Pimo had been walking for almost six hours when the black mark on his arm began to burn.
At first, it was only warm.
Then it became hot.
By the time he reached the old road outside the city, it felt as though someone had pressed a piece of burning metal against his skin.
He stopped beside a broken stone wall and pulled up his sleeve.
The mark was still there.
A thin black line curved around his arm, forming a strange symbol he did not understand. It had looked like simple ink when the hooded leader placed it on him.
Now it moved.
Pimo stared.
The lines slowly twisted beneath his skin.
"No," he whispered.
A voice entered his head.
Keep moving.
Pimo almost fell backward.
He looked around.
The road was empty.
Only trees stood beside him, their branches moving softly in the night wind.
"Who said that?"
There was no answer.
Then the mark burned again.
Three days.
Pimo understood.
The hooded ones were watching him.
Maybe not with eyes.
But somehow, through the mark, they knew where he was.
He lowered his sleeve.
Inside his bag were six black coins and three letters.
The hooded leader had explained everything before sending him away.
Each coin was meant for a different type of person.
Someone hungry for power.
Someone angry at the world.
Someone who wanted wealth without patience.
Someone who believed rules existed only for weaker people.
Pimo's job was simple.
Find them.
Test them.
Offer them the coin.
If they accepted, the shadows would do the rest.
Pimo continued walking.
But inside his heart, something had changed.
He was afraid of the Guardians.
He was afraid of the shadows.
Mostly, however, he was afraid of what would happen if the hooded figures succeeded.
He had seen Demora's dead body.
He had watched them speak about returning the dead to their army as though death meant nothing.
He had heard them speak about human beings like tools.
Greedy men.
Corrupt leaders.
False priests.
Criminals.
They were not planning only another attack.
They were building something much larger.
An army that could walk through human cities without anyone realizing what it was.
Pimo reached a small town shortly before midnight.
Most shops had closed.
One tea shop remained open near the road.
A tired old man stood behind the counter.
Two truck drivers sat outside talking quietly.
Pimo entered.
"Tea," he said.
The old man nodded.
While waiting, Pimo noticed a newspaper lying on the counter.
A picture on the front showed a businessman standing outside a large building.
CORVIN VALE ANNOUNCES NEW PORT EXPANSION.
Pimo picked up the paper.
"Big man," the shopkeeper said.
Pimo looked at him.
"You know him?"
"Everyone knows him."
The old man placed the tea on the counter.
"Owns warehouses, ships, transport companies. Half the town works for him."
Pimo looked again at the picture.
Corvin Vale was smiling.
The smile looked friendly.
His eyes did not.
"He good to his workers?"
The shopkeeper laughed.
It was not a happy laugh.
"He is good to money."
One of the truck drivers turned around.
"Last month three workers got hurt in his warehouse. Company said it was their fault."
The other driver shook his head.
"Corvin wants the whole northern port. Politicians are already eating from his hand."
Pimo slowly lowered the newspaper.
The mark on his arm became warm.
He froze.
It was reacting.
The hooded leader had said: Greed smells like fuel.
Pimo suddenly understood what he meant.
The mark could sense people who might accept the offer.
Corvin Vale was one of them.
Pimo finished his tea and left.
He should have been pleased.
His first target had appeared without any effort.
Instead, his stomach felt heavy.
He walked toward a cheap lodge at the edge of town.
Inside his small room, he locked the door and placed the bag on the bed.
He removed one black coin.
It looked normal from a distance.
Close up, strange symbols could be seen around its edge.
Pimo turned it over.
The other side showed an empty throne.
No king.
No crown.
Only a throne waiting for someone.
Pimo placed it down.
"What have I become?" he whispered.
The mark burned.
Pimo grabbed his arm.
"Fine!"
The pain stopped.
He breathed heavily.
They could punish him through it.
Maybe they could kill him through it too.
Running was not an option.
But perhaps obeying them completely was not his only option either.
Pimo stared at the black coin for a long time.
Then another thought entered his mind.
The Guardians.
He knew very little about them.
He had seen some of them from a distance during previous battles.
He knew the giant one.
Kael.
He knew Dev.
He knew there were others.
And if the hooded ones feared them enough to build an army, maybe they were Pimo's only chance.
But approaching them openly would be suicide.
If the dark mark truly watched him, the shadows would know.
Pimo leaned back against the wall.
He needed another way.
The following morning, he went into town.
Corvin Vale's company occupied one of the largest buildings near the port.
Security guards stood outside.
Workers moved through the gates.
Large trucks entered and left continuously.
Pimo watched from across the road.
He did not approach.
