《Sin Of The Mark {English}》 A Life Without a Mark The Forsaken Child In a world where only the strong survive, where the sound of swords is the only law, and where power alone determines a man''s fate, there is a land ruled by a single truth: Those without strength¡­ do not deserve to live. This is Wynx, the land of the Children of the Blade¡ªa ruthless people who believe that life is nothing but an endless battlefield, where the weak have no place. Every child born here carries a sacred mark on their forehead, a symbol that determines their destiny: Crimson Red: The mark of absolute power, the chosen elite. Glowing Silver: The warriors of the elite, those with the right to lead. Pale Steel: The lowest rank of warriors, the weakest of the tribe. And finally¡­ those born without a mark? They are seen as nothing but mistakes¡ªa disgrace to existence itself. --- Chapter One: A Curse Without a Name On a bitter winter night, a woman struggled against the pain of childbirth, her cries shaking the walls of the small hut. The darkness swallowed everything, silence suffocated the air¡ªuntil a soft cry pierced the cold night. "It¡¯s a boy!" But the midwife''s joy quickly turned to shock. She froze, staring at the newborn¡¯s forehead¡­ Nothing. No mark. Her hands trembled as she quickly wrapped the infant in cloth, trying to hide the truth. But it was already too late. A tall man stood before her, his eyes as sharp as blades, a sword glinting in his grip. He was Ricardo, the tribe¡¯s second-in-command¡ªone of the fiercest men in Wynx. He looked at the child and spat on the ground. "This is not my son. This is a curse. This¡­ is a mistake." The mother¡¯s voice trembled, but she clutched her baby tightly, tears streaming down her face. "He is your son! How can you¡ª?!" Ricardo raised his sword high, his voice as cold as steel: "This child does not deserve to live. I will bury him with my own hands." But before he could strike, a deep voice cut through the air: "Stop, Ricardo." It was the Elder, the tribe¡¯s leader. Though old, his presence was enough to silence everyone. His gaze fell upon the infant, unreadable and distant. Then, he spoke. "You will not kill him. But he will never be one of us. Send him to the Forgotten Quarters. He will live as a servant to the warriors." And so¡­ the tale of the boy who belonged nowhere began. --- Chapter Two: Where Tears Are Not Heard Deep within the tribe, beyond the broken walls, there was a place known as the Forgotten Quarters. It was a graveyard for the living¡ªa place where unwanted children were discarded, raised as servants, used as training dummies, and rarely¡­ survived. Joe grew up in hunger, beatings, and humiliation. He learned not to ask. He learned not to make mistakes. He learned that crying meant nothing. One day, as he picked up a stale piece of bread from the dirt, an angry voice rang behind him. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "How dare you, you filthy rat?!" A hard kick sent him crashing to the ground. Above him stood a towering boy, his face scarred, his eyes burning with hatred. "The forgotten do not eat. The forgotten do not live." Then the blows came. Joe lay motionless, his body aching. But his eyes remained open, filled with something they had never held before¡­ Defiance. As he stared at the stars above, he whispered to himself: "When I turn ten¡­ I will escape. I will find a world that does not know this cruelty." --- Chapter Three: The Legend of the Dragon¡¯s Land In the shadows of the Forgotten Quarters, among the rotting huts and the discarded souls, there was an old man unlike any other. He was no mere servant or cruel overseer¡ªhe was a sage, exiled after his kingdom fell into oblivion. His name was Volsh, and he looked as if he had crawled out of ancient myths¡ªa long beard, eyes drowning in secrets, and a voice that whispered of lost ages. The other children mocked him, calling him the Mad Hermit. But Joe did not see a madman. He saw a window into another world. One night, as the wind howled through the crumbling wood, Joe sat beside Volsh, staring at the fire dancing before them. "Volsh, is it true? Is the world beyond these walls only filled with swords and blood?" The old man chuckled, his voice rough with age. Then, he leaned in and whispered: "There is one place¡­ unlike anything you know, boy. A place not ruled by strength, but by fire." Joe¡¯s eyes widened. "What is it?" "The Land of Dragons." Joe¡¯s breath caught in his throat. "The Land of Dragons?!" Volsh nodded slowly and pointed at the sky, where the moon hid behind