'Red and green huh?' Nox thought and kept looking at brown Mark.
If Torven was right, then he held immense potential within him. A power deep and dangerous, and maybe, just maybe, strong enough to save his brother. If his brother was still alive. If he could find him. If he could learn to control the power coming from this ugly thing on his hand...
So many ifs. And still, no answers.
A new wave of emotion crashed over him. Disgust. At himself.
He had become the very thing he hated: a mind controller.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Short and sharp. 'So that's how I broke free from Blint', he realized. 'Not through strength or cleverness, but because I'm just like him.'
No - worse.
At least Blint knew what he was. He chose it. Nox? Nox had stumbled into it, instinctively done to Torven something he didn't mean to, and now this rot was pulsing through his veins. Is this his true being?
The thought made him sick.
He clenched his marked hand into a fist, as though he could crush the power out of it. But it was no use. The Mark throbbed faintly, like it was laughing at him. Mocking him.
Even remembering Blint, his cold eyes, his voice like poisoned honey, made Nox's jaw tighten. But there was no time to linger in hatred. Every hour wasted was another Abram might not survive.
He had to keep moving.
---
By dawn, Nox and Torven were saddling their horses in silence.
Nox glanced sideways at Torven. There was something comforting about his presence, even though Nox barely knew him. He didn't understand why. Perhaps it was the quiet and steady way Torven watched over him.
As they rode through winding forest paths and across low hills, Nox found himself thinking again and again of his brother. Of Abram's laughter, his silly fierce protectiveness, the way Nox used to hum him lullabies when he was small and frightened of the dark.
They stopped in village after village, describing Abram, a young man with bright, curly hair. No one had seen him. Doors closed politely. And some not so politely. They moved on.
By dusk, Nox was exhausted. His heart ached with each rejection, each blank stare. Eventually, they set up camp in a quiet forest clearing, not far from a little stream.
Torven lit a fire with practiced ease. Nox tied the horses and gathered water. They worked in near silence, and they didn't seem to mind it. As they sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, Nox spoke.
"I've never told anyone this," he started softly, barely above the crackling of the wood.
Torven didn't speak. He simply turned his head, giving Nox his full attention.
"Both of my brothers..." Nox continued, his voice trembling slightly, "...they used their vitality somehow. I don't know how. They never used their powers. They just... faded. One by one."
He paused, swallowing hard.
Torven's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't interrupt.
"I've always known my time was limited," Nox said, voice low. "That someday it would be me, just another grave. But Abram... he was supposed to carry our legacy. He was stronger, braver, kinder. If there's any hope left, it's in him."
Nox hesitated, then added, almost in a whisper, "He's all I have left."
And after a long silence, barely audible: "And now, I suppose... there's you."
Torven didn't reply with words. He simply nodded once, slowly. There was a weight to his silence that Nox appreciated. A kind of listening that went deeper than speech.
Finally, Nox asked with some kind of resignation, "Can you heal souls, too?"
Torven looked at the fire.
"Some wounds," he said, "aren't meant to close completely. But I will try to help you carry that burden."
It wasn't the answer Nox wanted. But it was honest.
They eventually laid down next to the bonfire. A bit later, as the fire began to fade and the night turned cold, Torven looked over.
"It's getting cold. Come closer."
Nox hesitated, then slid over, closer to the warmth of the fire, and of Torven. When he was close enough to feel his body heat, he became acutely aware of Torven's scent, like pinewood and ash. His face flushed without warning.
Then Torven, without a word, wrapped an arm around Nox's shoulders and pulled him closer. Not roughly, but not delicately either. As though it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Sleep," he murmured.
But Nox's heart thundered in his chest like a drum. He couldn't sleep. Not now.
'Does he hear it? Gods, it's loud. Maybe if I move away... No. That would just make it worse. He'll notice for sure.'
So he stayed.
His eyes were half-closed when some impulse, foolish, curious, made him glance up at Torven's face.
And was stunned to find Torven already looking back at him.
Their eyes locked. Torven's were deep and unreadable, dark wells filled with something Nox couldn't name.
Nox couldn't look away. He couldn't breathe.
And then, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Torven's mouth. Just a flicker. Almost gone before it appeared.
He didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes.
Eventually, sleep took Nox like a slow tide.
---
At dawn, the forest stirred awake. Birds called from the branches, and the first rays of sunlight pierced through the mist. Nox blinked up at the sky, still nestled close to Torven, and for a moment, didn't move.
He felt... different. Somehow calmer.
He lifted his head a little and looked at his companion.
Torven was already awake, looking back at him.
"Ready?" he asked.
Nox nodded.
As they finished breaking camp, the morning quiet lingered between them, broken only by the rustle of gear being packed away. Nox was tightening the last strap on his saddle when Torven spoke, his voice low and thoughtful, almost casual.
"You know," he said, not looking at him, "...that night, before you left. I wasn't asleep."
Nox froze, one hand still gripping his saddle. Torven continued, voice low but steady.
"You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't. I just... didn't know what to do with it then. But I haven't forgotten."
Torven didn't press further. He crouched to adjust a pack, fingers tracing a worn scratch on the leather strap, as if the words had slipped out by accident.
After a beat, he finally looked over, his gaze steady, unreadable as ever. "Maybe when this is over," he said quietly, "you can remind me what that moment really meant. Properly, this time."
Then he turned back to the horses, calm and silent again, as if nothing had happened. But Nox's chest felt tight, full of things he wasn't ready to name.
They packed up the camp in silence, mounted their horses, and rode onward, two warriors, bound by something neither of them fully understood.
And somewhere, far ahead, the path twisted toward a fate neither could yet imagine.