They left the grove in silence.
Even Nara didn't crack a joke. The shadows beneath the ancient trees still clung to their clothes like dust, and the heavy stillness of the sacred clearing followed them across the plains.
The sun was already high, casting sharp angles across the land, but none of them seemed to notice. Not really. Not after what they'd seen.
Sylas walked just behind Eiran, his feet moving without thought. The rabbit swung limply from his hand, the snare still looped awkwardly around one of its hind legs. It had felt like a triumph earlier. Now it just felt... small.
Deren was the first to speak.
"You've just witnessed something sacred," he said, his voice even and low, as if the grove could still hear them. "What you saw was not just an animal. It was a vessel. A living extension of the Bear god's will."
They stopped briefly at a bend in the path. Sylas turned slightly, casting one last glance toward the line of trees. He could still see the faint shimmer of golden light in his mind's eye, flickering like firelight on water.
He swallowed.
"Is that why it had those marks?" he asked softly. "To show that it belongs to the gods?"
Deren looked back at him. "The marks are more than that. They are a bond. A gift of divine energy. A symbol of a god's favor and a test of one's worth."
Sylas nodded slowly, though the knot in his chest remained tangled.
Eiran adjusted the strap of his bow, speaking as though reciting something he'd once been told. "The mark isn't decoration. It's a link. A thread of the god's essence, left behind as proof. Sometimes it means strength. Sometimes it means fate."
"Or doom," Nara chimed in, arms folded, her voice light but laced with something sharper. "Depending on the god's mood."
Deren shot her a glare. "This is not something to make light of."
Nara shrugged. "It's true. Not everyone who gets marked comes out of it whole. Some don't come out at all."
Sylas felt a chill despite the warmth of the sun. He glanced sideways at Eiran, whose tunic had slipped just enough to reveal the faint, claw-like scars etched into his shoulder. The Bear's mark. Worn like a memory carved into skin.
"Did it hurt?" Sylas asked before he could stop himself.
Eiran gave a soft exhale. "It's not about pain," he said. "It's about change. The mark doesn't just touch your body. It shifts something deeper."
Deren's eyes lingered on Sylas, unreadable as ever. "And they do not tolerate weakness."
That made Sylas's stomach twist. He clenched his jaw and looked away, pretending to focus on a hawk circling far overhead.
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They returned to the village clearing just as the sun crested noon. The light had sharpened, turning the sky pale and blinding, but the breeze carried the rich smell of herbs and baking bread from the nearby hearth houses. It should have been comforting. It wasn't.
Deren led them into the yard, his posture rigid. "Start preparing the offerings," he instructed, gesturing toward the ceremonial shed. "The awakening begins at dusk. Everything must be ready."
Eiran moved with quiet precision, already unstringing his bow. Nara dropped her catch beside the buck with a theatrical sigh.
"Do we have to clean everything now?" she groaned, stretching her arms overhead. "We haven't even eaten. I'm dying."
Deren didn't respond. He simply strode toward the fire pit, muttering to himself about timing and arrangements.
Nara glanced sideways at Sylas. "You look like you got flattened by the bear instead of just being stared at."
He offered a weak half-smile.
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Don't overthink it. Just don't mess up and you'll be fine."
"That's the worst advice I've ever heard," Eiran said as he passed, his voice dry.
"Is it, though?" Nara quipped, already reaching for the sharpening stone.
Sylas didn't join them right away. He stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the horizon. His hand was still trembling faintly, the rabbit now laid at his feet. The others worked around him, but their voices blurred into a soft hum.
His mind was still back in the grove.
The bear's eyes.
The golden light.
The pause.
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The gods are always watching.
The words came to him not from the present, but from memory—Maren's voice, quiet and certain, echoing in his mind from the night before.
"They don't care about perfection," she'd said as they stood outside the house, under stars dulled by cloud. "They care about truth. About who you are underneath the surface. You don't have to be fearless. Just honest."
He had nodded then, not really believing it.
Now he wasn't so sure.
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A few minutes later, Nara returned with an armful of dried roots and dumped them on the flat stone near the pit. "So," she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, "you gonna be dramatic all day or just until the ceremony?"
Sylas blinked. "What?"
"You've got that look," she said, plopping down beside him. "Like you're either about to cry or write a poem. Possibly both."
He exhaled. "It's just… Everything. It's a lot."
Nara was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yeah. It is."
He looked at her, surprised.
She met his eyes, serious for once. "It changes you. Whether you get the mark or not. Just standing there? Being seen like that? It does something to your insides."
Sylas nodded. "What if I'm not ready?"
She grinned again. "Then you fake it really, really well until you are."
The sun was arcing westward now, climbing toward its golden descent. The preparations had begun. Cleansing the offerings, sharpening blades, fetching ceremonial robes. The clearing buzzed with quiet tension, as though even the trees knew what was coming.
The awakening would begin at dusk.
When the light met the shadow.
When the gods, it was said, looked most closely.
Sylas stood beside the shed, staring at the clean surface of a ceremonial basin. He could see his reflection in the water, blurred and faint. Uncertain.
Behind him, the house waited. His family moved through its rooms, brushing ash from old symbols, lighting sacred herbs. The cub was likely still curled in his bed, oblivious to the weight pressing down on its reluctant guardian.
He reached into his tunic and touched the spot on his chest where his heart beat steadily and fast.
A bond. A reminder. A judgment.
The gods would see it all.
But maybe they'd see something worth choosing.