Chapter 3: Without the Mask
The first stone hit the window with a sharp tink that cut through the fog of sleep like a needle through cloth. Briv's eyes snapped open, his heart already pounding, his hand instinctively reaching for something—anything—that could serve as a weapon. The ceiling swam into focus, grey and familiar, and he remembered where he was. The second stone came a moment later, a little harder, a little more insistent. Tink. Then a third. Tink-tink.
"What in the—" Briv swung his legs out of bed and crossed to the window in three angry strides. He shoved the curtains aside and fumbled with the latch, the old wood sticking in the frame like it always did. He threw the window open just as a fourth projectile arced through the morning air, and he had exactly enough time to register the flash of orange before it bounced off his nose with a soft, satisfying thwump.
"Ow! What the—"
"Direct hit!" Tyro's voice rang out from below, triumphant and entirely unrepentant. "That's four for four! I'm basically a professional."
Briv glared down at his two friends standing in the dewy grass of the front yard. Tyro was practically vibrating with glee, his unruly blond hair catching the early light like a halo of chaos. He was already holding another orange in his hand, weighing it like a champion preparing for a throw. Beside him, Kwig stood with his arms crossed, his expression a careful blend of amusement and exasperation—the look of a man who had been dragged into someone else's nonsense and had long since stopped pretending he wasn't complicit.
"You're throwing oranges at my window?" Briv demanded, his voice still rough with sleep. "Are you insane?"
"Insanely talented," Tyro corrected, tossing the orange in his hand and catching it with theatrical flair. "And you're welcome, by the way. That's a nutritious breakfast delivered directly to your face. Some people pay good money for that service."
Kwig shook his head slowly. "We've been here for ten minutes. I told him to knock."
"Knocking is for cowards," Tyro said. "And also for people who want to get yelled at by Mr. Bolgrey for being up before noon. This is stealth. This is precision. This is—"
"This is me throwing this orange back at your stupid face if you don't shut up," Briv interrupted, though the heat was already draining from his voice. It was hard to stay genuinely angry at Tyro. Impossible, really. The man had a talent for turning fury into exasperation within seconds.
"Love you too, Bri-bri," Tyro called up. "Now get dressed. We've got something to show you."
Briv rubbed his eyes, the dream still clinging to the edges of his consciousness like cobwebs. The forest. The cliff. The woman with the outstretched hand. The creature with the burning eyes. It all felt so real, so immediate, and he couldn't shake the lingering unease that had settled into his bones like a chill.
"I'm not really up for—" he started.
"Too bad," Tyro cut him off. "This is important. Life-changing, possibly. Definitely weird. Your favorite combination."
Kwig uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, his voice softer, more measured. "We found something in the forest, Briv. Markings. On the trees. Kier's Grove, about an hour east of here."
Briv's blood went cold. The dream flashed behind his eyes—the pale bark, the carved lines, the symbol repeated over and over. Two parallel vertical lines. "Markings?" he repeated, his voice careful. "What kind of markings?"
Tyro's grin widened, sensing the shift. "See, this is why I said it was important. They're weird, Bri. Like nothing I've ever seen. Kwig thinks they're old, but I think they're new. We argued about it for like twenty minutes, and then we decided to come get you because you're the only one of us who reads books for fun."
"Two lines," Briv said quietly. "Vertical. Side by side. Like a pair of uneven strokes."
The silence from below was deafening. Tyro's grin faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "How did you know that?"
Briv didn't answer. He just stared at them, his mind racing. The dream hadn't been a dream. Or maybe it had been, but it had been something more too. Something that wanted to show him the way.
"Give me five minutes," he said, pulling his head back inside and slamming the window shut.
He dressed in a rush, pulling on a worn shirt and a pair of trousers that had seen better days. His reflection caught his eye as he passed the small mirror above his dresser, and he paused, studying the face that stared back at him.
Twenty-three years old, and the scar was still there. A long, jagged line that ran from his left temple down to his jaw, a pale ridge of raised tissue that caught the light in a way that made him look constantly harsh, constantly dangerous. He'd grown used to it over the years, but he'd never grown to like it. He'd never grown to accept it either.
