The Mark Beneath the Skin

She didn’t remember falling.

One second she was reaching for her dagger, Kael’s shout echoing in her ears—“Lyra, behind you!”—and the next, she was swallowed by darkness.

Something cold and formless had wrapped around her, sinking into her bones like smoke, like water, like shadows made flesh. Not claws. Not teeth. Just pressure—suffocating, inescapable—and a sickening pull that turned her world inside out.

When her senses returned, she was no longer in the forest.

She was somewhere else.

Somewhere ancient.

The air was stale with age and secrets, the ground beneath her damp and uneven. Lyra groaned as she blinked into the darkness. A soft, eerie blue glow pulsed faintly from the walls—light from stones embedded in cracked stone. The walls were carved with runes—symbols older than language. Older than the packs.

She was underground. A ruin maybe. Or a tomb.

And she wasn’t alone.

She sat upright slowly, pain lancing through her ribs. Her cloak was gone. Her boots too. Even her dagger had been stripped. She wore only her shift and leggings, her skin sticky with sweat, her heartbeat loud in the silence.

Across from her stood a figure.

Pale. Tall. Hooded in white and shadow.

A Hollowed One.

Her first real glimpse of one.

He wore robes made from some shimmering, bone-like fabric, faceless beneath his hood, except for two eyes that glowed faintly—dead and bright as stars. He held no weapon. He didn’t need one. His presence was enough. She could feel the weight of him pressing on her skin like cold iron.

But what made her stomach twist wasn’t his stillness. It was the feeling she got—like he wasn’t quite there. Like he was less than spirit, more than body. A ripple in the world that didn’t belong.

“You shouldn’t be awake yet,” he said, voice more a breath than sound.

Lyra bared her teeth. “You shouldn’t have taken me.”

“You carry the mark.”

She rose to her feet, shaky but defiant. “If you think I’m going to play sacrificial wolf-girl in some old prophecy—”

“You misunderstand.”

He stepped closer.

She didn’t flinch, though her legs wanted to. Her wolf was silent inside her, unnaturally still, as if it too feared him.

“You are not the offering,” he murmured. “You are the gate.”

She froze.

“What?”

He tilted his head slowly. “You think this is about you? About Kael? About revenge?”

His eyes pulsed. “You are what lies between this world and the one buried beneath it. You are the key to what your father tried to seal. And what Kael was born to protect.”

Her voice cracked. “What are you talking about?”

But he said nothing more. Only turned and gestured with a pale, bony hand.

The wall behind her shifted—stone grinding against stone—and revealed a passageway bathed in that same strange glow. She hesitated, her instincts screaming to fight, to run, but she knew this was no ordinary battle. This was deeper. Older. Her wolf stirred, anxious but alert, as if sensing something long forgotten.

She followed.

The passage twisted through stone and time. Lyra caught glimpses of murals etched in the walls—scenes of wolves bowing before stars, of women crowned in flame, of creatures that looked human but whose eyes were hollow, black voids dripping with shadow.

The further they went, the colder it became.

Finally, they emerged into a vast circular chamber.

Pillars lined the perimeter, each etched with runes that shimmered as she stepped inside. At the center stood a shallow stone basin filled with liquid silver. And above it—etched into the ceiling—was a carving of a crescent moon surrounded by eyes.

She knew the symbol.

She’d seen it in dreams.

And once… carved beneath her skin when she was a child.

“What is this place?” she asked.

The Hollowed One turned toward her. “This is where your blood will remember.”

He raised one hand and the basin rippled.

Before she could react, two other figures emerged from the shadows behind her—Hollowed Ones, silent and inhuman. They gripped her arms, cold as frost, and dragged her toward the basin.

Lyra fought.

Her wolf surged, snarling, desperate to break free. She twisted, kicked, but her strength flickered like a dying flame. Something about this place weakened her, quieted the part of her that was wild and strong.

“No!” she spat. “You can’t—”

But they didn’t answer.

