Prologue
They called it a gift. My parents, two gentle, worn-out souls who spent their lives looking over their shoulders, insisted it was a lineage, a power too bright for the common dark. I called it a curse.
My name is Mar—just Mar—and since I could walk, I’ve been trained to be invisible. Not just metaphorically, but truly, dangerously un-catchable. I was born with a light inside, not a cozy, spiritual glow, but a raw, kinetic energy that acted like a beacon to every shadow-dweller and power-hungry fanatic in the supernatural underworld. All I knew was that it made me a target.
Before the magic, there's just me. I'm short, which has been useful my entire life—easier to disappear, harder to hit. My skin is naturally pale, almost startlingly white, probably from all the time I've spent hiding in shadows. And speaking of shadows, my hair is stubbornly black. It’s long, usually kept in tight, intricate braids or pulled up and secured to keep it out of my way. Practical, always.
My defense isn't just magic, though. I'm adept with weapons, particularly daggers. My parents knew that magic fails, but a blade—cold, sharp, and silent—doesn't. I've spent years practicing, relying on speed and precision to compensate for my size. I always keep at least one hidden, ready for a close-quarters fight.
My eyes are normally a deep, guarded dark brown. They're the last thing I let anyone read. But when the light hits, when I can’t—or don’t want to—keep the shield up, they flash. They turn an impossible, icy blue glow, announcing to every supernatural creature within sight that I am the thing they should either worship or extinguish.
And yeah, I’m not built for hiding behind lampposts. I'm voluptuous, a little curvy, a little more solid than I probably look in my worn clothes. I move fast, but I'm strong, built for fighting, not fainting.
My parents gave me one last name before they died: Caius. The man who is the last line. The one who sealed the void that took them.
They say he is magnificent, a sentinel whose raw, ancient power contains the end of the world. He has the sharp, austere features of a king, etched with the sacrifice of centuries. His hair is the color of bone-ash, long and unsettlingly pale, and his eyes... his eyes are a volatile, powerful violet. They burn with the knowledge that he is bound—a prison and a guardian, holding the seal against the golden-eyed hunger.
If I find him, he faces an impossible choice: to save the world, he must contain or destroy the last Light Mage. And if he chooses to save me, he risks shattering the seal and unleashing the oblivion he has guarded for so long.
He is the Sentinel. I am the spark. And I am here to make his life a living hell.
