The Alpha's Mark

Malrik still held a meditative pose, but his body wouldn’t stop shaking. He forced his breathing to slow, trying to shut out the hot wind and the mocking silence of the trees. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t find peace.

Instead, the darkness behind his eyelids dragged him back three hours to the suffocating silence of his bedchamber. He could still feel the phantom weight of the bedchamber door against his back as he leaned against it, gasping for air and staring at the floor while the walls seemed to close in on him. He paced around the chamber until his feet hurt, dragging his hair as he muttered, "I can’t die. I can’t. If I die, it’s over. My kind won’t exist anymore."

He bent to his knees as tears dropped to the ground. "I still remember it—their screams haunt me every night. I couldn’t do anything. I could’ve saved her, but I was a coward, and I still am." He looked at his hands as they shook profusely, hitting them against the ground countless times until he bled uncontrollably. He slowly stopped, looking at his hands, confirming, "Exactly as I thought, I’m weak."

He stood up slowly and declared, "But I will never let that girl win." He walked toward his resting chair and picked up the crystal decanter filled with red liquid. Instead of lifting it to his mouth, he threw it across the room, allowing it to shatter against the wall like a dying star.

He moved toward the shattered glass, his body dangling as though he had no control. Bending down, he touched the red liquid with a menacing look and said, "Even this red liquid is thicker than the blood that spills from my hands. How weak must I be?"

"I always ran to Elder Elias for help, but now he is nowhere to be found. Did Valex find him, or has he abandoned me too?" Tears rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably. He crumpled to the ground, his voice loud and filled with agony. "I only ever wanted to be loved, but throughout my childhood, I received nothing but cunning looks. The love she showed me was all lies. Oh, how much I hate to live, but I can’t die either—if I do, it’s over. I can’t get married to a wolf and mate, or else I’ll be condemned, and she and the children may be killed."

He lay down, dragging his knees to his chest. "I’ll never receive love, and I’ll never let anyone else receive it." He tightened his grip on his hair and continued, "I could always see the look on her face, the hatred she felt for me, just like the king and all of them. I can’t die."

He stood up, his eyes wide. "What do I do? She’ll come for me eventually; I know for sure. I have to think, think, Malrik!" He hit himself hard, blood staining his face, then looked at his hands and slapped his face repeatedly. "I have to think, you bastard, think, please!"

Then, immediately, a voice echoed in his mind—it was Elder Elias. "Mourn Root is an ancient art of drawing power from your ancestors. It needs to be performed in the forest at night in a meditative stance, and it usually takes two days or more to complete."

Malrik’s eyes widened. "Yes, yes, yes! Elder Elias has given me a solution long ago when I asked what it was. All I have to do is go to the forest, meditate, and try to connect with my ancestors. He also said it deals with negotiation. I have to go!"

He stormed out of his bedchamber and walked quickly through the halls and out of the palace. He ordered his horse to be brought to him. Orien looked at him with concern and said, "Your Highness, are you okay?"

Malrik glared at him. "Do not ask me foolish questions, you idiot. Just get my horse!"

Orien bowed slightly, and moments later, he brought the horse. Malrik mounted it swiftly, and Orien looked worried. "Your Highness, do you need me to accompany you?"

But Malrik rode away, ignoring Orien’s question. The horse galloped fast—too fast. The wind was heavy, stinging and hot against his skin. It felt like he was burning, but he couldn’t stop. He rode into a deep, dark forest where the moonlight couldn’t reach.

Then he saw a clearing, stopped the horse, and dismounted, looking around carefully. He tied the horse to a tree and said to himself, "What do I do now? I should sit down here and try to concentrate. It shouldn’t be hard."

Malrik sat in the center of the clearing, his legs crossed and his hands resting heavily on his knees.

...

Malrik snapped his eyes open, his breath coming in ragged white puffs in the cold forest air. "I have been in this stance for hours," he spat, his voice cracking against the silence. "Nothing. It’s useless!"

He started to stand, his joints stiff and aching, his royal robes stained with the dirt of the clearing. But then he pictured Odesse—the cold, sharp look of a woman who knew his sins. He sank back down, clenching his jaw tightly.

"No," he hissed to himself. "I can’t give up. I have to."

