The Fortune-marked
“I’m so dead!” he mumbled, panting as he ran.
Tree branches and leaves whipped past his face as he darted through the bushes. A glance at the sky told him the sun was nearly gone, and darkness pressed down on the land.
He kept running until the small village came into view. He slowed to a walk, observing the few villagers still outside, directing children toward huts, exchanging jovial greetings.
Archer stopped at the door to his own hut, exhaling heavily. He knew what awaited him inside.
Pushing the bamboo door open as quietly as possible, it creaked faintly. He peeked in. Darkness. He stepped inside and shut it gently behind him, tiptoeing forward.
“Well, it seems you are old enough now to tell right from wrong,”
Came a voice, startling him nearly out of his skin.
Squinting, he traced the voice to his left. A striking sound echoed, and in the next second, a fire torch illuminated the room.
“I’m sorry, Leelam,”
He said, eyes fixed on the old man sitting lightly on his years, peering into the torchlight as if it stirred the still waters of his thoughts.
“Ah… your favorite chorus at play again. You’re sorry?”
Leelam said, rising from his seat.
“It won’t happen again,”
Archer promised, following the man’s movements with his gaze.
Leelam scoffed.
“We should start a tally on those promises too…”
“Archer!”
A strong, descriptive voice interrupted from the side.
“You’re back,”
It repeated, and the speaker emerged: a young teenager with pale, almost grey skin, red slit-pupiled eyes, and an aura that was both calm and intimidating. She walked slowly to Archer, offering a slight side hug while keeping her gaze on Leelam.
“Don’t let the minutes sneak up on you, Archer. You know your predicament…”
Leelam warned, walking past them. And like clockwork, Archer's His fingernails pierced the black gloves, thick, black, and abnormally long, resembling sharp claws. Fangs forced their way through his lips, and his eyes shifted, taking on the same slit-pupiled intensity as the girl beside him.
“And that, Nékhed, is exactly what I mean,”
Muttered the older man, stepping in.
“How was your day, brother?”
Shania asked, moving in front of him. Archer sighed.
“Well… a bit of a bad ending,”
He admitted, taking a seat. She chuckled and sat opposite him.
“I understand,” she said softly.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“It’s difficult, Shay. Being different makes life… difficult. Living with restrictions, almost like being cursed,”
Archer confessed, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
“Restrictions. Advanced word for someone under restrictions,”
Shania said lightly. “And not everyone is lucky enough to visit the human world…”
She pointed to her lips, parting them slightly to reveal fangs, then to her ghost-grey skin and deep red, slit-pupiled eyes.
“And guess what? I have to look like this all day, every day.”
Archer chuckled. Her lips curved into a warm smile before she spoke again.
“You’re not cursed, just fortune-marked. Nature knows why it bestowed this on you—be grateful,”
She said matter-of-factly.
Archer’s gaze lingered on his sister, studying her as if peering into her soul. He nodded, a small grin on his lips.
He lifted his hands to eye level, examining the thick, black claws that now adorned them. A sigh escaped him, and he rested his head against the bamboo chair, still processing the weight he had had to carry all his life. The transformation was nothing new to him, it had been part of who he was for as long as he could remember.
