Fate of the Marked

The Seven

The dust still hung heavy in the air, and I could barely keep my knees from buckling beneath me. My body screamed with exhaustion, but I forced myself to focus, my gaze flicking to the dwarf standing so effortlessly between me and that creature.

Rowan Hale.

The stories didn't do him justice, and there were plenty of them. Roderick had told me all about Rowan's legendary exploits—slaying beasts thought invincible, taking on missions no sane person would accept, walking away unscathed from things that would destroy anyone else. He wasn't just a monster-hunter; he was the monster-hunter, the one even the veterans whispered about in awe.

Roderick once called him "the best there is." I'd rolled my eyes at the time, because of course Roderick would idolize someone who charged headfirst into danger. But now, seeing him here, calm and composed in the face of a demon, I couldn't help but wonder if my brother had a point.

Still, even the best have their limits. I could feel it, just faintly—his mana. Or rather, his lack of it. Roderick had mentioned that Rowan was sparing with his spells, and now I understood why. His mana pool was shallow, nowhere near mine. This man didn't win battles with flashy magic or overwhelming power. He won through precision, efficiency, and sheer skill.

It was impressive. Even humbling.

The ground shuddered again, snapping me from my thoughts. I turned toward the destruction, toward the demon that refused to die.

The creature stood amidst the rubble, his grotesque body pulsing with light that made my stomach churn. The swollen flesh of his form was now radiating a glow so bright it seemed to challenge the sun itself, his every movement leaving a glistening, slimy trail in his wake.

"Guess I'm too late for the Dragon," Rowan said, his voice calm but sharp as steel. My eyes flicked back to him as he adjusted his grip on the lance. "But a demon? That makes this trip worthwhile."

He spared me a glance, one that lingered just long enough to catch me off guard.

"That's Mammonel. The Greed Demon."

My stomach twisted again at the name. "How do you know that?" I asked, forcing myself to stand a little straighter despite the ache radiating through my body.

Rowan didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached up and brushed his thick braid aside, revealing the mark behind his ear. The same mark I bore.

"Because I killed his sister," he said simply, as if it were a fact as mundane as the weather. "Same as you."

I stared at the mark, my mind racing. Of course. He'd been through this too.

Mammonel's grotesque form shuddered violently, and his twisted voice filled the air. "Ah, the killer of my sisters. Lustera's butcher." His bulbous eyes locked onto Rowan with a hatred so palpable I could almost feel it radiating from him. The demon sneered, his bloated form pulsing with fury. "I'll tear you apart, dwarf! I'll avenge her, piece by miserable piece!"

Rowan didn't flinch. His lance shifted slightly, and the runes etched along its surface began to glow faintly. He exhaled, steady as stone, his voice unwavering. "You can try."

"Is that kid still alive?" Rowan asked, his tone clipped but calm, his dark eyes darting toward Kael's crumpled form.

I glanced over at Kael. He was still breathing, though faintly, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. "Yes," I managed, my voice rasping.

"Then keep it that way," Rowan said, his voice as cold and steady as stone.

Before I could respond, he moved. One second, he was standing beside me, and the next, he was gone, a blur of motion that defied the bulk of his armored frame.