SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 43: The Unfortunate

Chapter 43: The Unfortunate

Morvane stirred, the faint hum of voices pulling him from unconsciousness. His body felt heavy, but the paralysis had faded. As he blinked his eyes open, he realized he was lying on a soft bed in an unfamiliar room. The warm glow of lanterns lit the space, their flickering light casting long shadows on the wooden walls.

"Morvane?" a familiar voice called gently.

He turned his head to see Medas and Crimson standing nearby, their faces etched with concern. Medas stepped closer, his sharp eyes scanning him for any sign of injury.

"Can you move?" Medas asked, his tone tense but hopeful.

Morvane hesitated, then flexed his fingers and shifted his legs. To his relief, his body responded. Slowly, he sat up, wincing as his muscles ached from the earlier ordeal.

"Yes," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m fine now."

Crimson let out a sigh of relief, running a hand through his hair. "Thank the gods. When we found you, you were completely still, like a statue. We didn’t know if..." His voice trailed off, guilt flashing in his eyes.

Medas crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "What happened, Morvane? You went after that hooded man, and we found you unconscious in the forest. Who is he? What did he do to you?"

Morvane took a deep breath, the events of the night rushing back to him. He recounted everything—the chase, summoning his shadow beast, and confronting the hooded young man.

"His name is Drace," Morvane said, his voice steady. "He’s the one who cursed you, Crimson. But... it’s more complicated than that. He was part of last year’s awakening ceremony, and instead of receiving a blessing or a power, he was marked with a curse. A curse that lets him manifest bad luck in others."

Crimson’s brow furrowed. "A curse? You’re saying his mark isn’t a gift, but some kind of... destructive magic?"

Morvane nodded. "That’s what he said. He showed me his mark—it’s different. Chaotic. Twisted. And he hates it. He blames it for ruining his life."

Medas narrowed his eyes, pacing the room. "So, he’s cursed to spread misfortune wherever he goes? That explains the blood you coughed up, Crimson. But why would he target you specifically?"

"I don’t think he’s targeting anyone intentionally," Morvane said. "From what he told me, it seems like his curse activates without his control. But..." He paused, remembering Drace’s bitter smile and the way he had deliberately used his curse to paralyze him. "There’s more to it. He said he can control it if he wants to. That’s how he stopped me in the forest. He... he paralyzed me with his curse."

Crimson’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "This Drace... he’s dangerous. Whether he can control it or not, he’s a threat to everyone around him."

Medas stopped pacing and turned to Morvane. "Did he say anything else? Where he’s going? What he plans to do?"

Morvane shook his head. "No. He just... ran. He looked sick, though. Like he’s barely holding himself together. Whatever this curse is, it’s hurting him too."

Medas exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. "So, we’re dealing with someone who’s both cursed and unstable. If he keeps using that mark, he could cause chaos in the kingdom—or worse."

Crimson nodded. "We need to find him before anyone else gets hurt."

Morvane hesitated, the memory of Drace’s anguish lingering in his mind. "He’s not evil," he said quietly. "He’s just... broken. He didn’t choose this curse. If we’re going to find him, we need to figure out a way to help him—not just stop him."

Medas studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But first, you need to rest. You’ve been through enough for one night."

As the two kings left the room to discuss their next steps, Morvane leaned back against the pillows, his mind still racing. Drace’s words echoed in his head: "You think being markless is bad? At least you don’t hurt everyone around you."

For the first time, Morvane wondered if perhaps his own lack of a mark wasn’t such a curse after all.

Crimson furrowed his brow as he paced the room. "How will we know where he is? He could be anywhere by now."

Morvane sat up straighter, his determination evident. "Don’t worry. My shadow beast already knows his scent. We’ll find him in no time."

Crimson and Medas exchanged glances, their expressions softening slightly at Morvane’s confidence.

"Let’s hope your beast is as reliable as you think," Crimson said.

"Trust me," Morvane replied, standing to prepare for the search. "We’ll find him."

A few hours later, under the cover of night, the three set out on their journey. Morvane summoned his shadow beast, its towering form emerging from the darkness like an otherworldly guardian. Its glowing eyes glinted as it sniffed the air, catching Drace’s trail.

