Kian hated every moment after he got that mark.

  He hated it.

  He hated why it came to him.

  And he hated whatever it had gotten him into.

  Little did he know — he would come to hate it even more.

  “It’s not that bad, you know. Like… a colorful magic tattoo,” Zeyk said thoughtfully, squinting at the mark on Kian’s arm.

  Zeyk was Kian’s best friend. A celestial quite different from him, Zeyk had assigned himself the noble quest of improving Kian’s life — a mission which, thus far, had yielded zero measurable results.

  But Zeyk was an optimist. A persistent one.

  “I don’t care what it is,” Kian pouted. “I just want it gone.”

  He had calmed down after a drink or two.

  And after a few more, he’d devolved into full-on pouting.

  Celestial wine had that effect on some people.

  Zeyk nodded solemnly and gave him a dramatic pat on the back.

  “I understand, my dear friend,” he said, blowing his nose into a handkerchief like someone in a tragedy. “But remember — I’m always here for you.”

  It appeared Kian wasn’t the only one drinking.

  “BUT WHY?! WHY ME?!” Kian sobbed.

  “Maybe… it’s puberty?”

  Kian blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m growing up, aren’t I?”

  A spark of hope flickered in his drunken gaze.

  Another swig of wine, and they called it a night — laughing, stumbling, and patting each other on the back like every other tipsy celestial in the bar.

  It never once occurred to them that Kian had hit puberty… seventy years ago.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A now happy Kian staggered back home, convinced that this mark was just puberty. And that he was hallucinating the spark.

  “Puberttttttyyyyy, puberttttttyyyyy,” he giggled at the thought.

  He started skipping and promptly tripped over himself.

  “OW!”

  Someone offered him a hand. He took it without looking.

  “Thank you, mister.”

  He looked up—

  Dark cloak. Masked face. No response.

  Creepy. But Kian was too tipsy to care.

  “I’ll be careful next time!” he chirped, grinning, and skipped away into the night like an idiot.

  Didn’t occur to him that maybe, just maybe, cloaked strangers hanging around in the dead of night weren’t a good sign.

  But a few steps later... something felt off.

  He blinked, swaying a little.

  “Huh.”

  Looked back.

  Empty street. Just him and his bad decisions.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

  He picked up the pace.

  The feeling followed.

  Faster.

  Still there.

  Then—

  Footsteps.

  Kian’s eyes widened. “Nope nope nope—”

  He ran. Full sprint. Legs wobbling like jelly.

  Through the quiet street, around a corner, nearly colliding with an old fruit cart that smelled like bananas.

  He didn’t stop.

  Whoever was behind him didn’t either.

  They weren’t running.

  They were gliding. Like a horror story.

  “Nonononono—”

  He turned another corner and ducked into a narrow alleyway, heart pounding like war drums.

  Pressed himself against the wall. Held his breath.

  Waited.

  Nothing.

  No footsteps. No shadow. No dark cloak.

  He sighed in relief and wiped the sweat off his brow.

  “Haah… see? Overthinking it. Just wine. Good ol’ wine brain.”

  He chuckled, relaxing.

  Then—

  A hand landed on his shoulder.

  Ice cold. Bone still.

  Kian froze.