Fiction Bled Into Flesh

Chapter 7

The Weight of Golden Marks

The smell of blood clung to the Dawnreach fortress like a curse.

Not fresh blood—the metallic tang had dulled into something heavier, like rust soaked into ancient stone, but it was there, seeping through every crack of marble.

Order novices moved silently through the corridors, their brushes rasping against the walls as they scrubbed away black ichor and dried crimson. Buckets filled too quickly, the water turning dark and murky, while the great mosaic of the Eye of Seriglia on the floor remained half-stained no matter how hard they scrubbed.

Every scrape of bristle against stone felt too loud in the silence that followed the slaughter.

Aki woke to that silence.

The ceiling above him was pale stone, its seams lit by the slant of weak morning light creeping through a half-shuttered window.

He was lying on a narrow cot, sheets rough, stiff with dried salve. His hands hurt first—a burning ache under layers of tight bandages. When he flexed, he saw it: faintly glowing lines beneath the linen, golden, pulsing like a heartbeat trapped in his skin.

The marks weren't neat. They weren't deliberate. They crawled—veins of light twisting from his fingertips, up his forearms, past the elbow. When he pulled the blanket down, he saw them climbing higher, creeping over his shoulder, licking the base of his neck.

One tendril of gold had reached his left jawline. Another had almost touched his eye—a half-finished stroke that made his reflection look… wrong.

A reminder.

Surviving Raw Wovening left its mark.

And it was still moving. slowly, faintly, but he could feel it under the skin, like hot ink dragging itself toward his skull.

Aurelia's Voice

"You're awake."

"Your eyes… were they always gold?"

The voice came from the door.

Aki, groggy, mutters: "…they weren't."

Aurelia leaned against the frame, arms crossed, cloak gone but armor still strapped to her frame, dented and streaked with blood that wasn't hers. Her pale-gold hair hung loose, unbound, like she'd stopped caring how she looked the moment the killing stopped.

Her crimson eyes studied him—not cold, but weighed down. Tired in a way that wasn't about sleep.

She didn't come closer right away.

"How do you feel?" she asked, voice flat but not harsh.

Aki sat up slowly, every muscle aching like he'd been pulled apart and stitched wrong.

He stared at his bandaged hands. "Like I… burned through myself," he muttered, throat dry, voice cracked.

Aurelia stepped inside now, boots quiet on the floor.

"You didn't burn," she said. "You ripped. Do you even understand what you did?"

Aki hesitated.

Of course he understood. He knew exactly what happened. He had written about Raw Wovening years ago, scrawled lore in the margins of notebooks and late-night scripts.

But that was fiction.

This wasn't.

He wouldn't say it aloud. Not here. Not with her eyes on him like that.

"I… just drew," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

Aurelia cut him off, her voice sharper now:

"That wasn't drawing. That was Raw Wovening."

The words struck like ice water.

Raw Wovening

Aurelia stepped closer, arms folding across her chest.

"Most people open a Path with help. A ritual. A guide lays a hand on their back, pushes against the surge, keeps their soul from tearing."

Her crimson eyes narrowed.

"You didn't have that. You didn't open a Path—you tore it open."

Her tone wasn't cruel. It was clinical, almost cold.

"When someone Raw Wovens, the Tapestry doesn't open gently. It shreds. It floods you with more than you're built to hold."

Aki stayed quiet, fingers flexing beneath the bandages. The golden glow responded to his nerves, crawling slightly further up his wrist.

Aurelia's voice softened, not with comfort, but with grim honesty.

"Most people die from it. Nine out of ten. Their hearts burst. Their minds snap. Sometimes their bodies…" she glanced at his hand, "…change."

Her gaze swept up, meeting his eyes.

"The ones who survive? They don't come out whole."

The Second Voice

The door creaked open again.

A woman stepped in.

She was taller than Aurelia by an inch, her hair black as ink, cut blunt at her shoulders. Her armor was the same dark steel as Aurelia's, but with different markings: a double-chevron of crimson enamel across her breastplate, signifying rank.

