Into The Unown

The Man Before the Mask

Mark Jorum had one goal, to see the clock strike past the age of 35, for every Jorum that had come before, had perished on the eve of their 36.

"The last living Jorum. The thing is, I don't want to be one."

Ailsa rested against the map table. Outside, beyond the confines of the tall windows, waves crashed against the cliffs which held the Orange Island Headquarters.

"You won't be," she said, "the tale and sacrifice of House of Jorum will be sung to every governor who will take the seat after me. There will come a time in their training when they will learn to honour it."

Mark's hand tightened around his uniform. "I don't want to be the last living Jorum, Madame."

"Ailsa will do,"

"Okay, Ailsa," he continued. "What if I told you there was a way to break the curse?"

The corner of her lip faltered. "Son," she said in the sweetest voice she could muster, "I will advice you not to go down that path. Once you step in, there is no going back."

But Mark continued, "Arceus put the curse on my family because of his stolen horn. But... what if I told you that there was someone even stronger than him? Someone ancient? Someone more powerful?"

Ailsa found herself reaching for her locket, something she hadn't done in decades.

The bedroom door slammed hard enough to rattle its hinges as Young Mark slammed in. He threw his gadgets on the bed and collapsed on the floor.

It wasn't fair.

The curse had hollowed out his parents, and their parents before. He'd watched them suffer until there was nothing to be coughed out but their last breath. Every candle they'd blown had been nothing but a reminder. A year out of his life.

Mark Jorum was not going to live past the age of 35.

"I don't want to die."

"You don't have to."

The voice wasn't loud. It was a whisper. Something which had always existed, but only now had managed to come forward.

Mark looked up. A pale ghastly figure stood in the corner of the room. It wasn't transparent, nor entirely solid. It seemed to flicker between both.

"Charlus?" He repeated. "Is this a revenge for me ratting you out to your mother?"

The figure laughed. Upon closer inspection, Mark realised it wasn't Charlus. The features had matched, but he walked with a limp.

"My name is Park." He said.

"How did you get in here?"

Park shrugged. "I was invited."

"I never invited you."

"No." Park tilted his head. "But your blood did."

Mark frowned. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," Park limped towards him, "that your blood is special. The kind of special that makes it easier for me to come to you."

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to." Park smiled. "I will ask you only one question. The same one which I have asked your mother and hers before. And I do hope your answer will be different." Park's eyes locked onto his. "Do you want to live?"

Mark answered immediately. "Yes."

Park smiled wider. "I thought so."

"Can you really stop the curse?"

"I can show you how to step beyond it. The blood already carries the key."

"My blood?"

"You call it inbreeding." Park shrugged. "I calls it adaptation."

There was visible disgust on Mark's face. "It carries disease."

"Yes. But hidden inside all of that is potential."

"What kind of potential?"

"The kind that lets a man live past the age of 35." Park extended his hand. "The question, Mark Jorum... isn't whether you can live past thirty-five." He paused. "It's what you're willing to become to do it."