This time, he didn’t just close his eyes; he pressed them shut until spots of light danced in the dark. He reached for the feeling of "pins" in his throat, the fear he had experienced as a child. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Suddenly, the ground no longer felt solid. The sounds of the forest cut out instantly, replaced by a deafening roar. It felt as if the earth had opened up and swallowed him whole, dragging him through a freezing, lightless void so fast that his stomach turned.

He opened his mouth to shout for help, but the scream was ripped from his lungs as he plummeted into the dark.

The darkness was not just an absence of light; it was heavy, pressing against his skin like cold water. Malrik flailed, his royal boots finding no purchase, his hands grasping at nothingness.

"Where am I?" he gasped, his voice sounding thin and hollow, as if the void were consuming the words. "Hello?"

"THE LAST."

The voice did not come from any direction. It vibrated through his bones, shaking his very marrow. It sounded like a thousand dead leaves skittering across a grave.

"THE LAST HOLLOW WALKER OR SO IT SEEMS. YOU WHO BEAR THE BLOOD OF A THOUSAND GRAVES. WHAT MAY WE DO FOR YOU?"

Malrik spun in the air, his eyes wide and stinging. He saw nothing but endless black, yet he felt thousands of eyes watching his every shiver.

"Where are you?" he cried out, feeling his dignity as a king slipping away. He looked less like a ruler and more like the frightened ten-year-old who had hidden behind a curtain. "Show yourselves!"

"WE ARE THE ROOTS BENEATH YOUR FEET. WE ARE THE SHADOW IN YOUR BLOOD. YOU HAVE CALLED, LITTLE KING. BUT YOU DO NOT CALL OUT OF HONOR. YOU CALL OUT OF FEAR."

Malrik’s voice was a jagged shard of glass. He could no longer feel his bones, only the cold weight of the void pressing against his soul. "I need your help," he stammered. "Yes, I call out of fear—and for good reason."

"WHAT IS IT THAT WE MAY DO FOR YOU?"

I am the last," Malrik said, his breath hitching. "I do not wish to die. I have placed a curse upon my half-brother, but his wife... she is a descendant of the Moon Spirit. If she breaks that curse, I am a dead man. My life ends with the spell."

"WE REPEAT: WHAT IS IT THAT WE MAY DO FOR YOU?"

"I need your strength," Malrik hissed. "I need you to kill them both."

"AND WHAT SHALL WE RECEIVE IN RETURN?"

Malrik fell silent. The void offered no mercy for a king who arrived empty-handed.

"ARE YOU AWARE, CHILD, THAT IF WE CONSENT TO THIS SLAUGHTER AND ARE SOMEHOW STOPPED, THE BALANCE MUST BE PAID? WE WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO TAKE YOUR LIFE INSTEAD."

Malrik’s eyes widened, panic flooding through him in the darkness. "The girl," he whispered. "She will fight. She will try to stop it, and if she succeeds, I will have no chance of survival. What do I do? How do I win?"

"YOU HAVE DISTURBED OUR REST WITHOUT PREPARATION. YOU TRICKLE INTO THE DEEP WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE. YOU ARE A CHILD PLAYING WITH THE ROOTS OF THE WORLD. WE SHALL RETURN YOU TO THE DUST, AND YOU SHALL DISTURB US NO LONGER."

"Wait!" Malrik screamed, his dignity dissolving into a desperate plea. "Please! You cannot leave me! You wouldn’t want me to die—if I fall, the Hollow Walkers go extinct. Our blood ends with me!"

"HOLLOW WALKERS LIVE IN THE ROOTS OF THIS WORLD, CHILD. WE ARE NEVER TRULY EXTINCT."

Malrik’s fear suddenly curdled into a cold, sharp anger. "What kind of mindset is that?" he spat, regaining his kingly edge. "Look at the wolves! They rule. They thrive while you all lived like abominations in the dark. They made you weak, like the humans. The wolves took control through blood and power—that is why they slaughtered the sorcerers! I will not let that happen to us. I will not let us be forgotten."

Silence followed—a thick, suffocating quiet.

"Answer me!" Malrik barked into the black. "Do not be silent!"3

"SO... WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE, CHILD?"

Malrik paused. The fear was still there, tucked deep in his gut, but a new expression crawled across his face. He no longer looked like a victim.

He smirked, the expression dark and jagged in the void. "I know the perfect negotiation for us," he whispered.