drifting clouds. "Every person in this world is born with a mark that decides their fate. But there are creatures who bear the greatest mark of all¡­ the dragons. Their marks are not mere symbols¡ªthey are living flames, burning upon their foreheads, granting them power beyond any sword." Joe swallowed hard, his mind painting images of giant creatures soaring through the sky, their foreheads glowing with fire. "They say that whoever tames a dragon¡­ becomes stronger than any warrior, even if they were born without a mark." For the first time in his life¡­ Joe did not feel weak. He felt hope. He had found his purpose. "How do I get there, Volsh?" The old man smiled, but there was sorrow in his gaze. "Everyone who tried¡­ never returned." But Joe did not care. "If that is my journey¡­ then I will walk it to the end." --- Chapter Four: The Leap into the Unknown The night was moonless. Behind him, the shouts of the guards grew louder. Ahead of him, a cliff, with nothing but darkness below. Joe stopped for a moment, staring into the void. "Is this¡­ my end?" But he had no choice. He had nothing to lose. Then, without hesitation¡­ he jumped. "Are you insane?!" a voice screeched above him. A gray parrot flapped its wings frantically, diving after him. But iThe Forsaken Child In a world where only the strong survive, where the sound of swords is the only law, and where power alone determines a man''s fate, there is a land ruled by a single truth: Those without strength¡­ do not deserve to live. This is Wynx, the land of the Children of the Blade¡ªa ruthless people who believe that life is nothing but an endless battlefield, where the weak have no place. Every child born here carries a sacred mark on their forehead, a symbol that determines their destiny: Crimson Red: The mark of absolute power, the chosen elite. Glowing Silver: The warriors of the elite, those with the right to lead. Pale Steel: The lowest rank of warriors, the weakest of the tribe. And finally¡­ those born without a mark? They are seen as nothing but mistakes¡ªa disgrace to existence itself. --- Chapter One: A Curse Without a Name On a bitter winter night, a woman struggled against the pain of childbirth, her cries shaking the walls of the small hut. The darkness swallowed everything, silence suffocated the air¡ªuntil a soft cry pierced the cold night. "It¡¯s a boy!" But the midwife''s joy quickly turned to shock. She froze, staring at the newborn¡¯s forehead¡­ Nothing. No mark. Her hands trembled as she quickly wrapped the infant in cloth, trying to hide the truth. But it was already too late. A tall man stood before her, his eyes as sharp as blades, a sword glinting in his grip. He was Ricardo, the tribe¡¯s second-in-command¡ªone of the fiercest men in Wynx. He looked at the child and spat on the ground. "This is not my son. This is a curse. This¡­ is a mistake." The mother¡¯s voice trembled, but she clutched her baby tightly, tears streaming down her face. "He is your son! How can you¡ª?!" Ricardo raised his sword high, his voice as cold as steel: "This child does not deserve to live. I will bury him with my own hands." But before he could strike, a deep voice cut through the air: "Stop, Ricardo." It was the Elder, the tribe¡¯s leader. Though old, his presence was enough to silence everyone. His gaze fell upon the infant, unreadable and distant. Then, he spoke. "You will not kill him. But he will never be one of us. Send him to the Forgotten Quarters. He will live as a servant to the warriors." And so¡­ the tale of the boy who belonged nowhere began. --- Chapter Two: Where Tears Are Not Heard Deep within the tribe, beyond the broken walls, there was a place known as the Forgotten Quarters. It was a graveyard for the living¡ªa place where unwanted children were discarded, raised as servants, used as training dummies, and rarely¡­ survived. Joe grew up in hunger, beatings, and humiliation. He learned not to ask. He learned not to make mistakes. He learned that crying meant nothing. One day, as he picked up a stale piece of bread from the dirt, an angry voice rang behind him. "How dare you, you filthy rat?!" A hard kick sent him crashing to the ground. Above him stood a towering boy, his face scarred, his eyes burning with hatred. "The forgotten do not eat. The forgotten do not live." Then the blows came. Joe lay motionless, his body aching. But his eyes remained open, filled with something they had never held before¡­ Defiance. As he stared at the stars above, he whispered to himself: "When I turn ten¡­ I will escape. I will find a world that does not