The wooden counter was worn smooth from years of use, and Jennifer’s fingers drummed against it as she waited for the next customer to approach. The shop was quiet today, the air thick with the smell of herbs and aged wood. A flickering lantern overhead cast long shadows across the room, though it did little to ease the gloom of her mood.

“Four silver,” she said flatly, placing a small bundle of dried sage onto the counter.

The customer, a middle-aged man with a scowl etched into his face, sneered. “Four? You’ve raised the price again. This is daylight robbery!”

Jennifer forced a polite smile. “I just sell it. Take it up with the owner.”

He grumbled under his breath, tossing a handful of coins onto the counter. Jennifer counted them quickly, her motions mechanical, her mind elsewhere. She hated this job. The endless parade of rude customers, the dull repetition, the way it all made her feel like a cog in a never-ending machine. She couldn’t help but feel trapped, as though this tiny shop were a cage with no way out.

As the man left, muttering curses, Jennifer felt it again—that faint, odd sensation on her back. It started as a warmth, barely noticeable, like sunlight through a thin curtain. But as she served the next customer, the heat grew stronger, turning into a sharp, almost burning sensation.

“Miss? Are you alright?” the woman across the counter asked, her brow furrowed.

Jennifer blinked, realizing she’d been standing still, clutching the edge of the counter. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice tight. “Just a bit tired.”

But she wasn’t fine. The heat was spreading now, crawling along her spine like a wildfire. She finished the transaction as quickly as she could and turned to her coworker, a younger girl named Marta who was stocking jars of honey nearby.

“I need to step out,” Jennifer said, her voice clipped. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried toward the back of the shop, ignoring the curious looks from customers.

The small, dimly lit bathroom felt stifling as Jennifer slammed the door shut behind her. Two apprentices, chatting by the sink, turned to look at her in surprise.

“Out,” Jennifer said, her voice trembling.

“What’s going on?” one of them asked, frowning. “You look—”

“I said, out!” Jennifer snapped, clutching at her back as a fresh wave of pain coursed through her. Her tone left no room for argument. The apprentices exchanged uneasy glances before shuffling out of the room, the door creaking shut behind them.

Alone at last, Jennifer leaned against the sink, panting. The heat was unbearable now, like molten metal pressed against her skin. Desperate, she ripped off her shirt, the fabric tearing slightly in her haste. Turning her back to the mirror, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Her breath caught.

There, glowing faintly in the flickering light, was a mark. It shimmered like molten gold, its edges twisting and curling into the shape of a key. The intricate design seemed almost alive, pulsing softly against her skin. Jennifer stared, her mind racing.

She’d heard the stories. Everyone had. People who found marks like these were chosen, their lives irrevocably changed. Each mark granted a skill, a power—but it also came with a cost. Those marked were no longer ordinary citizens. They were guardians against the monsters that plagued the land. Most saw it as a curse, a burden they couldn’t escape.

Jennifer didn’t feel burdened. Not at all.

She stared at the glowing mark in the mirror, her mind a swirling storm of thoughts. 

The pain in her back subsided into a steady, soothing warmth, she found herself rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away. Her fingers hesitated before reaching back to trace the intricate design, a shiver running down her spine as she felt its heat.

Minutes passed in silence, the faint flicker of the lantern above casting shifting shadows across the bathroom walls. Her thoughts slowed, each one clearer than the last: no more rude customers, no more endless hours spent stocking shelves, no more feeling like her life was slipping through her fingers. The realization struck her fully, and she let out a sharp, shaky breath.

The quiet stretched until, at last, Jennifer laughed—a soft, disbelieving sound at first, bubbling up into something louder, freer. She clutched the edge of the sink for balance as the laughter turned to sobs, tears streaming down her face. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the cold stone floor, her shoulders trembling as relief and joy swept over her.

“I’m free,” she whispered through her tears, the words barely audible. She pressed her hand against her back again, feeling the mark’s faint pulse beneath her skin. "I don’t have to stay here. I don’t have to waste my life in this gods-forsaken shop."

The room fell silent again, save for her ragged breathing. Slowly, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and pushed herself upright. Turning to the mirror, she stared at her reflection. Wild-eyed and disheveled, yes—but there was something new in her gaze, a spark of determination she hadn’t felt in years.

Jennifer remembered the stories from those marked. There was something she had to do now.

“Show me my skill,” she said aloud, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The mirror burned. Fiery letters etched themselves across the glass, glowing with an intensity that made her squint. When the flames subsided, the words remained:

Skill Harvester.

Jennifer stared at the words, her chest heaving. Skill Harvester.

The meaning seemed obvious—too obvious. Could it mean she could grow skills over time, nurturing them like a gardener tending to seeds? Or was it something darker? Could it mean taking skills from others? The idea sent a shiver down her spine, though whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell.

It didn’t matter. She’d find out soon enough.

Jennifer grabbed her torn shirt, draping it around her shoulders as best she could. The bathroom door creaked open, revealing Marta and another coworker, their faces pale with concern.

“Jennifer,” she said hesitantly, “what’s going on? Are you—”

“Sorry for the shouting... But today is my last day. I quit,” Jennifer said, cutting her off. Her voice was firm, with an edge of finality that startled even herself. Without waiting for a response, she brushed past them, stepping out into the shop.

The air was cool against her skin, and she could feel the eyes of her coworkers and the customers following her as she crossed the room. A few murmurs rose, but she didn’t care. It was all behind her now.

When she pushed the door open, a rush of cold rain greeted her. Fat droplets splattered against the cobblestone streets, drenching her within moments. Jennifer pulled her shirt tighter around herself, but the chill barely registered.

Her steps quickened as she made her way toward the center of the town. There, nestled between the market square and the smithy, was a building she’d only ever seen from a distance: the Monster Slayer Hall.