what sleeps in your blood.”
Shivering in the wind, exhausted from fear, I realised I had no choice but to listen.
“I understand that you’re afraid,” he said. “But my duty ends here. I was told only to find you and to place this in your hands.”
He extended the scroll to me, the leather string flapping in the wind.
“Take it, Miss Rose. And leave this place. Your mark has awakened and others will feel it soon.”
I hesitated, afraid to approach yet unable to deny the truth in his voice.
Seeing my doubt, the monk tossed the scroll onto the sand. For a moment, I glimpsed something ancient in his eyes. Not a spirit or a prophecy, it was recognition.
Thunder bellowed overhead. The monk gazed at the sky, bowed, and stepped back.
“I must go. My duty is done.”
He turned and walked down the beach, his cloak billowing around him. Glancing around to ensure the Gatemen were nowhere behind me, I scrambled toward the journal and snatched it from the sand. As I touched the faded, brittle parchment, the monk’s final words drifted on the wind.
“Remember this… Ancient magic shadows you. What sleeps in your blood will wake. The essence of the stars is locked within you.”
THIRTY FIVE
CURSED BY STARS
Watching Fionn approach prompted me to tuck the scroll into the waistband of my trousers. The ancient words were meant for my eyes alone, and I couldn’t risk anyone seeing them before I understood their truth. I was confused and exhausted, my spirit drained from what felt like endless conflict. For now, I could only be grateful it was Fionn and not Horous running across the moor toward me. My thoughts barely dared to venture toward what my fate might have been had Fionn not intervened.
Then the anger rose within me. They weren’t going to sacrifice me, they were willing to let me burn. I’d seen what Horous and his Order did to themarked, the ribcages hidden in chambers and fixed to their walls. The thought that could have been me made my gut churn. The thought that this was Fionn and hisbrother’s intention, too, terrified me. I knew he wasn’t here to save me, only to finish what he and his brothers had begun.
But after what I’d done to Horous at theValari Kharun, I wasn’t sure I needed saving anymore. Maybe this parchment wasn’t just a relic. Maybe it was a weapon, one I could finally use to fight back.
Winding his way toward the beach, I noticed his torn clothing, tangled hair, and cut bloodied face.
Blood dripped down his cheek in a slow, steady line. He looked unbreakable but wounded in a way I had never seen before.
“Where are the Gatemen?” I asked, scrambling towards him.
“You don't need to worry about them,” he said. “They won't be bothering you again.” His tone made it clear he hadn’t shown mercy. Good, I thought. Neither had I.
A dark line of red slid down the side of his face, but a thin thread of blue ran through it, an unexpected shadow. The blood appeared tainted, almost poisoned. It was unusual to see him like this, wounded and almost human.
“Can’t you heal yourself like you did before?” I asked, unable to hide the confusion in my voice.
His gaze lingered on the dried blood at my fingertips, a dark shadow flickering in his eyes. “Vareth’s Mark doesn’t work that way,” he muttered. “It’s a reminder that he is in control.”
He wiped away some of the blood but more welled up beneath his fingers. Then his eyes lifted to meet mine, steady and controlled.
“Your concerns shouldn’t be for me,” he said.