Not yet.
Instead, he entered a small public records office nearby.
He needed information.
The building was old and crowded with shelves.
Most people there seemed bored.
A young man with round glasses sat behind a desk filled with papers.
Pimo walked toward him.
"I need information about a company."
The man looked up.
"Company registration?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Vale Maritime Holdings."
The young man stopped writing.
His eyes lifted.
"That company again."
Pimo frowned.
"What do you mean?"
The man looked around before lowering his voice.
"You are the third person this week asking about them."
"Who were the others?"
"I can't tell you that."
Pimo smiled weakly.
"Fair."
The young man studied him.
"My name is Jonah."
"Pimo."
Jonah typed something into an old computer.
"Vale Maritime owns seventeen registered companies. Maybe more through other people."
"Anything strange?"
Jonah looked at him.
"You are asking a records clerk whether one of the richest men in the city is strange?"
"Yes."
For the first time, Jonah smiled.
"Then yes."
He turned the screen slightly.
"Companies buy buildings. Ships. Land. Equipment. Normal things."
He pointed at several records.
"But these?"
Pimo leaned closer.
"Abandoned temples?"
"Three."
"Underground storage facilities?"
"Five."
Jonah nodded.
"And two properties officially listed as archaeological restoration sites. Neither is open to researchers."
Pimo felt cold.
The hooded figures used old places.
Stone chambers.
Underground halls.
Forgotten ruins.
Corvin might already be closer to the shadows than anyone realized.
"Can you print this?"
Jonah's expression changed.
"Why?"
Pimo hesitated.
Because monsters were recruiting businessmen sounded like a poor answer.
"Something bad may happen."
Jonah leaned back.
"That's not an answer."
"No."
"Police?"
"No."
"Government investigation?"
"No."
Jonah looked at him for several seconds.
Then he quietly pressed the print button.
Pages began coming out.
"Whatever you are doing," Jonah said, "don't bring it back here."
Pimo took the papers.
"Thank you."
He turned to leave.
"Pimo."
He stopped.
Jonah was staring at his arm.
Pimo realized his sleeve had moved slightly.
A tiny part of the black mark was visible.
Jonah's face had gone pale.
"Where did you get that?"
Pimo quickly covered it.
"Nowhere."
"I've seen that symbol before."
Pimo's heart stopped.
"Where?"
Jonah reached below the desk and pulled out a folder.
He opened it.
Inside were copies of very old records.
The same black symbol appeared beside several names.
Pimo leaned closer.
"What is this?"
"Missing-person reports."
"How old?"
Jonah swallowed.
"Some are twenty years old. Some are nearly eighty."
Pimo stared.
Different people. Different cities. Different years. The same mark.
"Every person with this symbol disappeared," Jonah said.
Pimo felt the mark burn again.
This time harder.
He nearly cried out.
Jonah saw his face.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
Pimo grabbed the papers.
"I have to go."
"Wait."
But Pimo was already moving.
He left the building and entered the crowd.
The mark continued burning.
They knew something.
Maybe not exactly what he had done.
But they knew he had stepped too close to something forbidden.
Pimo pushed through the market until he reached a narrow street.
He stopped beside a public message board.
People had placed advertisements, missing-person notices, work offers and handwritten messages across it.
Pimo pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket.
He wrote only seven words.
BLACK COINS. VALE PORT. THEY ARE RECRUITING HUMANS.
He stared at it.
How could he make sure a Guardian found it?
Then he remembered something.
Months earlier, before everything had gone wrong, he had heard people whisper about strange signs appearing after supernatural events.
A small circle crossed by three lines.
Nobody knew what it meant.
But Pimo had seen that same sign scratched onto a wall after Kael's people disappeared from a battle.
He drew it beneath the message.
Then he folded the paper.
He placed it behind a loose brick beside the board.
Maybe nobody would find it.
Maybe the wrong person would.
But it was the only thing he could do.
Pimo walked away.
From the roof of a nearby building, someone watched him.
The figure had been there before Pimo entered the street.
He had seen the black mark.
He had seen the paper.
And he had seen the symbol Pimo drew.
The man smiled.
Then he vanished.
Not into shadow.
Not into smoke.
He simply moved so quickly that the human eye could no longer follow him.
Minutes later, Kieran stood several streets away with the folded message in his hand.
He read it twice.
Then his usual smile disappeared.
"Well," he whispered. "This is new."
He looked toward the distant port.
For the first time, the darkness was not only hunting people with powers.
It was recruiting ordinary humans.
And somewhere inside the city, one frightened servant of the enemy had just risked his life to warn the Guardians.