The Varaksha’s Curse

The figure stood motionless at the edge of the ruins, a silhouette against the fractured moonlight. Their cloak billowed slightly in the night breeze, but they made no move to step forward.

Kiran's pulse hammered. The taint of the Hollow Mark still coiled beneath his skin, but he pushed the discomfort aside. This wasn't the time to hesitate.

The Varaksha lowered its stance, a deep, guttural growl rumbling from its chest. The beast's silver eyes locked onto the intruder, poised to strike at Kiran's command.

Kiran tightened his grip on his dagger.

"Step forward," he ordered, his voice steady despite the unease curling inside him. "Or stay in the dark and die there."

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then, the figure took a slow step into the light.

The Seeker of Forgotten Truths

A woman.

Her hood slid back slightly as she moved, revealing strands of midnight-blue hair and piercing violet eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze assessing.

Kiran felt an immediate shift in the air around them.

She wasn't just any traveler.

She knew something.

She was measuring him.

"You're resisting it well," she finally spoke, her voice smooth yet edged with something knowing. "Most men wouldn't last this long."

Kiran's grip on his dagger tightened.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

She tilted her head, as if amused by his caution. "The mark. The Hollow Wraiths' touch." Her gaze flicked briefly to the wound on his shoulder. "You're infected."

The words sent a chill through him.

Infected.

The Hollow Mark wasn't just a wound—it was a curse.

His chest tightened. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed by a stranger sent an uneasy ripple through his thoughts.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She exhaled slowly before answering. "My name is Selmira. I am a Seeker of Forgotten Truths."

Kiran narrowed his eyes. "That means nothing to me."

"It should," she countered. "Because if you don't listen to what I have to say, you won't have much time left."

The Rot Within

Kiran studied her carefully. Every instinct told him to be wary, but at the same time, there was something about her—something that hinted she wasn't an enemy.

Or at least, not an immediate one.

"If you know something," he said slowly, "then speak. What did those creatures do to me?"

Selmira took another step closer, moving deliberately, keeping her hands visible so as not to provoke the Varaksha.

"The Hollow Mark isn't just a wound," she explained. "It's a seed. A tether to the Void itself."

Kiran's jaw clenched.

"A slow corruption," she continued, "that doesn't just consume the body. It breaks the mind, twists the soul until you're no longer yourself. That's why Malrik sent the Night Reapers."

Kiran inhaled sharply at the mention of Malrik's name.

"He knew I'd survive," he muttered, realization dawning. "But this…this was his real plan?"

Selmira nodded. "The Reapers were never meant to kill you. They were meant to change you. To turn you into something that serves him—willingly or not."

A sickening weight settled in Kiran's gut. He had been fighting, thinking he was winning—when in reality, Malrik had planted a weapon inside him.

His own body, his own mind, his own power—all of it was now a battlefield.

Kiran exhaled sharply, rage rising to meet his fear.

"Then tell me how to stop it."

Selmira studied him carefully. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On how far gone you already are."

A Desperate Path

Kiran fought back the unease clawing at his chest. He didn't have time for doubts.

"Give me answers," he demanded. "Can this be undone?"

Selmira hesitated. "The longer the Mark stays, the more it roots itself in your soul. Most who bear it don't realize what's happening until it's too late."

Kiran's fingers curled into a fist.

"I refuse to be Malrik's puppet."

Selmira gave him a long, considering look. Then she reached into her cloak, pulling out a small obsidian vial filled with something that swirled unnaturally.

"This will slow the corruption," she said, tossing it to him.

Kiran caught it, staring at the thick, dark liquid inside.

"But it won't stop it," she added. "For that, we need something more."

"What?"

"The Void Shard."

Kiran's breath caught.

He had heard that name before.

A relic said to hold power over the very fabric of the Void. A fragment of something ancient—something Malrik had been searching for.

And now, Selmira was telling him it was the only way to save himself.

"Where is it?" he asked, voice low.

Selmira's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Buried deep in the Ruins of Evernight. A place where the Void runs wild, where even the strongest lose themselves."

She met his gaze evenly.

"If you go there, Kiran, you might not come back."

The Choice Ahead

The Varaksha nudged Kiran's arm, its warmth grounding him.

He had survived impossible odds. He had faced monsters. He had fought back against the Void itself.

And he had won.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn't just about fighting an enemy.

This was about fighting himself.

His fate, his will, his very soul—all of it was at stake.

Kiran exhaled, gripping the vial tightly. "Then I guess I don't have a choice."

Selmira's violet eyes darkened.

"No," she murmured. "You don't."

To Be Continued…