Page 169 of Daughter of the Serpent

“I would very much like to see it,” she said, reaching for him. Her fingers traced along his cheek, lingering.

“You’ve already taught me so much about your people,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, I still want to know more. About them. About you.”

His eyes searched hers. “What is it you want to know?”

She shifted, her fingers skimming the inked patterns on his arm - black - blue swirls etched into his skin, symbols she had traced before but never truly understood.

“In the glen, you told me how these markings were given,” she said softly, her fingertips lingering over the intricate designs. “But you never told me how you earned yours.”

His gaze flickered over her, lingering on her lips before returning to her eyes. “I had other things on my mind.”

Her mouth quirked, her own eyes glinting while her cheeks suddenly burned. “How did you come by your first?”

His playful expression shifted, a shadow passing overhis features.

“Each warrior receives their first mark when they complete their rite of passage.”

She frowned. “Rite of passage?”

It was the first time she had heard of it.

Axel nodded. “Every member of the clan must undergo an initiation when they come of age. It is the passage from childhood to adulthood. When they succeed, they are embraced as full members of the clan - and given their first mark.”

Her pulse quickened. “Are all marks the same?”

“No,” he said. “The symbol is unique to each warrior. Their challenge, their very essence.”

She exhaled slowly. “How do they determine the mark?”

“The gods grant a portent, revealing a symbol tied to the warrior’s soul. That mark is then etched into their flesh, bound to them forever. No two are alike.”

He held her gaze. “It is a reflection of who you are at your core.”

A shiver slithered down her spine.

“And what of the runes?”

His voice dropped. “As with the tattoos, the Hazier believe that runes must be earned.” His fingers traced patterns absentmindedly along her back, his touch featherlight. “When a rune is seared into the skin, it imprints its very essence - its power - into the bearer. With time, with training, it can be wielded as effortlessly as breath. It becomes second nature, the magic as much a part of them as blood.”

She had only ever seen runes drawn - symbols scrawled in ink, used for combat or cast in prophecy. Never had she heard of them being wielded this way. Never imagined they could be fused to flesh, imprinting their existence into a bearer.

She inhaled sharply. "They can be wielded by thought alone?"

His lips curled faintly. "Byintent," he corrected. “Magic is not something separate from us. It is not something to be taken or bestowed.”

His voice deepened, each word thrumming through her.

“It is woven into all things. The wind. The earth. The body. The soul. It is not a gift of the worthy but the birthright of all.”

Something about his words resonated deep within her.

The Hazier had not merely studied magic. They had made it a part of them, their very being. It was not some power used solely for conquest or glory, not a tool to prove strength or worth. To them, magic was something else entirely - something sacred.

It was identity.

It was nature.

And as that understanding settled within her, something shifted. Something awakened. Her chest rose and fell, her pulse thrumming.

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