Her face was sharp, elegant, but not the kind that smiled often. Her storm-grey eyes fixed on Aki the way you'd watch a knife, not because you hated it, but because you knew what it could do.

"So this is the boy," she said.

Aurelia's expression flickered. "Lyenne."

Lyenne Cael.

Aki knew her name the moment Aurelia spoke it.

He had written it.

He had drawn her, one of Aurelia's oldest allies in his comic. A Pulsebearer, her wrath honed into perfect control, the kind of soldier who'd survived a hundred battles because she refused to die messy.

Now she was here. Real.

And she was looking at him like he might go off any second.

She stepped closer, boots measured.

"Do you know what happened yesterday?" she asked.

Aki met her eyes. "…There were Fiends," he said softly.

Her grey eyes sharpened. "Fiends. Wrathborn. And more corpses than Dawnreach has seen in years."

He swallowed. "I didn't—"

"You arrived, and a Wrathborn called you True Author." Her voice didn't rise, but it cut deep. "He tore himself open in your name. Then Fiends breached containment for the first time in decades. And you…"

Her gaze dropped to his bandaged hands.

"…birthed things that should not have lived."

Aurelia Cuts In

"Enough," Aurelia snapped.

Lyenne turned her storm-grey eyes on Aurelia, cool but unflinching.

"You saw the same thing I did," she said. "You just don't want to say it aloud."

Aurelia's jaw tightened.

"He saved us," she said, each word clipped. "Those things—" she nodded toward Aki's hands, "held the line when our glyphs failed."

Lyenne folded her arms. "Or opened a wound we haven't seen yet."

Her tone wasn't angry. It was cautious, careful, the way someone spoke about a ticking bomb.

"Saints, Lyenne. Let him breathe before you string him up."

Another figure stepped through the door.

A man, tall and lean, his cloak stained with ink—real ink, not blood. Small glass vials hung from his belt, swirling with liquids the color of old bruises.

He wasn't armored like Aurelia or Lyenne. He wore a lighter jacket, sleeves rolled, revealing forearms streaked with faint ink burns.

His face was kind. Too kind for a place like this. Brown hair tied loosely back, green eyes that saw people, not just problems.

Kaelen Dusk.

Inkshaper.

Aki had written him, too, a quiet supporting character who brewed emotional tinctures and mapped ruins, rarely seen in battle.

Now he was here, laying scrolls and jars on the table like a man who'd done this a thousand times.

"You look like you crawled through a pyre," Kaelen said, voice soft, almost pitying. He set a cup of water on the table.

"Drink," he added. "You'll need your voice if you're going to be questioned six ways before noon."

Lyenne's stormy eyes didn't leave Aki.

"What's your name?" she asked, tone sharp.

Aki hesitated. "…Aki."

Lyenne tilted her head. "Just Aki?"

Before he could answer, Aurelia spoke quietly from beside the door.

"Just Aki," she said.

She remembered.

The way he'd whispered those same words in the vault, blood on his hands, voice cracking.

Not bravado. Not sarcasm. Just… loss.

And now, the words felt heavier.

Kaelen set a small vial of amber liquid next to the water.

"Calm-draught," he said. "Won't erase anything, but it'll stop your hands from shaking."

Aki took it carefully. "…Thanks."

Lyenne crossed her arms tighter. "You don't know what he is," she told Kaelen.

Kaelen gave her a patient look. "Neither do you."

Aki finally spoke. "I… know what happened. I opened my Path. Wrong."

Kaelen's brows rose. "You know the term?"

Aki nodded faintly, but didn't elaborate. He wouldn't say why he knew.

Kaelen continued, leaning against the table.

"When people awaken properly, they do it with a ritual. A Verseweaver balances grief with beauty. A Pulsebearer tempers rage with loyalty. Someone holds you steady."

Lyenne's voice cut in, sharp as her armor lines. "Because if you don't, the emotion burns through you."

Kaelen nodded.

"You forced it. No guide. No counterweight. That's Raw Wovening. And it doesn't just open a Path—it floods you. Too much emotion. Too fast. Most bodies break. The rest…" he glanced at the golden lines on Aki's skin, "…change."

