They didn't stop arguing.
Not with claws. Not with spells.
With words.
Biting, sharp, childish words.
"I smelled him first."
"I bled for him first."
"You don't bleed. You rot."
"You're built like a territorial badger."
"You're built like an altar someone forgot to clean."
Rein sat against a collapsed wall near the edge of the ruined village, hand pressed to his ribs, bleeding slowly into a strip of bandage he tore from his own cloak.
He stared at the sky like it might someday apologize.
It didn't.
His fingers shook as he pressed harder against the wound.
It was shallow—but something was wrong.
The cut didn't feel like his own anymore.
Not quite.
The skin around it was warm, almost feverish.
And under the warmth… there was a faint tingling. Not pain.
Not quite pleasure.
Something in-between.
He pulled the bandage back and looked at the skin.
Three lines had appeared.
Thin, almost invisible.
They shimmered faintly like veins made of pale ink, curling up from the cut like a budding script.
Not blood vessels.
Not scar tissue.
Something magical.
He covered it fast.
His chest? No better.
When he slipped his hand under his shirt, he could feel a strange warmth lingering there too. Centered just over the heart.
The spot where Seraphael kissed him.
"No. No no no—"
His skin remembered.
And worse—it liked it.
Behind him, Zeraka's voice broke through the argument.
"Why are you shaking?"
Rein turned too fast. "I'm not."
"You smell different," she said, sniffing the air. "You smell… part-wild."
Valaithe tilted her head. "I've noticed it too."
"Don't agree with me."
"I didn't. I claimed you noticed it second."
Rein stood. "What are you talking about?"
Valaithe stepped closer. "You're being marked."
Zeraka growled. "He's already marked."
"By one," Valaithe said calmly. "But not only."
Rein's voice was quiet now.
Cold. "Explain."
Valaithe didn't blink.
"When a creature of powerful obsession gives of themselves—blood, breath, magic—it leaves an echo. When that gift is received…"
Zeraka finished for her, slowly:
"It stains."
They both looked at him.
Zeraka stepped forward, nose twitching.
"I marked you with scent. Fang. Sleep."
Valaithe followed, fingers twitching.
"I gave you spores. You breathed me in."
And Seraphael…
She gave me divine light.
"You're carrying us," Valaithe whispered.
"Not just memory. Presence."
Rein stepped back.
"No."
"You think obsession doesn't have a price?" Valaithe said softly. "Every time you let one of us in, you open a door. And now?"
She leaned in.
"There are too many open doors."
Rein said nothing.
He turned away and walked until the voices faded.
Not far.
Just enough.
He pressed a hand to his chest again.
The warmth didn't fade.
And under it, something was beginning to pulse.
Far away, in a tower of glass and salt, a faceless oracle wrote down a name she'd never learned.
He is becoming.
She dipped the quill in blood, and continued.