The dark sky above the citadel carried a melancholic air. The city that was once Lorthram, the capital of the gods, was now nothing more than a graveyard where hundreds had perished. A light drizzle fell onto my hood as I galloped at full speed through the deserted streets. My horse, Maverick, was snorting in protest—thankfully, we were almost there.

  Only the sound of hooves striking stone echoed through the city as I approached the towering cathedral that stood at the heart of the desolate central square. I quickly dismounted, handing Maverick an apple for his hard work before tying his reins to a nearby post.

  At my touch, the heavy doors creaked open. Thankfully, no living creatures seemed to be roaming the city. Inside the cathedral stood a broad altar, and at its center, a well-preserved statue. The statue depicted a beautiful woman with her eyes blindfolded, raising a massive hammer with both hands as if to mold metal.

  “Yull…” I murmured under my breath.

  This was the cathedral of Yull, the Lady of Steel, goddess of iron and patron of war. Every blacksmith in the renowned Age of Steel bore some blessing of Yull. That wasn’t my case, but even so, I had unfinished business with the Lady of Iron.

  I calmly removed the thick cloak I was wearing, exposing the cursed mark on my skin. About the size of a fist, the mark was pitch black, pulsing faintly as if it devoured the light around it. Its shape, resembling the roots of a weeping willow, made for a truly disturbing sight.

  Kneeling before the altar, I chanted an ancient prayer my father had once taught me. I prayed to Yull to purify his soul, to cleanse the corruption that claimed him, and grant him rest. From my belt, I removed a small cloth pouch. Inside were his ashes, which I scattered at the feet of the Lady of Steel.

  Watching the wind carry those ashes away filled me with a deep sense of loneliness. Those were the last traces of my father’s existence in this world—it felt as though I were abandoning him...

  A few tears welled up in my dirt-streaked face, carving thin paths down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and composed myself. I put my cloak back on and sealed the cathedral doors behind me.

  I headed to the small stable in the square to prepare Maverick for departure. When I arrived, he seemed restless. I stroked his mane to calm him and looked around. In the distance, a flock of birds suddenly took flight—something was approaching. Something bad.

  Alert, I saddled him quickly and rode off toward the city-state of Marshall.

  My purpose in Lorthram had been fulfilled. And being a Marked, I was required to return to Marshall immediately.

  I rode through the entire night to reach my destination by morning. As I stood before the great gates that protected the city, I was approached by one of the guards on duty. I presented him with the worn document that granted me free entry and exit from the city, along with the Ark monitor on my wrist.

  The device was a bracelet made of black metal, etched with small symbols that glowed in response to the Ark's flow. It had been created a few years ago by a descendant of Seth to track the transformation status of the Marked.

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  Seeing the faint glow it emitted, the guard's expression turned urgent. He asked me to dismount and summoned other guards to escort me back to quarantine. I gave Maverick a pat on the neck in farewell and followed them.

  It didn’t take long before I saw the high stone walls of what they called “The Quarantine”—a large facility built to contain the Marked. The structure was divided into three wings: one to contain the sick, known as Containment; one to execute those who had turned into Calamities, called the Grinder; and finally, the Training Wing, meant to shape and instruct the rare few "Miracles" that emerged from among us.

  I glanced down at my wrist again. My time was running out, little by little. The leave I was granted to deliver my father’s ashes had come at just the right time.

  As soon as I arrived, I was summoned to the office of the Quarantine’s director, Doctor Lancaster F. Dunhill.

  The heavy silence of Quarantine stretched across the facility, and the staff—pale and somber—watched me with tired eyes as the guards led me to Lancaster’s office.

  I knocked on the door and waited a few seconds. Then a deep, aged voice answered from within.

  “Come in.”

  I sat across from him as Lancaster studied me with cold eyes. His face betrayed no emotion, but I knew he too mourned my father’s death.

  “Tell me, Cain. Did everything go well?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  Lancaster had been my father’s friend for many years. They met when they were young and walked very different paths in adulthood. Lancaster became a scholar of the Ark and focused his life on studying the Black Mark, while my father, as a blacksmith, provided weapons and armor for the kingdom in its fight against the Calamities.

  Naturally, Lancaster cared.

  “Yes… The ashes were delivered to Yull, just as he wished.”

  “Good. Show me your Ark monitor, and we’re done here.”

  I showed him my wrist, and a worried look appeared on his face. My black steel bracelet emitted only a dim glow.

  “I’m afraid your Judgment is near, Cain… Return to Containment and get some rest.”

  After leaving his office, I was escorted back to my cell in the upper wing of Containment. The unsettling silence was as constant as ever. At least in the upper levels.

  Containment was divided into three sections: upper, intermediate, and lower. The upper levels were for those deemed mentally stable through regular tests; the intermediate for those more prone to madness; and the lower levels were reserved for those who had already lost their minds entirely.

  Sadly, only the lower wing suffered from overcrowding. And with the glow of my bracelet growing dimmer by the day, it was hard not to imagine myself joining them soon.

  I lay down on the cold bed in the back of my cell and felt my body fully relax. The decreasing Ark flow in my body made every movement more exhausting. My eyes shut the moment I heard a gentle voice calling me.

  “Cain…”

  I opened them instantly—only to see him. My father. Sitting at the edge of the bed as if he’d never left.

  Perhaps I was more unstable than I had thought...

  I turned away, ignored him, and went back to sleep.

  The signs that my sanity was slipping were clear as day. The black bracelet on my wrist was barely glowing, and the auditory and visual hallucinations were becoming more frequent. Perhaps the fact that I’d lasted this long was a good sign—at least I’d honored my father’s memory before following the same tragic path he did.

  That thought haunted me as I was constantly tormented by visions of my father. I’d see the old man transform into a horrible Calamity before my eyes, torturing my mind by forcing me to relive my mother’s death. It all pushed me to the edge of breaking—but if I gave in now, what would make me any different from the monster I feared?

  While dancing on the edge of madness, I dedicated myself to studying the Mark. I noticed certain peculiarities that often helped me withstand the mental strain of the hallucinations—like the absence of smell. Even as I witnessed the most grotesque creatures and saw my parents die a thousand times over before me, I could never smell the blood. The screams, the voices—they tried to convince me it was all real. But all that death had no scent.

  And I knew the smell of death.

  Somehow, I managed to pass the guard's weekly checks for a while before they discovered the truth. I was found out when a guard caught me accusing a wall of cheating at cards.

  In the end, I was taken straight to Judgment—without first enduring the torment of the lower cells.