know this cruelty." --- Chapter Three: The Legend of the Dragon¡¯s Land In the shadows of the Forgotten Quarters, among the rotting huts and the discarded souls, there was an old man unlike any other. He was no mere servant or cruel overseer¡ªhe was a sage, exiled after his kingdom fell into oblivion. His name was Volsh, and he looked as if he had crawled out of ancient myths¡ªa long beard, eyes drowning in secrets, and a voice that whispered of lost ages. The other children mocked him, calling him the Mad Hermit. But Joe did not see a madman. He saw a window into another world. One night, as the wind howled through the crumbling wood, Joe sat beside Volsh, staring at the fire dancing before them. "Volsh, is it true? Is the world beyond these walls only filled with swords and blood?" The old man chuckled, his voice rough with age. Then, he leaned in and whispered: "There is one place¡­ unlike anything you know, boy. A place not ruled by strength, but by fire." Joe¡¯s eyes widened. "What is it?" "The Land of Dragons." Joe¡¯s breath caught in his throat. "The Land of Dragons?!" Volsh nodded slowly and pointed at the sky, where the moon hid behind drifting clouds. "Every person in this world is born with a mark that decides their fate. But there are creatures who bear the greatest mark of all¡­ the dragons. Their marks are not mere symbols¡ªthey are living flames, burning upon their foreheads, granting them power beyond any sword." Joe swallowed hard, his mind painting images of giant creatures soaring through the sky, their foreheads glowing with fire. "They say that whoever tames a dragon¡­ becomes stronger than any warrior, even if they were born without a mark." For the first time in his life¡­ Joe did not feel weak. He felt hope. He had found his purpose. "How do I get there, Volsh?" The old man smiled, but there was sorrow in his gaze. "Everyone who tried¡­ never returned." But Joe did not care. "If that is my journey¡­ then I will walk it to the end." --- Chapter Four: The Leap into the Unknown The night was moonless. Behind him, the shouts of the guards grew louder. Ahead of him, a cliff, with nothing but darkness below. Joe stopped for a moment, staring into the void. "Is this¡­ my end?" But he had no choice. He had nothing to lose. Then, without hesitation¡­ he jumped. "Are you insane?!" a voice screeched above him. A gray parrot flapped its wings frantically, diving after him. But it was too late. The forgotten child had vanished into the abyss. And so¡­ His new chapter began. His journey to the Land of Dragons had begun. His legend had begun. ¡­To be continued. t was too late. The forgotten child had vanished into the abyss. And so¡­ His new chapter began. His journey to the Land of Dragons had begun. His legend had begun. ¡­To be continued. The Road to Darkness Escape into the Unknown The night was cold. Colder than it should be. The darkness stretched around him, with no beginning¡­ no end. Joe rode his horse as if he were escaping death itself, but he knew the truth well¡­ death could not be ridden. Death rode you. "Where are we going now?" The gray parrot¡¯s voice trembled, fluttering beside him as if its wings didn¡¯t trust the air. Joe didn¡¯t answer. He gripped the reins with a hand that no longer felt like his own. His eyes were fixed on the black horizon, but the horizon was not fixed on him. "Joe? Can you hear me?" At last, he exhaled, as if his lungs had refused air the entire way. "Anywhere¡­ away from them." He didn¡¯t need to name "them." They were his past, the hell he had grown in. They were everything he hated, everything he knew he would carry inside him forever. But he didn¡¯t realize he had crossed into a land even darker. A land that didn¡¯t grant you the honor of a fight. A land that killed you before you even had time to be afraid. Whoosh¡ª The wind whispered¡­ Then¡ª Thud! A single arrow. No scream. No warning. Not even pain¡­ not at first. Then¡ª Bam! He fell. His body slammed against the ground, his hair sticking to his sweat-drenched forehead. The world spun around him as if it no longer wanted him. The first thing he saw was blood. Not his own. