The Abyss-Touched Mage

Raine moved through the streets of Vaelora, his hood pulled low, pulse pounding against his ribs.

The Arcanum hadn't stopped him.

But they weren't letting him go, either.

They were watching. Waiting.

He could feel it—the weight of unseen eyes following his every step. The way the city guards lingered a second too long when he passed. The way merchants in the marketplace glanced at him before looking away, feigning disinterest.

They knew something.

Maybe not the whole truth. Maybe not what had happened in that chamber.

But enough.

Enough to make him a target.

He adjusted his stride, forcing himself to walk like nothing was wrong. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just another traveler, another nameless soul passing through the city.

His destination was set.

The Red Ember Tavern.

It wasn't much—a run-down place wedged between a butcher's shop and a blacksmith's forge. The kind of establishment where no one asked questions.

And where he had been staying for the past few weeks.

Raine turned down a narrow side street, the scent of smoke and roasting meat filling the air. The distant hum of voices in the market buzzed behind him, a constant backdrop to the restless city.

He needed to pack. Needed to disappear.

He was nearly there when—

A hand grabbed his wrist.

Raine tensed, instinct kicking in. He twisted, breaking the grip—but the man who had grabbed him moved too fast, too controlled.

Before he could react, he was yanked into the narrow space between two buildings, pressed against the cold stone wall.

A figure loomed over him.

Not a guard. Not a common thief.

Someone else.

Someone trained.

Raine's heart hammered. This wasn't a random mugging.

The stranger was older than him, lean but strong, with sharp features and dark, calculating eyes. He wore a simple cloak, the kind that blended easily into a crowd.

But his movements were anything but ordinary.

The grip had been measured. Precise. Not meant to hurt—but to control.

"You're out of time," the man said, voice low and calm. Too calm.

Raine stiffened. "Who the hell are you?"

The man ignored the question. He flicked his gaze toward the alley entrance, as if checking for movement. His grip loosened slightly—but he didn't let go.

"They won't move yet," he murmured. "They'll let you think you have freedom. Let you think you can stay hidden."

Raine swallowed. "And then?"

The man's dark eyes met his.

"Then you stop existing."

A chill ran down Raine's spine.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for a weapon—not that he had one. His thoughts raced, searching for an escape.

This man wasn't with the Arcanum. His posture, his clothes, the way he moved—it didn't fit the rigid authority of the officials.

But that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

"You're with them," Raine said slowly.

A flicker of amusement crossed the man's face. "Not anymore."

Raine's jaw clenched. "Then why are you here?"

The stranger finally released him and took a step back.

"Because you don't know what you are yet." His voice was quieter now. Measured. "And I don't want to see what happens if they get to you first."

Raine's breath caught.

What I am?

Before he could ask, the man pulled something from his coat—a small, worn insignia.

He tossed it to Raine.

Raine caught it on reflex, his fingers closing around the smooth surface. Cold. Metallic. Well-worn.

He turned it over in his palm.

A hollow circle, encased in a ring.

Not a noble crest. Not a guild marker.

Something else.

Something old.

"They've been erasing people like you for centuries," the man said.

Raine's stomach twisted.

His grip tightened around the insignia.

Erasing.

Like the Weaving Society. Like the forbidden names and vanished histories—the ones scrubbed from records, leaving nothing but empty spaces where people had once stood.

His blood ran cold.

He looked up.

But the man was already gone.

Raine stood in the alleyway, heart pounding.

The insignia rested in his palm, heavy despite its size.

This wasn't a warning.

It was a death sentence.

He turned, slipping the insignia into his pocket as he hurried back toward the Red Ember Tavern.

He needed to leave the city.

Tonight.

If the Arcanum was waiting for something—some confirmation, some excuse—he wasn't going to give them the chance.

He reached the tavern without incident, shoving the door open and stepping inside. The scent of ale and burnt stew filled the air, mingling with the murmur of tired travelers.

He moved quickly, heading upstairs to his rented room.

His hands were steady as he packed. His mind wasn't.

The insignia burned in his pocket like a brand.

What did the man mean—what I am?

Raine didn't know.

But the Arcanum did.

And that meant he couldn't stay here.

He slung his pack over his shoulder and took one last glance at the room.

Then he slipped out the window, into the night.

The city stretched before him, its streets alive with lantern glow and distant voices.

He exhaled.

Time to disappear.