The mask was on the dresser. A simple cloth covering, dark and unobtrusive, designed to hide the damage from the accident. He reached for it out of habit, his fingers brushing the fabric—
And then he stopped.
The dream echoed in his mind. The woman's hand, open and waiting. The words his father had spoken to him before the accident, words he'd almost forgotten. Don't hide from the world, Bri. The world will always offer you a mask. You just have to decide whether you want to wear it.
Briv pulled his hand back from the mask and left the room without it. Peaches was waiting at the top of the stairs, her orange fur bright in the morning light. She meowed at him, demanding attention, and he paused just long enough to scratch the top of her head.
"Wish me luck, girl," he muttered. "I think I'm going to need it."
She meowed again, which he chose to interpret as a blessing.
Chris Bolgrey was in the living room, still on the couch where Briv had left him the night before. The old man was awake now, sitting up with his back against the cushions, a steaming mug of tea cradled in his large, calloused hands. He looked up as Briv entered, and his eyebrows rose slightly.
"Well, well. Look who's up before noon on a Saturday. Should I call a physician?"
"Funny," Briv said, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door. "I'm going out with Tyro and Kwig. They came to get me."
Chris's gaze flickered to the window, then back to his son. "Tyro and Kwig? On a Saturday morning? That's either trouble or tragedy. Usually both."
"It's nothing. Just going for a walk. Checking some stuff in the forest."
"Stuff." Chris's voice was dry. "What kind of stuff?"
"Markings on trees, apparently." Briv shrugged, trying to keep his voice light. "Tyro says it's important."
Chris was quiet for a long moment. His eyes scanned Briv's face, and Briv could feel the weight of that gaze, the way his father had always been able to see through his lies and half-truths. But then the old man nodded, something shifting in his expression.
"Alright. Just be careful out there, Bri. The forest can be tricky this time of year."
"I will." Briv paused at the door, guilt suddenly rising in his chest. "I, uh—didn't forget about our thing. The cooking thing. I just—"
"You did forget," Chris said, but there was no accusation in his voice. Just a flat, matter-of-fact statement. "It's fine, son. We can do it another time."
Briv felt the guilt twist into something sharper. "I'm sorry, Da. I really am."
Charlie waved a hand, the gesture dismissive but not unkind. "Don't worry about it. Go. Socialize. It's good for you." He paused, and then a crooked smile spread across his weathered face. "Besides, you've been cooped up in here for three days. I was starting to think I'd have to start charging you rent."
"Ha ha." Briv pulled the door open, the morning air washing over him. He glanced back at his father, still sitting there with his tea, and his chest ached. "I'll make it up to you. I promise."
"Sure you will." Chris raised his mug in a mock toast. "Now get out of here before Tyro starts throwing those oranges at my window too. I'm not as pretty as you."
Briv stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. He stood on the porch for a moment, letting the cool air steady him. Then he walked down the path to where Tyro and Kwig were waiting.
Tyro was bouncing on his heels, his restless energy barely contained. "Finally! I was starting to think you'd fallen back asleep and we'd have to send in a rescue party."
"I was dressing," Briv said flatly. "Some of us have standards."
"Clearly not, since you're wearing that." Tyro gestured at Briv's outfit with a grin. "Did you pick that out in the dark? Or are you just blind?"
"You threw an orange at my face less than ten minutes ago. I'm legally allowed to be rude to you for at least the next hour."
"Even better," Tyro said. "I love it when you're spicy."
Kwig sighed, falling into step beside them as they started walking. "Can we just focus on the forest thing? Please?"
Briv fell into the rhythm of their footsteps as they moved across the field, leaving the house behind. The grass was wet with dew and his boots quickly became dark with moisture, the damp seeping through the leather soles. He didn't mind it. The morning was peaceful, the air still and clean, and the worries of the past few days felt momentarily distant.
"Alright," Briv said after a few minutes. "Tell me about these markings."
Tyro launched into an enthusiastic explanation, his hands moving as he talked. "Okay, so, Kwig and I were doing a survey of the area for those new maps the town council wants. Boring stuff, but the pay's decent, right? Anyway, we cut through Kier's Grove to save time, and that's when we found them. About half a dozen trees, all marked with these weird symbols. Two vertical lines, side by side. Almost looked like someone carved them with a tool, but there's no tool marks. No chisel marks, no scratches. Like they just appeared."