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. It was the blood of his horse, spilling slowly, quietly, as if it didn¡¯t want to draw his attention to its death. The horse¡¯s eyes were still open. But they no longer saw him. Joe didn¡¯t move. He didn¡¯t blink. Because he knew¡­ if he did, if he even breathed, he would be the next target. And from the darkness¡­ a man emerged. His stillness was eerie, his footsteps barely touched the ground. But what caught Joe¡¯s attention most was his forehead¡­ A blue mark, burning like a scar of fire. The man did not speak. He did not raise his voice. He simply extended his hand¡­ And grabbed the parrot. A scream. Wings flapping in vain. Then¡ª Crack! A single movement. Swift. Without hesitation. Suddenly, the wings stopped flapping. The head rolled, the beak still open, as if it hadn¡¯t realized it was dead. Joe saw it. He saw it with his own eyes. He saw it more than he wanted to. "No¡ª don¡¯t! Take anything! My life! My weapon! Anything, just don¡¯t¡ª" Bam! A fist punched into his stomach, cold as a dagger. The pain was not fair, not even comprehensible. Before he could fall, another hand grabbed his throat¡ª Then¡ª Bam! His head slammed into the ground. There was no darkness¡­ there was something worse. There was silence. Then, the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a voice¡ª calm, cold, as distant from mercy as one could imagine: "Take him." --- The Unforgiving Dream He was alone. There was nothing but loneliness, and that was worse than anything else. Then¡­ a familiar voice. "Joe¡­ why did you leave me?" He turned quickly, his eyes widening. In the middle of the void, the gray parrot stood on a lone rock. Its wings were stained with blood, and its eyes¡­ The eyes of a friend who had died without being understood. "You promised me¡­ You were going to save me, weren¡¯t you?" Joe stepped back, as if the words carried a weight heavier than his chest could bear. "I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to leave you¡­" But the other voice did not spare him. "And is that an excuse?" It wasn¡¯t the parrot¡¯s voice. It was older, heavier, coming from something not entirely alive. An old man emerged from the darkness. His robe was torn, his face without a smile, without wisdom¡ªwithout anything but disappointment. "Didn¡¯t I tell you the world has no mercy for the weak?" He pointed his hand¡­ at the parrot. Then¡ª It fell. Joe lunged forward, reaching out, trying to grab it¡ª But he caught nothing. The parrot did not fall to the ground. It melted into the darkness. As if it had never been his friend. "Nooooo!!!" He screamed, but no sound came out. He turned to the old man, but the man was simply staring at him¡ªwithout emotion, without interest¡ªbefore saying quietly: "This is what happens to the weak, Joe." Then¡­ He disappeared. Joe was left alone. With nothing. Then¡ª Splash! Ice-cold water crashed onto him. Suddenly, he was awake again. He was in a stone room, dark and freezing. The moisture in the air felt like ice in his lungs. He remembered. The blood. The severed head. The moment he lost everything. Then, for the first time since his capture¡­ tears fell from his eyes. Not from pain. Not from fear. But from helplessness. Then, something inside him ignited. "I have to get stronger¡­ I have to survive." --- The Judgment of the Leader Joe was dragged through long corridors, lit by dim torches. He felt as if the passageways were swallowing him, as if they were designed to bury him alive. At the end of the path, a massive door appeared. It was pushed open, creaking heavily. And what Joe saw inside¡­ Was worse than everything before. Golden light filled the room, but it was not a warm light. It was harsh, as if it was judging him and disapproving of what it found. And in the center of it¡­ A man stood. Not just any man. His mere presence was overwhelming, and on his forehead burned a golden mark, shining like the sun. "What is your name?" The voice was not loud, but it was enough to make Joe¡¯s knees tremble. He hesitated, then whispered, "Joe." The man raised an eyebrow. "And to which tribe do you belong?" Joe did not answer. He knew that any response would be the beginning of the end. The leader smiled¡ª as if he already knew the answer. Then, he stepped closer, his golden mark glowing even brighter. "You are an anomaly¡­ Without a mark, without an identity, without a fate." Then, in a voice as quiet as death itself: "But I am merciful. So, I give you two choices: become a slave¡­ or die." Joe did not speak. There was no need for words anymore. Because he knew, no matter which choice he made¡­ He was already finished. The Night My Soul Burned Night of Hunger and Rejection The wind howled through the narrow alleys, carrying a cold that pierced the bones. In a forgotten corner of the village of "Wenx," a boy, barely seven years old, stood trembling from hunger and cold. His frail hand lifted, knocking on a wooden door with weak fingers. His voice was soft, yet heavy