Fate of the Marked

The Beginning

"It's nice to finally see you in person," he said, his tone carrying an almost conversational ease. But then his gaze narrowed slightly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his perfect lips. "I must admit... you're not quite what I imagined. You're more... frail."

That did it. My guard snapped into place like clockwork. I straightened, squaring my shoulders as my hand drifted down toward my side, where my staff usually rested. My fingers brushed against nothing but the fabric of my robe—I'd left it leaning against the kitchen wall. I clenched my jaw, already cursing myself for the lapse.

"Do I know you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel my pulse quickening. There was no way this man was here for a casual chat, not with the way he carried himself, too composed, too confident. It wasn't just the eerie perfection of his appearance—there was an undeniable weight to him, a presence that made the air feel heavier, tighter, like a predator sizing up its prey.

His smile widened slightly, as if my question amused him. "No," he said, tilting his head slightly, "but I know you. Quite well, in fact."

That sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, but I didn't let it show. "You've got the advantage, then," I replied, my voice calm but edged with suspicion. "Mind telling me who you are?"

"Oh, I think you've already figured out that I'm not just anyone," he said, his tone still maddeningly casual. His golden eyes locked onto mine, and for the briefest moment, I felt something—like a flicker of heat, a flash of darkness just beneath his flawless surface. "But let's not ruin the surprise just yet."

The man's smile widened, as though he were savoring a private joke only he understood. "You know," he began, his voice light, deliberate, "it really is remarkable to see you in person. Your reputation doesn't do you justice."

I stiffened, my hand tightening on the doorframe. "Reputation?"

"Oh, don't be so modest," he replied smoothly, taking a step closer but staying just outside the threshold. His gaze flicked toward the house, his hand gesturing lazily, as though it contained some grand story only he could see. "A woman with your vast knowledge of spells, your... impressive mana pool—something most mages would trade their lives for—and the wit to outlast all the others in this dangerous little game of yours. Truly remarkable, Thalia."

His tone was casual, but every word came with an edge sharp enough to slice. My eyes narrowed, my guard snapping into place. "I get by," I said flatly, giving him nothing.

He chuckled softly, a sound that grated more than soothed. "Come now, there's no need for such humility. Do you realize how rare someone like you is? All these years, dragging your brother around, doing the hard work while he... well, hacks at things. A little muscle, a lot of noise. It's no wonder he's still alive. He owes that to you."

That one struck a nerve. It wasn't just the jab at Roderick—it was the way he twisted our partnership into something unrecognizable, as if I carried all the weight. My chest tightened with irritation, but there was something worse underneath—a flicker of pride I couldn't quite shove down. Because, in some ways, he wasn't wrong. Roderick was strong, yes, but without me—without my spells, my planning, my adaptability—he wouldn't have made it this far. I knew that.

But hearing it from this stranger, in this way, made it feel like poison.

"You think you've got me figured out," I said, crossing my arms, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Do you?"

His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. "Figured out?" he echoed, his tone dripping with mock curiosity. "No, Thalia, you're far more complicated than that. But one thing is clear: you're a rarity. A true gem. The kind of mage most only hear about in stories."