Aki stared at his hands again. The golden marks crawled higher, a faint shimmer now visible on the corner of his left eye.

He remembered the creatures he'd drawn into being—how wrong they'd looked. Crooked, twitching, too real.

"They weren't supposed to look like that," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Kaelen's green eyes softened, pity flickering there. "Raw Wovening doesn't give you control. It just… tears the lid off."

Lyenne's voice was steel. "And the Wrathborn recognized you. Called you True Author. You think the Council won't hear that?"

The door slammed open.

A young novice stumbled in, breathless, almost slipping on the damp stone.

"The High Council," she gasped. "They've summoned the team leader—" her eyes flicked to Aurelia " and… the boy."

Silence dropped like a blade.

Lyenne's grey eyes narrowed.

Kaelen's lips pressed thin.

Aurelia's crimson gaze moved to Aki, unreadable for a long, heavy moment.

Finally, she said, voice low but firm:

"Get your boots on."

Two guards arrived minutes later.

They weren't shouting or rough. That made it worse.

They brought Glyphbound shackles—brushed steel, etched with silver runes that hummed faintly. Not crude chains. Not cruel.

Professional.

They explained in cool tones: "Precautionary, sir. Standard for all Raw Wovens brought before the Council."

Aki didn't resist.

The shackles closed around his wrists with a soft click, the runes warming against his skin.

He felt… diminished. Like the world had been padded, blunted.

Aurelia saw his flinch.

She didn't say anything.

The walk to the Council chamber was long.

The fortress was alive again, hammering, voices shouting repairs, the smell of burned glyph parchment drifting through corridors.

People stared as they passed.

Whispers trailed behind them like smoke.

"That's him…"

"The boy who drew the monsters…"

"The one the Wrathborn named…"

Some voices were fearful.

Some were hungry.

The Council chamber was a circle of stone and shadow.

The ceiling arched impossibly high, banners hanging down, purple and white, the sigil of the Eye of Seriglia stitched in gold.

A half-circle dais stood at the far side, five seats carved from dark stone. The Council sat like statues.

The air smelled of old parchment and faint ozone, the residue of too many spells.

A single chair sat at the center. Waiting for him.

The chair wasn't made to look like a prison seat, no chains, no spikes, but it might as well have been. The shackles locked around his wrists were cool at first, then warm as the Glyphbound runes activated.

The air in the room shifted.

It wasn't magic flaring, not something visible. It was more like the entire chamber was holding him in its mouth.

He felt it when he tried to flex his fingers: a strange resistance, like invisible weights had been tied to his thoughts.

The shackles weren't just to hold him.

They were to make it hard to lie.

The four High Council members sat on their stone dais, each distinct as different strokes of ink:

Magister Callus ,Glyphbound, Mid-fifties, iron-gray hair tied into a knot at the nape of his neck, his robes lined with silver runes that hummed faintly. His presence was all precision and control; he spoke like he was etching commands into stone.

Thane Veyr, PulseBearer, A former commander turned councilor. His armor gleamed, formal, but still ready for battle. A jagged scar crossed the bridge of his nose, and his gauntlet fingers tapped the armrest in an impatient rhythm. He looked at Aki like a soldier measuring an enemy.

Eirwen ,Dreambinder, Slender, unnervingly pale, her silvery eyes never quite focusing on him, as if she was staring into someone else's dream. Her soft voice would later prove more dangerous than any shout.

Archivist Soria, Relicmaker, Oldest of them all. Stooped, wrapped in brown layers, her necklace of relic-tags clinking softly whenever she shifted. Her gaze was patient but sharp — like someone who had seen too many versions of the same mistake.

Behind them, other senior Order members lined the curved wall, assistants, scribes, observers, even two heavily armored guards standing motionless. Quills scratched faintly on parchment.

The air smelled of aged parchment and faint ozone, the residue of too many spells and too many trials.

Magister Callus spoke first.

His voice was smooth and cold as river stone.

"State your name."

"…Aki," he said, throat dry.

Callus didn't blink.

"Full name."

"…Just Aki," Aki murmured.

