Sovereign of the Forsaken Path

Ezra woke up gasping.

Pain still burned in his chest, lingering like dying embers. His vision swam, the world tilting violently before settling into sharp focus.

He was still in the chamber. The massive stone tablet loomed above him, its inscriptions now dim and lifeless, as if it had spent the last of its power.

And the hooded man still stood there, silent, watching.

Ezra's heartbeat was too loud. Something felt… off.

His hands trembled as he touched his chest, expecting to find a wound.

Instead, he felt something etched into his skin.

His fingers traced deep, unnatural grooves, running in intricate, twisted patterns. Not like a wound more like…

A brand.

Ezra's stomach twisted. He yanked at his tattered shirt, pulling it down just enough to see his collarbone.

And there, burned into his flesh, was a symbol.

A Sigil.

It was a design that made his eyes ache to look at a jagged spiral merging into sharp, branching lines, twisting in on itself like it was never meant to be fully understood.

It felt wrong.

Not painful. Not cursed.

Just… wrong.

Ezra exhaled shakily. "Okay… that's new."

The hooded man finally spoke.

"You bear the First Sigil of the Forsaken Path."

Ezra let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Right. Because when I woke up today, what I really wanted was some free eldritch body art."

The man ignored the sarcasm. "It is no mere mark. It is a key. A weight. And a burden."

Ezra rolled his shoulders, feeling the new, unfamiliar presence in his body. "You know, you guys really love being cryptic. Have you considered just saying things normally?"

Still no reaction.

Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, fine. Let's pretend I'm taking this seriously. What exactly did I just get stuck with?"

The hooded figure lifted a chained hand.

"A Sigil is the first step toward Ascendance."

Ezra's breath hitched. That word.

Ascendance.

The fragmented memories of the original Ezra Nacht stirred in his mind images of power, of people with impossible abilities, of a world shaped by those who walked beyond mortality.

Sigils.

The foundation of this world's power system.

They were rare. Dangerous. Coveted.

And he had just been branded with one against his will.

Ezra let out a long, exhausted sigh. "…You know, in most places, people at least get a choice before being force-fed eldritch magic."

The hooded figure didn't respond. He simply raised his chained hand once more and pointed.

Ezra followed his gaze.

Beyond the chamber, past the stone tablet, a dark tunnel stretched forward, vanishing into the unknown.

"The Path has begun," the hooded man said. "It will not end until you reach its depths."

Ezra frowned. "And what happens when I reach the end?"

The chains around the figure rattled softly.

"You will not be the same."

Ezra clicked his tongue. "Great. Love the optimism."

But deep down, he knew he had no choice but to move forward.

So, with a final glance at the fading inscriptions on the stone tablet, he took a step toward the darkness.

And the Sigil burned against his skin.