The journey was far from easy. The scent trail led them through thick forests where tangled roots threatened to trip them at every step. They encountered steep hills, thorny underbrush, and even a pack of wild beasts that seemed unnaturally aggressive. Crimson made short work of the creatures, his combat skills proving invaluable, while Medas used his telekinesis to clear the path ahead.

Morvane, riding his shadow beast, remained focused on the trail, urging his companions onward.

"It can’t be far now," he said as the shadow beast let out a low growl, indicating they were getting closer.

Finally, after what felt like hours of trekking, they arrived at a clearing. In the middle stood an old, decrepit house, its wooden frame sagging under years of neglect. The roof was partially collapsed, and ivy crept up the walls, as though nature itself was trying to reclaim it.

"It looks abandoned," Medas said, narrowing his eyes.

Crimson unsheathed his weapon, his stance cautious. "Looks can be deceiving. Stay alert."

As they approached the house, the shadow beast growled again, signaling that Drace was inside. The door creaked open slightly, and a figure emerged—Drace, the hooded cloak still draped over his thin frame.

His face was gaunt, his skin pale, and his eyes had a hollow, haunted look. He looked even sicker than before, his frail body trembling as he stepped outside.

The moment he saw them, his eyes widened in fear, and he turned to run.

"Stop!" Crimson’s voice boomed, the authority in his tone freezing Drace in his tracks.

Drace hesitated, then turned back, his lips moving as he began to speak. "Manif—"

But before he could finish, a violent cough wracked his body, cutting him off. He stumbled, clutching his chest.

That instant of vulnerability was all Crimson needed. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance between them, grabbing Drace by the neck and slamming him against the wall of the house.

"You can’t do anything now, kid," Crimson growled, his grip firm but controlled.

Drace struggled weakly, his breathing labored. "Let... me go," he rasped, his voice barely audible.

"Not until you answer our questions," Crimson said coldly, his piercing gaze locking onto Drace’s panicked eyes.

"Crimson, let him breathe," Medas said, stepping forward cautiously. "We don’t want him passing out before he can talk."

Crimson hesitated, then loosened his grip slightly, just enough for Drace to take shallow breaths.

Morvane dismounted from his shadow beast, his expression a mix of anger and concern. "Drace, why are you running? We’re not here to hurt you—we want to help."

Drace let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly dissolved into another coughing fit. "Help?" he spat weakly. "You can’t help me. No one can."

Medas stepped closer, his voice calm and measured. "You’re sick, Drace. This power of yours—it’s killing you, isn’t it?"

Drace’s expression faltered, the anger in his eyes giving way to something far more vulnerable. He nodded slowly, his body sagging as though the weight of his secret was too much to bear.

"Then let us help you," Morvane said softly. "Tell us everything. Maybe there’s a way to fix this."

Drace’s hollow eyes flicked between the three of them, his defenses crumbling. Finally, he whispered, "There’s no fixing this. My mark... it’s not just bad luck. It’s death."

The words hung heavy in the air, sending a chill down Morvane’s spine.

"What do you mean?" Crimson demanded, his voice low but intense.

Drace looked up at them, his gaze filled with despair. "Everyone that I am close with... everyone... they die. The curse doesn’t just bring bad luck—it kills. Slowly, painfully."

He paused, his voice breaking. "I’ve already lost everything. My family, my friends... even strangers who tried to help me. That’s why I ran. I can’t let anyone else die because of me."

The three rulers exchanged a troubled glance, the gravity of Drace’s words sinking in.

"Then you have to come with us," Morvane said firmly. "If we can understand your curse, maybe we can find a way to break it. But we can’t do that if you keep running."

Drace hesitated, his hollow eyes searching Morvane’s for any sign of deception. Finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

"Fine," he said quietly. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

As Crimson released his grip and Drace slumped to the ground, Morvane helped him to his feet. The shadow beast watched silently, its glowing eyes fixed on the fragile young man.

"We’ll figure this out," Morvane promised, his voice steady. "You’re not alone anymore."