The whisper stayed in August's mind like a stain he couldn't wash away. You cannot save them all. Choose. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the voice clung to his thoughts like smoke.
Maeve held the possessed boy close, her hands checking his heartbeat. Her face showed fear and exhaustion. "His heart is slowing," she said, her voice shaking. "But he's alive. For now."
Lyon's hand gripped his knife, knuckles white. He stared at the boy as if expecting an attack at any moment. "What did it mean?" he demanded. "'What we've taken.' What does the Hunt want back?"
August looked at the three children from the Blightheart rescue, huddled in the corner. The girl, Mara, had finally uncurled herself, though her hands still covered her ears. The two boys sat without moving, their eyes empty, their lips no longer humming but slightly open, as if the melody was waiting just beneath the surface.
"Them," August said quietly, drawing all eyes to him. "The Hunt wants them. The three children we rescued from the Blightheart."
The tent fell into shocked silence.
"That's insane," Lyon spat. "They're just children. Victims of the Blightheart. Why would—"
"Because they survived something they shouldn't have," Kael interrupted. He moved closer to the children, studying them carefully. "The Blightheart had them. It was draining them, marking them. And then we destroyed it before it could finish."
August felt a memory surface—not his own, but borrowed from the body he now lived in. A quiet conversation around a dying fire, voices speaking of the incomplete ones, those who had been touched by dark forces but not fully changed. They were caught between two states, and they drew predators from the shadows.
"They're marked," August said, the knowledge settling into his bones. "Unfinished changes. The Hunt sees them as property to take back."
Kael stepped closer to the children, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Look at them closely," he said. "The marks aren't the same on each child."
August moved forward, studying the three rescued children more carefully. Now that Kael pointed it out, he could see the differences. Mara's skin had a faint grayish tint, barely visible in the dim firelight. One of the boys had eyes that reflected light strangely, like polished glass. The other boy had thin black
veins visible at his temples, dark lines spreading like cracks across his skin.
"The boy with the veins," August said slowly. "He's marked the deepest. The girl is barely touched. The other boy is somewhere between."
Kael nodded grimly. "The corruption isn't uniform. The Blightheart was drawing from them at different rates. Or perhaps their resistance varied."
The possessed boy on Maeve's lap stirred again, his eyes fluttering. They were brown again, normal, but filled with pain and confusion. "Where... where am I?" he whispered.
Maeve's hands trembled as she brushed hair from his forehead. "You're safe. You're in the infirmary. Do you remember what happened?"
The boy shook his head, then winced, his hand going to his temple. "My head hurts so much. And... there's a voice. It won't stop talking."
"What's it saying?" Kael asked urgently.
The boy's eyes filled with tears. "It says... it says the hunt is hungry. And it's coming for the broken ones." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It says we can't hide them. It can smell the marks."
August felt ice spread through his chest. The whisper in his own mind stirred, as if responding to the boy's words. The clock is ticking. The Hunt draws near.
Lyon looked between the marked children and the possessed boy, his face pale. "How long do we have?"
"I don't know," Kael said. "The old songs never specified. A day. A night. Maybe less."
"Then we need to decide what to do," Lyon said, his voice tight. "Now."
August's mind raced through the fragments of memory that weren't quite his. Somewhere in those borrowed thoughts, there had to be an answer. Some way to fight this. Some way to—
And then it came to him. A flash of memory: an old woman speaking by firelight, her voice reverent as she described those who walked the Way of Sanctity. Those blessed few who could purify corruption, who could cleanse the taint from souls and bodies alike.
"There is a way," August said suddenly.
Everyone turned to stare at August.
"What do you mean?" Lyon demanded. "A way to do what?"
"To remove the marks," August said, the memories becoming clearer in his mind. "There are people—rare, but they exist—who walk what's called the Way of Sanctity. They have the power to cleanse corruption. To purify tainted souls."
Hope flared in Kael's eyes. "The Sanctified Ones. I've heard of them, but I thought they were legends. Stories from before the dying sun."
"They're real," August said with certainty he couldn't explain. The knowledge sat in his mind as a solid fact, borrowed from memories that felt ancient. "They can remove void-marks, Blight corruption, even the taint of the stars' whispers.
But..."
"But what?" Lyon pressed.
August met his gaze. "But they're infrequent. And they're found only in the great cities, under the protection of those with power and wealth. The nearest city that might have a Sanctified One is weeks away."
"Then we go," Lyon said immediately. "We take the children and—"
"No," Kael interrupted, his voice heavy. "Think, Lyon. Weeks of travel through Blighted lands. With marked children who draw predators. We'd never make it. And that's assuming we could even find a Sanctified One willing to help nomads with nothing to offer in payment."
"So we're just supposed to give up?" Lyon's voice cracked with frustration.
"The Hunt doesn't track by distance anyway," August added quietly. "It follows the marks themselves. Running won't save them. The Hunt will follow, and it will take anyone in its path."
The tent fell silent, the weight of hopelessness settling over them like a shroud. The tent flap burst open. A woman rushed in—the same one who had reunited with Mara days ago. Her face was flushed with panic, her eyes wild with fear. Her husband followed close behind, a thin man with worried eyes.
"What's happening?" she demanded, moving quickly toward her daughter. "We heard shouting. Is Mara in danger?"
Two more parents pushed into the tent behind them—the fathers of the two marked boys. Their faces were tight with dread.
"Everyone needs to stay calm," Lyon said, raising his hands. "We're trying to understand the situation."
"Then explain it," Mara's father said, his voice sharp. "Now."
August looked at Kael, who gave a slight nod. Someone had to tell them the truth.
"The children are marked," August said. "All three of them. When the Blightheart was draining them, it left a... a stain on their souls. And now the Silent Hunt is coming to claim them."
Mara's mother made a sound like a wounded animal. She dropped to her knees beside her daughter, pulling the girl into her arms. "No. No, we saved her. She's safe now."
"There is a way to remove the marks," Kael said gently. "Those who walk the Way of Sanctity can cleanse corruption. But the nearest city that might have such a person is weeks away, through dangerous lands."
One of the fathers—a stocky man named Corwin—stepped forward. His son was the boy with the black veins, the one most deeply marked. "Then we leave tonight. We take them, and we go. Whatever it takes."
"It won't work," August said. "The Hunt doesn't track by sight or distance. It follows the marks themselves. You could run to the edge of the world, and it would still find them."
"Then what do we do?" Corwin's wife had entered the tent behind him. She was a small woman with fierce eyes. "Just wait here for our children to die?"
August opened his mouth, then closed it. The words that needed to be said were stuck in his throat like stones. He could feel the weight of what came next, the terrible choice that had to be made.
"There might be another way," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "The marks aren't equal. Your daughter," he nodded to Mara's parents, "is barely touched. But the boy with the dark veins... he's marked the deepest."
Corwin's face went pale. "What are you saying?"
"The Hunt will come for the most corrupt first," August continued, forcing himself to meet their eyes. "If we... if we separate them. Isolate the boy with the strongest marks. The Hunt might take only him and leave the camp alone. Leave the other children alone."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then Corwin's wife screamed.