The rune wouldn't let him sleep.
Kael collapsed against a decaying divider within the ghettos, body trembling. Fire dashed beneath his skin—up his arm, into his cranium. Each breath felt like gulping glass.
He gazed at the stamp on his hand.
The pendant had smashed amid the assault. The rune remained.
Silver and violet strings beat underneath his skin, vanishing and returning with each heartbeat.
Get up.
If you remain, you die.
The Gate-beast might return. Or the night gangs—sharks who noticed shortcomings in these concrete waters.
He faltered through the contract back roads, each step suffering. The first light was near. The discuss tasted of damp waste and ozone.
He found a shield in a surrendered capacity shed close to the district's rusted fence. Tidy choked the discussion. The fragrance of ancient metal and decay.
Kael slid down against a crate.
The rune's gleam lit the gloom—a violet pulse within the dark.
The torment came in waves.
More profound presently. Like something interior to him was clawing its way out.
Whispers.
Not in his ears. In his bones.
Throaty. Hungry. Words he couldn't get it but felt in his marrow—dread and ponder bent together.
Hours? Days?
When he opened his eyes, the dim first light spilled through the splits within the dividers. The rune's light had blurred to a scar. But the stamp stayed.
Carved into him.
The world felt… different.
He might feel vitality presently. Blackout streams winding beneath the city's skin.
His look snapped to the shed's broken door.
Out there—in the distance—a door gleamed. Still open. A wound within the daylight.
"You're fortunate that thing didn't tear you apart."
Kael flinched.
A man stood within the entryway, outlined against the dawn.
Worn Seeker armor. A scar cutting from the forehead to the cheek. He held a broken skewer, its edge crusted black.
"Saw you out there," the man said, venturing inside. His eyes were tired. Ancient. "No weapon. No sense. Fair meat for the Gate."
Kael's throat was sandpaper. "Didn't have a choice."
The man grunted. "Definitely. Choices are for individuals who aren't starving." His eyes dropped to Kael's hand. To the swoon silver mark.
He went exceptionally still.
"That's unused," he at long last said, voice tight. "Door attempted to murder you? Presently, you're… distinctive?"
Kael twisted his fingers. "A pendant. It broke. This… happened."
The man's jaw fixed. "Antique runes do not wake for waste. That stamp?" He met Kael's eyes. "It's a target. Some'll need to think about you. Most'll need to cut it off you."
Kael looked toward the removed Entryway. "What do I do?"
"Learn quickly, kick the bucket quicker." The man turned to take off. "The Academy's selection. Indeed, the dregs of society are more secure than these boulevards. That stamp? They'll have to take you. Go. Some time recently, somebody sees it… and chooses cleaning you's easier."
Kael opened his mouth—"Who are you? Why offer assistance?"
But the man was as of now gone. Blurred into the city's grime like smoke.
Alone, Kael squeezed his thumb difficulty into the rune.
Torment flared. Shinning. Clean.
No choice now.
The world had split open. So had he.
He ventured into the grimy dawn.
Neon Avalon loomed—a city of lies and sharp teeth.
Kael Thorn, checked by a rune he didn't get, strolled toward it.
End of chapter 2.