A ripple of whispers went through the scribes' benches.

Eirwen tilted her head ever so slightly. "How… curious," she said softly. "No family name?"

The shackles tingled faintly against his skin. Aki felt them tug at his mind , like they were prodding him, nudging the truth out.

"I don't remember one," he said.

That wasn't a lie. Not entirely.

The Questions Begin

Thane leaned forward, his gauntlets scraping faintly on stone.

"Where are you from, boy?"

The shackles pulsed.

Aki's mind spun.

Earth. He couldn't say that.

"I… don't know the name," he said slowly. "It's far. Beyond the Rowen borders."

The shackles didn't burn. The answer slid by — technically true.

Callus's eyes narrowed.

"And why are you in the Rowen Kingdom?"

"I…" Aki hesitated, then let the pause stretch just enough to sound like someone searching memory.

"…I was… I got lost.. "

Lyenne's voice cut in, sharp.

"Looking for something," she repeated. "Or running from something?"

Aki's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

The shackles pressed harder.

"…Both," he admitted quietly.

Soria leaned forward, the relic-tags on her necklace clinking softly.

"He's a Raw Woven," she said, mostly to the others. "Do you all recall the last time one came before us?"

Silence.

Finally Thane snorted, harsh.

"I recall it. She burned down half a village before she imploded."

Soria nodded once, slow and deliberate.

"And the one before her? The boy in Kelth?"

Eirwen's silver eyes glimmered faintly.

"The one who killed his own heart to stay alive," she murmured. "He sang to himself for days before the end."

Lyenne's jaw tightened.

"And you want to keep this one here?"

Thane's fingers tapped louder on the armrest.

"Raw Wovens are ticking time bombs," he said flatly. "Most blow up within weeks. The rest get worse."

Callus spoke without looking at him.

"Most blow up because they are left unmanaged."

Thane's voice sharpened.

"And you think this one will behave? He's already spilled Wrathborn blood and conjured things none of us have words for."

Aurelia stepped forward.

Her crimson eyes locked on Thane.

"He saved my squad," she said. "Saved Dawnreach."

Thane's lip curled.

"Or endangered it in ways we don't yet understand."

Eirwen's voice was soft, but it sliced through the exchange.

"Why don't we ask him what he meant to do?"

The room stilled.

Every gaze turned to Aki.

The Shackles Tighten

"What's your purpose here?" Callus asked.

The shackles warmed against his skin, a subtle hum threading into his thoughts.

"I…" Aki hesitated. Every answer he wanted to give twisted in his throat.

He couldn't say "I wrote this world."

He couldn't say "I'm trying to fix my mistakes."

The shackles pulsed.

"…I wanted to… help," he managed.

The warmth grew hotter, questioning the word.

Aki forced the next part out.

"…and… survive."

Eirwen tilted her head.

"Why draw?" she asked softly. "Why create those… things?"

Aki's throat tightened.

"I didn't know what else to do."

The shackles buzzed faintly, truth, unvarnished.

The Glyphbound examiner, still standing quietly at the side, spoke up for the first time.

"Marks confirm Inkshaper Path. Raw Woven entry. The shackles dampen uncontrolled resonance, but they do not seal him entirely."

He adjusted his gloves, the sigils flickering.

"He's… stable. For now."

Soria's old voice broke the pause.

"We shouldn't decide in haste. He's not like the others."

Thane barked a short laugh, humorless.

"Not like the others? He's exactly like the others. He tore himself open."

Lyenne crossed her arms, armor creaking.

"If anything, he's worse. The Wrathborn called him True Author. The Wrathborn seemed to recognize Aki,"

A ripple of murmurs.

Callus's voice stayed even.

"Names mean little. Cultists invent titles for storms and shadows."

Lyenne's glare cut toward him.

"And if the name isn't invented?"

Aurelia's voice sliced in, sharp as drawn steel.

"He's not the enemy."

She took one step closer to Aki, the violet pendant at her throat glinting in the dim light.

"He fought beside me. He bled for this Order before he'd even had a proper introduction."

