His brothers' and his Marks were completely useless.
'Oh Moon, you gave us some real crap', Nox muttered under his breath.
Out of four brothers, only two were left: him and his youngest brother Abram.
Just like Nox, Abram also had the same brown Mark in the same place, but on the top of his left hand. Luckily, his Mark, unlike Nox's, was completely intact and still looked like a filled circle.
For now.
Each of the brothers had started to lose strength at some point, as if one by one they were falling ill with some strange disease. Now there were only two left.
Or rather, one.
Nox already thought of himself as dead.
The greatest support for the family had been their father, Karn, who was also Marked. His broad chest was adorned not with the brown but with a bright red Mark in the shape of three-quarters of the moon instead.
His name was well-known because he was truly a great swordsman. It was thanks to him that his family was able to live a quite comfortable life. His father mostly relied on his own skills, rarely using the power of the Mark, unlike other warriors, who, despite their young age, had already reduced their power to a half-moon.
All swordsmen had red Marks, and Nox always thought that the warrior Red class was probably the best thing that could happen to you.
But if you didn't have too much bad luck, you could be born with a blue Mark as a healer instead.
There were also rare instances of those born with a green Mark, who had mind-controlling abilities.
But Nox had never heard of anyone who had brown marks like him and his brothers.
Now laying down in this mud, he hoped that he would have enough strength to write a final letter to his family. His beloved father and Abram had supported him as best they could. Nox thought about how much he would give now to return to his family. To be able to curl up in the arms of his father and brother. He loved them so much and missed them terribly!
Nox felt tears begin to well in his eyes. At first, it was just a single drop, which he wiped away with his right thumb, but soon the floodgates opened, and streams of tears spilled down his face, soaking into his shirt.
'At my old age, I have turned into a softie', he thought.
Old age?! But he was only in his twenties! Yet, in his body, he felt much older; he had no strength left. He often rested, feeling as if he were at least forty years older than he really was.
Nox cried from longing and the injustice of fate. If he had known that everything would be for nothing, he would never have left his family.
Oh, if only he could go back in time just to slap himself for making that stupid decision...
...Gasping heavily, Nox laid on the filthy ground, barely able to breathe. He hadn't eaten in days and had no strength left, having finally dragged his heavy body back to his camp after a long night of fitful sleep. Now reality was increasingly blended with his dreams as Nox fought to stay awake.
In his hand, he clutched a farewell letter written to his family. 'All for nothing', he thought. The predators, no longer scared away by the proximity of his near-extinguished fire, were merely waiting for him to close his eyes.
His sword, while still within reach, was now nothing more than a decoration.
He thought cynically - 'What kind of warrior am I?'. He closed his eyes again and drifted back to the events of the past few years.
He still remembered the first time he noticed a change to his Mark.
It was three years ago, when, as usual, he had been preparing for a morning sparring session at the family estate. Before leaving his bedroom, Nox reached for his leather gloves, which he wore daily to conceal his Mark from curious eyes. But this time, just before pulling the glove onto his right hand, something caught his attention.
His Mark looked different.
One edge of the circle seemed uneven, as if someone had smudged the outline.
He rushed to wash his hands, hoping the Mark would return to normal.
It didn't.
"What's happening..." he whispered. But deep in his heart, he already knew. Just like with his older brothers, his Mark was slowly fading. 'The curse', he thought. And fear gripped him.
His heart dropped. He rubbed his hands, still submerged in the water basin, desperately hoping it was all an illusion.
His hands had always been slender, with narrow fingers; unlike those of other warriors. There were small calluses on the palms from gripping a sword, but no one who shook his hand would believe he was a seasoned fighter. Still, that didn't matter much as Nox always wore gloves to keep his Mark hidden.
When he pulled his hands out of the water, his soft skin was now bright red. It only made the blurred edge of the Mark stand out more.
He still remembered how he trembled in fear. Should he tell his family? How much time did he have left? How long could he keep this hidden? Did it mean Abram was next?
Nox felt weak. He didn't want to die but he feared even more for his younger brother Abram, and their father. Since his brothers had passed, he had felt responsible for Abram. He had done everything he could to become a worthy successor to their father.
That same day, while practising sword strikes, he decided to try and change his fate. To find a way to save, if not himself, then at least Abram.
A month later, he was already strapping a small luggage onto his horse. He saw his father, Karn, and his brother standing just a few steps away. Abram was only sixteen back then, far too young to lose his last brother.
Nox didn't approach them. He was afraid that if he got too close, he wouldn't be able to mount the horse and leave.
He looked into his brother's reddened eyes, gave a slight nod, and rode off. Thus began his wandering, his search for a way to break the curse.
All for nothing.
Nox snapped back to reality. He felt raindrops on his face and couldn't hold back a regretful thought, 'I should've died in battle like a hero, not like this, lying alone in the mud.'
He had no strength left. He checked his Mark; its narrow brown shape had been burning under his skin for days.
Through the haze, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help noticing movement. Yet instead of seeing what he expected; a half-starved coyote sneaking closer, he instead recognized a small black rider. No.... He wasn't small just really far away.
The rider was moving swiftly down the slope from the north. His figure steadily grew bigger until finally he stopped beside the fallen warrior and got off his horse. He looked like he'd been riding for days without rest. His black shirt hung open just enough to reveal a glimpse of his chest. Strands of raven-black hair fell in disarray, giving him a rugged, wind-swept look. Tall and powerfully built, he cut an imposing figure.
Their eyes locked.
In that man's black eyes, Nox thought he saw... disappointment?!
For a moment, he feared that the tall, raven-haired warrior had come to rob him. Silly thought. As if any of it mattered now.
He figured it was a good time to ask for a favor.
"Finish me," he said.
"Finish me, and send the letter in my hand. I don't have much but you can keep my sword and horse."
The stranger squinted his eyes in disdain but said nothing.
The tall man looked down on Nox as if he were nothing but a mere bug.
He picked up Nox's sword.
Nox closed his eyes, waiting for the blow.
It didn't come.
He tried to open his eyes to see what was happening, but at that moment, he began to lose consciousness.