Chapter 1: Embers among Ashes
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Chapter 1: Embers among Ashes

Mark awoke with his eyes crusty and head pounding, the loud roaring of his hangover refusing to let him sleep any longer. He fumbled his hand around awkwardly looking for even a small amount of alcohol to quell the fierce storm in his head. His eyes hurt and he refused to open them until he could muster the strength to face another day of existence.

Mark opened his eyes after some time, unable to find anything. He pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced around at the empty floor, before furrowing his brow in anger and frustration. He’d chosen this sewer tunnel because it was far out of the normal roaming territory of the cities common vagrants and junkies; he thought he’d not have to worry about having any uninvited guests. He figured it was his own fault for underestimating their nose; he should be happy he was still wearing clothes. Drawing his legs to his chest and leaning up against the rough wall, Mark laid his head on his knees and massaged his temples, desperately trying to ease his pounding head.

After several moments of silence, the constant roaring began to die down. To his confusion, however, though the pain subsided the sound never fully dissipated. Dry, bloodshot eyes squinting in the dim light, Mark lifted his head and looked at his surroundings.

“Huh? What the Hell?”

Instead of the dull gray colored filth encrusted cement wall of the sewer tunnel, across from him was a dark, rough stone wall covered in brightly colored lichen. The stone walls were slightly damp from the spray of the small stream that ran under it and the soft rumbling sound he heard was the sound of the water as it flowed rapidly out of the cave mouth.

Mark took only a moment to recognize that he was not where he was when he passed out, He got up despite his back and legs protesting the exertion and with practiced hands, Mark began to pat himself down. He lifted his shirt to look for blood. Not seeing any noticeable wounds or stitches, Mark let out a sigh of relief and thought to himself that it’s not like organ thieves would get much for his anyway.

Mark calmed his racing heart before looking around the area. The cave he was in was small and damp from the stream that flowed out of a small crack in the back wall. It was not particularly large or deep, but the markings and old ashes scattered around indicated that it had been used more than once as a camping site. He poked around the area to see if there was anything useful left behind. Mark felt a small shifting weight in his pocket. He pulled out a small outdated flip-phone, his wallet and the old silver pocket watch that never left his side. Why would someone take his pills and booze, dragged him God knows how far away to some cave, and yet forget to take his valuables as well? Not that he was complaining.

He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. Mark took a moment to stare at the silver pocket watch, taking a moment to admire the engraving on the back, “For gold is tried in the fire, and acceptable men in the furnace of adversity". A small, mocking smirk formed on his mouth, Mark shook his head and silently slid the watch into his pocket again. He flipped the phone open, Mark grumbled in frustration; no signal. Stupid cheap pay as you go plans.

Mark placed the phone back into his pocket alongside his wallet and watch, then stretched himself out, grimacing as his body creaked and groaned in protest. He was not the spring chicken he once was. Not that the excess booze and pills did any favors. Moving towards the small stream, Mark approached a relatively calm portion and stared into the water.

The water was clear enough that he could see the man staring back up at him; skin pale and loose, deep purple bags under bloodshot listless eyes topped by a head of shaggy unkempt coal black hair and a ragged beard a finger's length long. If one looked closely, they would be able to see the remnants of a relatively handsome man. Mark never thought he’d been handsome enough to be popular, but he’d gotten the odd shy smile from the ladies in his youth. But years of neglect and drug abuse had wiped most of that away. Mark harrumphed to his own thoughts and spoke to the reflection

“What are you looking at?”

Without waiting for a reply, he reached down and cupped a hand of the cold water and splashed his face. After washing his face, Mark took the opportunity to remove his outer shirt and started to wipe down his body in the clean water. The filth washed away as he shivered in the cold water, but at least it wasn’t biting cold like shelter showers. As he reached over the water to scoop out more, something caught his eye beneath the dark smudges on his chest. Mark gently touched the area above his left pec – right above where his heart would be.

There, barely the size of a palm, was a black tattoo, reminiscent of the tribal tattoos that were popular a few years back. He scooped out more water and cleaned more, wondering if maybe it was just a smudge. The rest of his chest cleaned easily enough, but the tattoo remained. Mark squinted at the unfamiliar image and traced along its surprisingly complex pattern. Mark rubbed his eyes with more water to clear his vision, and then looked again. At first glance, it appeared to be a fireball or some kind of meteor, but looking at it in detail he could tell that it was a small glowing egg, wrapped in thin threads of fire. As he breathed, the tattoo expanded and contracted, giving it the illusion of flickering embers and dancing flames. Each line that made up the egg and the flames themselves were infinitely complex, formed from dozens and dozens of tiny lines and symbols to the point that Mark questioned how long it had taken to make.

Scooting back from the stream, Mark shook his head, trying to clear the last remnants of his hangover and reconstruct what had happened last night; why was he in this Cave? Who had brought him here? Who had put this tattoo on him, and why? But no matter how much he thought, he couldn’t come up with a good answer. Mark sat there in thought, the shadows in the cave began to grow slightly darker. Looking up, he saw through the cave entrance the red sky of a setting Sun. It looked like he would be spending the night here once more.

~~~ Several hours later ~~~

Mark sat down near the small fire in the back of the Cave, the smoke escaping from a small man-made hole in the ceiling. In the fire sat a few larger stones, slowly starting to turn hot. With practiced hands, Mark maneuvered a pair of sticks and picked the stones from the fire, before quickly maneuvering them into a shallow stone depression filled with water from the stream. As the stones hit the water, the water began to hiss and boil. After repeating this a few times, Mark waited a short while for the water to cool, before bending down and greedily drinking the remaining water.

It was a slow and inefficient method, but it was better than going thirsty or contracting God knows what from the water. His years in the military had left him with a wide range of survival and combat skills, so he didn't fear death like some city boy without his modern comforts for just one night, but that did not stop him for cursing whoever had taken his beer bottles.

Mark sat back up and leaned up against the damp stone wall, enjoying the contrast of the cool stone and the blazing flame. As he watched the flickering flames dwindle, their gentle dance and the soft sounds of the night seeming to cast a spell on his eyelids and they grew slowly heavier.

A shrill scream pierced the night and snapped Mark’s eyes open from his slumber. What was happening?

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