The Interrogation Tightens

Callus's gaze sharpened.

"Aki."

His name sounded like a sentence in that voice.

"What do you want from us?"

The shackles hummed, almost hot now.

Aki's chest rose and fell once, twice.

"…To stay alive," he whispered.

Silence.

Then, more steady:

"…To… belong. If you'll let me."

The words came out truer than he meant.

And that was what saved him.

The Verdict Debated

The Council began to murmur among themselves, calm, but sharp, like blades laid on a table.

Thane argued for containment: "Keep him shackled. If he twitches wrong, end it."

Lyenne nodded, silent but cold, her hand still near her sword.

Soria countered: "Kill or cage every Raw Woven and we learn nothing. He's alive. That matters."

Eirwen tilted her head, voice soft as silk: "His threads… are strange. He should be observed."

Callus stayed still, letting the voices clash, his runed robes faintly glowing as if absorbing every word.

Finally, Callus raised one hand.

The murmurs died.

"He remains."

Thane exhaled hard through his nose.

"Under restraint," Callus continued. "Under watch."

He gestured faintly to the glowing shackles.

"These stay. And we will test him. Assess him."

His eyes, gray and cutting, locked on Aki.

"But understand this: if you lose control, if you harm this fortress or those in it — you will not leave Dawnreach alive."

The shackles hummed faintly.

Aki nodded once.

He didn't trust his voice not to crack.

The Council began to rise, robes shifting, sigils dimming.

Guards stepped closer.

Aki sat very still in the chair, the shackles warm against his wrists, his golden marks crawling faintly beneath his skin.

Aurelia's crimson eyes met his.

Lyenne's gray eyes didn't blink.

The Council chamber slowly emptied — quills packed, robes whispering over stone, murmurs fading into the echoing corridors.

Only a few remained.

Aurelia, Lyenne, Kaelen leaning quietly near the wall, and Aki, still seated, still shackled.

The restraints pulsed faintly, as if measuring his heartbeat.

A guard stepped in to unlock them. The Glyphbound runes dimmed—

but just before they clicked open, one of the golden marks on Aki's arm flared faintly, like molten gold catching breath.

Only for a moment.

Just long enough for the light to glint off polished stone.

One of the Council members, Eirwen — paused in the doorway.

Her silver eyes lingered on Aki, calm, unnervingly soft.

"Raw Woven threads," she murmured, almost to herself, "always… feel frayed."

She turned her head away, the hem of her pale robes brushing over the threshold as she left.

Her words weren't aimed at him. Not really.

But they hung in the air like incense smoke that wouldn't clear.

The shackles clicked open.

Aki's wrists stung where the runes had pressed.

Aurelia set a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," she said quietly, crimson eyes unreadable. "We're not done here."

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

Authors note; 📝

MangoKiller: Well, folks, our dear protagonist has officially hit that magical point in every fantasy novel where the local government decides he might be too dangerous to live.

Aki: "You make it sound so casual. I was almost executed by committee."

MangoKiller: Oh, come on. 'Almost executed by committee' is just the standard welcome package for Raw Wovens. You got the deluxe version — with shackles that made it impossible to lie!

Aurelia: "He's not wrong. You couldn't even bluff your way through basic questions. I could see your panic."

Lyenne: "Should've panicked harder. Might've gotten honest answers faster."

Aki: "You people are supposed to defend me!"

MangoKiller: We pity you, Aki. Really, we do. But pity won't stop me from watching you drown in awkward political hearings like a baby deer trying to swim.

Kaelen: "I do pity him. Poor kid's being treated like a bomb no one wants to disarm."

MangoKiller: Exactly, Kaelen. Except this bomb is moody, sarcastic, and glowing gold at inconvenient times. Adorable.

Aki: "This is harassment."

MangoKiller: No, this is foreshadowing. Harassment is next chapter.

MangoKiller: Anyway, stay tuned for Chapter 8, where things get even worse (because of course they do). Got any predictions? Drop 'em, I'll be here cackling while Aki's life spirals further into magical bureaucracy and pain.

Aki: "You're evil."

MangoKiller: Thank you.