Briv's stomach tightened. "They just appeared in the dream too."
"Dream?" Kwig looked at him sharply. "What dream?"
Briv hesitated. He hadn't told anyone about the dream. Hadn't told anyone about the woman, the creature, the cliff. He'd barely processed it himself. But now, standing here with his friends, the words spilled out of him like water through a crack in a dam.
"I had a dream last night," he said slowly. "I was in a forest. There were these markings on the trees. The same ones you're describing. And there was this creature—this huge, shadowy thing—and this woman. She reached out her hand to me. She was trying to help me."
Tyro and Kwig exchanged a look. It was Tyro who spoke first, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Did she have a name?"
"No. I never saw her face properly. Just her hand." Briv shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. It's probably just my imagination. The dream was intense, but—"
"But there are actual markings in the forest," Kwig finished. "So it's not just your imagination."
Briv stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the path, the morning light filtering through the trees, and he felt something shift in his chest. A flicker of fear. A spark of hope. The two rising together like a storm.
"Take me to them," he said.
The Grove was an hour east, and they walked most of the way in silence, the tension settling between them like a third companion. Tyro was uncharacteristically quiet, his usual stream of jokes and observations reduced to occasional mutterings. Kwig led the way, his steps measured and deliberate, his eyes scanning the trail ahead.
They passed the edge of the forest, the treeline rising up before them like a wall of ancient guardians. The air changed as they entered, cooler and darker, the canopy blocking out most of the sunlight. The forest floor was soft with moss and rotting leaves, the sound of their footsteps muffled to silence.
Kwig stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. "There."
Briv followed his gaze. A large oak stood a few paces ahead, its trunk wide and gnarled with age. And there, carved into the bark at roughly chest height, were two vertical lines. Parallel. Deliberate.
Briv walked toward it, his breath catching in his throat. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the carving. The lines were clean and smooth, as if they'd been pressed into the bark by something impossibly sharp. There were no tool marks visible, no gouges or ridges. Just the symbol, stark and unmistakable.
He pressed his palm against it. The bark was cold, and beneath it, he felt it—the same hum he'd felt in the dream. A vibration so faint it could have been his heartbeat, his imagination. But he knew it wasn't.
"Bri?" Tyro's voice came from behind him, softer than usual. "You okay?"
Briv turned. "I have to show you something." He pulled the folded scrap of paper from his sleeve, the one he'd found in his father's journal. He smoothed it out and held it up. "I found this night. In my father's hidden journal. He wrote about the prophecy. About the Archmage. About a woman called the Weaver and something called the Immortalys flower."
Tyro and Kwig leaned in, reading the frantic scribbles. When they straightened, their faces were troubled.
"This is..." Kwig began, but he struggled to find the words.
"Crazy?" Tyro supplied. "Insane? Ridiculous?" He paused. "Also kind of cool?"
"Cool?" Briv looked at him incredulously. "Tyro, this is my life. This is about me. And if what my father wrote is true, then I'm the Archmage, and the prophecy says I'm going to—"
He stopped, choking on the word.
"Whoa, whoa." Tyro held up his hands. "Slow down. We don't know anything yet. We just found some markings on trees. That could mean anything. It could be some kind of ritual marker. It could be a sign for hikers. It could be the work of a very dedicated and very weird artist."
"It's the same symbol from my dream," Briv said. "And it's carved into trees that my father knew about. And the book I read said that Gantor is hidden from the rest of Sekrya by a magical shield that stops anyone from leaving, and magic can't exist here, but I'm the Archmage, so how can I be the Archmage if magic can't exist here, and—"
"Bri." Kwig placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Breathe."
Briv inhaled deeply, the knots in his chest loosening slightly.
"We'll figure this out," Kwig said. "Together. But first, let's get out of this forest. There's something wrong about this place."
They turned to leave, but Briv paused, looking back at the marked tree. In the dappled light, the symbol seemed to pulse, a rhythm like a heartbeat.
Come find me, it seemed to say. Come find me, Archmage.
He turned and followed his friends into the light.