Bloodmarked

The night before the trials was heavy with silence. The other contestants had long since withdrawn to their corners of the barracks, some pretending to sleep, others quietly sharpening their knives or their resolve. The room was built for function, not comfort—stone walls, dim lighting, and metal cots arranged in uneven rows. The only sound was the occasional murmur of restless whispers and the distant hum of the city beyond.

Caius lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled. He was one of twenty-four Unmarked chosen for this year's Project. By the end of the trials, only one would stand. The others… well, no one spoke about what happened to those who failed.

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly, catching sight of a figure standing near the doorway. The man was tall, his build lean but wiry, like a blade forged for precision rather than brute force. His features were sharp, his cheekbones prominent beneath the flickering light. But it was his eyes that unsettled Caius—dark, too dark, like pits that swallowed the light instead of reflecting it.

He hadn't seen this one before.

The stranger didn't sit, didn't join the quiet conversations happening in corners. He simply stood, watching.

Something was wrong about him.

Caius had spent his whole life around dangerous men—fighters, killers, people who had no choice but to survive. But this man… there was no hunger in his expression, no fear, no eagerness to prove himself. He wasn't here to win. He was here for something else.

And then, as if sensing the attention, the stranger's gaze flicked toward him. Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, Caius felt something crawl over his skin. A whisper, not a sound but a sensation, threading through the back of his mind."You are not supposed to be here."

Caius's body stiffened. The voice wasn't real. It hadn't come from the man's lips.

The moment passed, and the stranger turned away, vanishing into the shadows of the barracks like mist dispersing under the wind.

Caius exhaled slowly, his pulse steadying. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but one thing was clear—there was something else at play in this competition. Something beyond the Marked and the Unmarked.

At dawn, they were gathered in the Hall of Ascension.

The chamber was vast, built from obsidian and gilded steel, its towering arches inscribed with ancient scripture. The walls were lined with massive braziers, their flames burning not with ordinary fire, but with a golden light that pulsed with a life of its own.

At the far end of the chamber, beneath a towering stained-glass window depicting a blazing sun, stood the High Priest of the Marked. Cloaked in ceremonial robes, his head was bowed in silent reverence, his hands clasped over the grand altar.

The contestants were forced to kneel. Even the Marked soldiers standing at the edges of the hall bowed their heads. No one spoke.

Then, the High Priest raised his arms.

"The Judge watches," his voice echoed through the chamber, heavy with the weight of tradition. "And He will decide your fate."

Above them, the stained-glass sun moved.No—Caius realized—it wasn't the glass itself, but the light behind it. A force beyond understanding rippled through the room, pressing down on them like an invisible hand. His skin prickled, his breath turning shallow.

The air thickened, charged with something unnatural. Then, as if the very space within the hall had torn open, a shape descended.

A figure of light.

It was not a man. It had no true form, shifting between blinding radiance and the silhouette of something humanoid. Its face was an empty void, its limbs too fluid to be flesh. But its presence was suffocating. Divine.

This was Helion.

The Radiant Judge.

God of Order. Judge of Death.

Every Marked in the room pressed their foreheads to the floor. The Unmarked only knelt, though some trembled under the weight of its presence.

Caius forced himself to keep his head up. It wasn't defiance—he just wanted to see.

Helion's voice did not come as sound. It came as truth, poured directly into the mind.

"One among you will rise. The rest shall be forgotten."

The words coiled around Caius's bones, settling deep into his marrow.

He knew this was tradition. He knew the gods chose their champions, watched over their Marked. But something about Helion's presence felt… different. Not holy. Not righteous. It felt like judgment.

The god's light pulsed. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it withdrew, vanishing into the stained-glass sun.The tension in the air snapped, and the room seemed to breathe again.

The High Priest turned to face them, his expression unreadable. "The trials begin soon. May the gods show you mercy."

Mercy.

Caius wasn't sure if gods knew the meaning of the word.

As they were led from the Hall of Ascension, he felt someone fall into step beside him.

The woman from last night—the one they had whispered about in the barracks. Vera Nyx.

"You didn't bow," she murmured, her voice quiet but edged with curiosity.

Caius didn't respond.

She glanced at him sideways. "Interesting."

Then she was gone, slipping back into the crowd.

From the other side of the hall, Caius spotted the boy from before—Luca. He was pale, shaken from the encounter with Helion, but trying to mask it. Caius understood. The presence of a god was not something one simply forgot.

And standing near the entrance, half-hidden in the shadows, was the stranger from the barracks. Watching.

Caius's jaw tightened.

Something was coming.

And it had already begun.