Page 5 of Marked

As she passed through the market, she noticed just how much paranoia had washed over SilverDawn. People were hunched over whispering and merchants were engrossed in traded stories of impending doom.

A feminine voice pulled her from her thoughts as she reached the middle of the market.

“Something is going on, I know it..” said the dark-haired woman as she looked over her loaves.

Her voice shook, “Back home. In Keithston. My sister sent a letter, said something is going on there too. Two people showed up with dark sigils on their body. She swore she saw shadows around them.”

“Elise,” said Orlin grimly, setting down a bag of muffins from his bakery, “That’s hard to believe. Shadows? ”

A man nearby scoffed, looking at the town baker. “Don’t feed into her nonsense.” he then pointed at the woman, “Maybe your sister is a loon. ”

The next day, the healer posted a notice outside her cottage: If anyone around you is experiencing strange behavior, please file a report to my assistant.

By the third morning, SilverDawn was not the same town.

People refused to come outside. They watched each other with suspicion.

Everyone now claimed the town was in danger.

More stories of people beyond SilverDawn who were corrupted, spread.

Each one telling a different tale of someone with dark sigils.

Symbols that would grow and engulf them, wreaking havoc and creating a deadly weapon that could be unleashed.

People had even begun taking certain precautions- Everyone was checking each other for any signs of dark symbols on their bodies.

Everything seemed to be affected. Blair's classroom, which had once been full of sixteen students, was dwindling down each day that passed.

Throughout this instability of everyone around her, all she could think of was them, her kids. Her classroom was her family, and her students were like her own children. Now, they were in danger from a threat she felt she couldn't see - an invisible fear.

One afternoon, she contemplated whether the stories had any truth to them as she sat at her vanity and studied herself.

Her chestnut brown hair framed her face in waves and fell behind her shoulders to the middle of her back.

Strands of auburn sparkled where the sunlight touched it.

She lifted her hands and divided her hair into three sections, beginning to braid it .

Hazel eyes stared back at her as her fingers worked, not quite green, not quite gold, shifting in color with every tilt of her head.

Her eyes moved to her freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and scattered across her cheeks like soft constellations. They stayed there, moving only to observe the skin on her face and shoulders, warm with a sun-earned tan.

She paused her fingers, almost finished with her braid, as her vision shifted to a photo in her reflection.

Her eyes lingered on a miniature picture attached to her mirror.

The worn snapshot was of her as a child playing in a creek, her parents standing and watching.

She was ten in the picture. Everything changed shortly after this.

She closed her eyes and thought of the family she had created for herself, the students who filled her classroom.

Most barely taller than her hip, the small children in her class shone brightly in her darkening world.

At this point, there were only nine students left in her class.

She lowered her head into her hands and rubbed her temples with her thumbs.

As she did so, images began to flood her mind of her large classroom, empty.

A blank, silent room with no little eyes full of wonder or little mouths smiling, asking questions.

As she stood to secure her boots over her pants, she knew she had to figure out a form of protection. Her brow set in determination as she closed the door and plodded down through the square to the far end of town.

The sun had barely risen over the rolling hills of the town, casting a pale light across the village.

Blair noticed how the earth came alive under the peaking sunlight.

In the early morning haze, the typical sound of birdsong was drowned out by her heavy footsteps.

As she briskly walked through the cobbled streets, her hair bobbed behind her like a storm.

Her usually composed face was tainted, and a scowl lingered in place of her usual smile.

Her brows furrowed deeper as she thought of the stranger whom Bryn had healed.

Although she had been told he had recovered, her mind could only recall the scarlet river that followed him when he had first entered.

Her pace picked up, and her breath began to come in short, sharp bursts as she hurried toward the edge of SilverDawn toward her destination.

As Blair walked closer to the town market, she eyed the few choices of vendors.

These selective sellers were the only ones who acted like there was still some sort of normalcy, but Blair knew better.

She had seen the anxiety spread through each person who lived there.

Blair passed the shops, not yet open, and followed the street toward one of the last buildings.

On the outskirts of the village, there was a lodge connected to an old forge with billowing smoke.

This was her answer. The sound of a hammer on metal rang out with each strike, rhythmic and steady like a heartbeat.

Inside, the blacksmith Damien was at work.

The forge was glowing with an orange light that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls.

Blair stood at the entrance of the blacksmith shop, the scent of molten metal and burning wood filling the air.

She didn't want to intrude on him. Damien was a man of few words, and his craft required precision and solitude.

But if she was going to be capable of protecting herself and her students, he was the one she needed.

He was the only one who could craft something to help.

Settling her mind on this answer to her problem, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Her eyes immediately focused on the towering figure of Damien.

The blacksmith stood at least six feet tall.

His imposing, husky frame was a testament to years of hard labor.

His bulging muscles, lined with prominent veins, rippled with every strike of the hammer.

The clothing that protected his body hugged his broad shoulders and large build tightly.

Sweat glistened on his brow, but his focus remained unshaken.

His glacier-blue eyes shone with a rare intensity.

His auburn-brown hair was buzzed short on the sides but left longer on the top.

It tousled slightly with each movement, giving him a wild, untamed look.

His jaw was framed in a refined beard that mimicked the same auburn and light brown tones as his hair, which was slick with sweat and soot.

He paused, sensing her presence, and turned his sharp eyes on her.

His face was hard, and his stare was stern, even with a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Blair and Damien had crossed paths a few times in the village, though their words rarely intersected.

She was a busy teacher who often ventured out to gather materials and supplies, whereas he only went out when necessary.

He acknowledged her with a shallow nod, wiping his hands on his leather apron. His eyes burned with the intensity of someone who did not want to be interrupted. Blair raised an eyebrow and relaxed her features enough to show a small smile .

"I need help.” she said, stepping up closer to him. “I need you to make me something to protect me and my students."

Damien set his hammer down, his brow furrowing as he shot her a look that she could only describe as skeptical.

"Protect?" he echoed.

"Yes, from whatever is coming. You've heard the stories around town.

" Blair swallowed, fighting the urge to raise her voice as her face began to warm.

"I need something to keep them safe if something happens.

" Her voice quivered, which caught a mere second of attention from the blacksmith as their eyes met.

"Maybe canceling classes would be best then,” he said nonchalantly, turning away from her and moving back to pick up the hammer.

Blair stared at him for a long minute, then rested her hands on the table in front of her. Her shoulders straightened as she raised her chin, "You make swords, chains... anything and everything this village needs."

The blacksmith inspected his hammer, running his finger along a crack in the side. She sighed and nodded to the towering pile of unfinished work in the corner of the room, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.

"Could you use something from there? I'll take anything. A lock. An alarm of some kind. A sword. I don't want to just sit and wait. I need to know I have something ."

Damien shot her a sarcastic glare, "A sword? You’re going to take a sword into your classroom? "

Blair raised an eyebrow, pointing to the tool in Damien's hands, "Do you use that hammer to shape your humor? You might have flattened it a little too much," she replied smugly, lowering her eyebrows.

Damien answered with a scowl, though it was hard to tell if he was angry or just perpetually disgruntled. Blair's gaze remained glued to him, even when his eyes met hers.

"I'm busy with other orders." He said shortly.