They shoved her forward.

The Hollowed One reached toward her chest, and she gasped as a pulse of heat ignited beneath her skin—right over the crescent-shaped scar. Her shift burned away at the center, revealing it. The mark glowed faintly now, like it was waking.

“This is your truth,” he said. “You were never only Blackthorn. Never just wolf.”

The air shifted.

The basin shimmered.

And then—

It pulled her in.

Not her body—her mind.

Lyra tumbled through memory and myth.

She saw flames licking a castle’s walls, a woman screaming in a language Lyra didn’t know but understood.

“Protect the child! She bears both!”

She saw a man cloaked in black—Kael’s eyes staring out from a younger face—kneeling before an altar carved with her mark.

She saw wolves howling beneath twin moons.

And she saw herself—older, wilder, cloaked in silver light—standing between the Hollowed Ones and the burning forest.

Fangs bared.

Alone.

She fell back with a gasp, choking on air that felt too sharp.

The basin was still. The chamber silent.

The Hollowed One stepped forward.

“Now you know.”

Lyra gripped her chest. Her scar still burned.

“What am I?” she whispered.

The answer came like thunder.

“You are the child of balance. Half Thornwyn, half Blackthorn. The descendant of the first Gatekeeper. The one who was cursed to hold the seal. You were born to keep the Hollowed locked away.”

Her mouth went dry.

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

The Hollowed One leaned in.

“Then the seal breaks.”

“And the world dies screaming.”

She was dragged back to her cell after that.

They didn’t tie her down. They didn’t need to.

The truth chained her tighter than any rope.

She curled against the wall, shivering despite the heat beneath her skin. Everything she thought she knew—her father, her pack, her blood—it had all been lies.

She remembered her father’s voice, low and trembling when she was eight, pressing herbs into her wounds after she’d shifted for the first time.

“Don’t ever show them the scar, Lyra. Promise me.”

Now she knew why.

He’d been hiding her from the world.

Or maybe, from the world inside her.

Her wolf howled once inside her head—mournful. Caged.

And then, footsteps.

She snapped upright, her spine rigid.

Kael.

He stood at the entrance, breathing hard, eyes wild. He looked like he’d fought through hell to get here—his clothes torn, blood on his cheek, his golden eyes blazing.

“How?” she whispered.

He crossed the cell in two strides and dropped to his knees beside her.

“I followed the blood bond,” he said hoarsely. “The moment they took you, it snapped into place. I knew.”

“You knew I was—?”

“I suspected,” he growled. “But I didn’t know how deep it went.”

He cupped her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “But Kael… they showed me things. The basin—my blood—there’s a seal inside me. I’m the Gate.”

His hands stiffened.

“I know,” he whispered.

She blinked. “You knew?”

Kael’s jaw clenched. “Your father told me years ago. Swore me to silence. That’s why he came to me for help.”

Lyra shoved him back. “You should’ve told me!”

“I was trying to protect you!” he barked. “You think I wanted you caught in this curse? You think I wanted you to carry the weight of both our bloodlines?”

She glared. “I deserved to know.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “You did.”

Their eyes locked.

So much unsaid between them.

She opened her mouth—but then the earth shook.

The walls groaned. Dust rained from the ceiling. A distant roar echoed through the ruins.

Kael’s eyes widened. “It’s too soon. The seal is breaking.”

Lyra stood. “Then let’s end this.”

He grabbed her hand.

And for the first time, Lyra didn’t pull away.

They ran.

They didn’t make it far.

At the edge of the chamber, a dozen Hollowed Ones waited.

Kael bared his fangs, claws ready.

But then, the leader stepped forward. The same one from before.

“You cannot escape your fate,” he said to Lyra. “You were born to open the way. And now—it is time.”

Lyra’s mark burned bright.

And the floor cracked beneath her feet.

A chasm of shadow split the chamber apart, and from its depths came a whisper.

“Come home, child of the Gate.”

Lyra screamed—

And the world fell away.