with desperate pleading: "Is there any food? Please..." Moments passed before the door swung open violently. A woman with a stern face appeared, a broom in her hand, her eyes filled with disgust. "Get lost, you filthy wretch! Don¡¯t dirty my doorstep!" She pushed the boy harshly, sending him sprawling into the muddy ground. She didn¡¯t spare him another glance before slamming the door shut behind her, as if his mere existence was nothing more than a minor nuisance in her cold night. The boy slowly got up, his stomach screaming for food, but no one listened. He had nowhere to go, only the dark streets that promised nothing but loneliness. His feet carried him to the "Sanctuary of the Forgotten"¡ªa place where beggars and outcasts gathered, where hunger and slow death ruled supreme. He hesitantly approached, looking at a frail man sitting by a weak fire and asked in a quiet voice: "Do you have any food?" The only response was a harsh punch to the head, knocking him to the ground. "Sleep without food and let death take you faster!" the man growled before turning away, indifferent. The boy lay on the cold ground, his small hands clutching his empty stomach. There was no food. There was no one. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. There was nothing but the darkness of the night and its cruelty. --- Slavery¡­ or Death? The night had not ended, but it had grown darker. The boy lifted his head, but he was no longer a boy. Blood stained his skin, and his eyes stared into those of a massive man standing before him, a cruel smirk on his lips. "Choose, you filthy wretch¡­ slavery or death?" He looked at him with cold, empty eyes. He knew there was no escape, that the world had no mercy for someone like him. One word slipped from his lips, colder than the wind: "Slavery." And the moment he spoke it, he fell to his knees¡ªnot from exhaustion, but from the crushing weight of defeat. There had never been a real choice, yet he still felt as though he had betrayed himself. The leader chuckled, stepping forward, grabbing his face roughly, forcing him to look into his dark eyes. "Good choice, scum." Then he signaled to the guards, who seized him like a worthless animal. "Take him. Teach him his place." --- The Branding ¨C The Seal of Slavery The cell was dark, damp, filled with the stench of sweat and dried blood. In the corners, other slaves sat with hollow faces and lifeless eyes. No one dared to look at him. "New, huh?" The voice came from a thin man, his face scarred, a faint blue mark on his forehead. He stepped closer and whispered: "Tomorrow, they will brand you¡­ Don¡¯t scream too much. It won¡¯t help." The warning wasn¡¯t necessary. He already knew¡ªscreaming never saved anyone. The next day, he was dragged into an open yard. The older slaves and the newly captured ones stood in silence, watching. In the center, a massive man held a metal rod, its tip glowing red-hot with fire. "Joe, right?" He didn¡¯t answer. But they didn¡¯t need his response. They threw him to the ground, held him down, and pressed the burning iron onto his skin. Then came the pain. Pain that wasn¡¯t just physical¡­ but as if his very soul was being seared. The mark wasn¡¯t just etched onto his flesh¡ªit was a seal on his fate. A slave¡­ forever. --- The Pit of Slaves ¨C The Beginning of Collapse The first night after the branding¡­ The pain wasn¡¯t the worst part. He knew the burn would heal eventually, but what he didn¡¯t know how to escape was the silence. A silence that swallowed him like an endless void. He was in a cold, muddy pit, where new slaves were thrown as part of their "purification." No food. No water. No light. Only isolation¡­ and delusions. At first, he tried to hold on to hope. "I will survive." "I will find a way out." "I will not die here." But as time passed, his thoughts changed¡­ His own voice was no longer his own. "Why are you trying?" "How long have you really been living?" "How many times have you wished for death?" "Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to surrender?" The more the whispers echoed inside his mind, the heavier the darkness became. Until he saw something. In the farthest, blackest corner of the pit, two eyes were staring at him. Not human. Not beast. Something else entirely¡­ Then came the voice. Not from outside. Not from within. From somewhere else entirely. "I have seen you." It wasn¡¯t just words¡ªit was a promise. A threat. A deal unspoken. And in that moment, he realized something terrifying. There was something in this darkness that wanted him to live. But at what cost?