The swamp was behind them.
But the weight of it—the smell, the screams, the blood—it lingered like a phantom around Hatku's shoulders.
He walked with a limp now, his father's blade dragging faint grooves into the earth behind him. His breath was ragged, lungs still burning from the poisonous mist that had clung to them hours earlier. But it was his sister that troubled him most.
Tashina hadn't spoken much since the battle. Her movements had grown stiff, her face pale. At first, Hatku thought it was just exhaustion from the fight… but now, as they trudged up the stone trail toward the mountainside ruins of the Brajin Temple, something felt off.
She kept her right arm pressed tightly to her side, fingers curled into her cloak. She winced every few steps, but said nothing.
He wanted to ask—wanted to demand what was wrong—but the silence between them felt too fragile. Like one wrong word would shatter something they'd just started to rebuild.
Ahead, the towering gates of the Brajin Temple rose like jagged teeth against the horizon. The sun dipped behind its broken pillars, casting eerie gold across the forgotten sanctuary. Time had not been kind to this place—statues had crumbled, glyphs faded into cracks, and vines curled over every inch of stone like veins choking a dying heart.
As they entered, the wind stilled. The world fell quiet.
Hatku slowed his steps. His instincts screamed.
This place wasn't abandoned—it was waiting.
But Tashina moved faster now. Her breathing quickened, and sweat poured down her temple. She stumbled into the shadowed corridor and vanished into the inner hall.
"Tashina!" Hatku called, forcing himself forward despite the pain in his leg.
He found her leaning over a shallow stone basin. Rainwater shimmered faintly in the moonlight cutting through the collapsed roof. She didn't hesitate—she plunged her face into the water and drank like a beast parched for days.
"Tashina, what the hell are you doing?" he hissed, rushing over.
She looked up. Water streamed from her chin, and her eyes… they were glassy. Wide. Too wide.
"I was just… thirsty," she whispered. "So… so thirsty."
Hatku felt his gut twist. "You're burning up. You're pale and shaking. Something's wrong."
She shook her head too quickly. "It's nothing. I promise."
But it wasn't nothing.
It was spreading.
The mark on her arm—black veins like ink in water—was now crawling past her elbow. It pulsed faintly with each heartbeat, tightening around her flesh like a second skin. She wore long sleeves, but beneath them, her entire limb had begun to feel detached… like it wasn't hers anymore.
But she didn't want Hatku to see.
She didn't want him to panic.
Because if he panicked… he might leave her behind.
And she couldn't be alone again.
She turned away before he could study her face too closely and moved deeper into the temple. The carvings on the walls grew more warped the farther they went—images of beasts being exorcised, of priests casting curses into holy water to trap them. A forgotten ritual. An act of desperation from a realm already on the edge of collapse.
Then she found it.
A tall, cracked font in the center of the ruined altar chamber. Once, this would have been the temple's heart—a place for warriors to kneel before battle, to cleanse themselves in holy water and seek clarity from the gods.
Now, it was dusty… neglected.
But the water remained.
She dropped to her knees and drank again.
This time, it burned.
But she didn't stop.
Hatku appeared behind her, blade still in hand. His shoulders stiffened as he watched her drink from the sacred font like an animal.
"Tashina," he said quietly, "that's not just water."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and smiled—though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm okay. Just… thirsty."
Hatku didn't move. He stared at her for a long moment.
She stared back, unmoving.
He said nothing more.
They camped in the outer chamber beside a crumbling statue of a war god whose face had been torn off in some long-forgotten revolt. Hatku tended to their cuts in silence, sneaking glances at his sister as she sat curled near the fire, her eyes locked on the flames like she was memorizing them.
She hadn't blinked in minutes.
The cloak around her arm was tighter now. She kept her fingers hidden beneath the folds.
She scratched it when he turned away.
She pressed her hand against the stone when he closed his eyes.
And when she thought he had fallen asleep… she laughed.
It was soft. Broken. Just once.
But it was enough to make Hatku sit upright, sword in hand.
"Tashina?" he said, voice tight.
She turned toward him slowly.
The light cast odd shadows across her face, stretching her cheekbones too high, her eyes too hollow.
"I'm fine," she said again.
Hatku didn't answer.
He lay back down, pretending to rest.
But he kept the sword beside him… and his eyes half-open.
Because something was changing.
Something was wrong.
And in the stillness of the Brajin Temple—beneath stone walls meant to cage curses and silence gods—something inside Tashina stirred.
The black mark pulsed in the dark, curling up toward her neck.
And somewhere deep in the ruin, past forgotten halls and shattered altars, something whispered.
It was not a voice.
It was a hunger.
A calling.
A curse—awakening.