The mark burned at sunrise.

  Arin woke gasping, his wrist blazing with unnatural heat. The jagged scar glowed faint crimson beneath his skin.

  A whisper brushed the edges of his mind.

  Sealbreaker.

  He stumbled into the village square to find fear already spreading.

  “Spirits were seen near the river.”

  “The livestock won’t move.”

  “My son heard voices in the walls.”

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  The air shimmered.

  And an Atma appeared.

  It stood in the center of the square—larger than the one from the fields, its form twisted by rage.

  Soldiers arrived moments later, armored in the colors of Lord Malrec.

  The Atma lunged.

  Steel passed uselessly through its body.

  Villagers screamed.

  It turned toward Arin.

  Stopped.

  Its hollow gaze fixed on the mark at his wrist.

  The scar flared bright.

  In a voice layered with a thousand dead souls, it spoke:

  “You have broken the Veil.”

  A shockwave of silver light erupted outward.

  The spirit shattered into drifting fragments.

  Silence fell.

  The soldiers stared at Arin.

  Not with confusion.

  With recognition.

  Their commander stepped forward.

  “Lord Malrec warned us,” he said quietly.

  “Warned you about what?” Arin asked.

  The commander’s eyes hardened.

  “About you.”