Eleanor Thorncroft leaned against the cold stone wall of the Thorncroft estate’s ancient cellar, her thoughts a tumult of unease. The discovery of the "mark" on the deceased man had shifted the stakes. The Obelisk wasn’t merely an anomaly; it was a catalyst, perhaps even a weapon. Her mother’s journal, now filled with fragments of eerie text and sketches, offered clues but no clarity. The only certainty was that time was running out.

Lena’s footsteps echoed as she descended the creaking staircase, a lantern in her hand casting a flickering glow across the damp walls. Her eyes were weary but resolute. "You’ve been down here for hours," she said softly. "You’re going to make yourself sick."

Eleanor straightened, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. "I had to cross-reference something," she replied, holding up a tattered page she had carefully removed from the Codex Umbra. "This text—‘When the shadow consumes the light, the gate shall open’—it’s not just a prophecy. It’s a mechanism."

Lena frowned. "A mechanism? What do you mean?"

Eleanor gestured toward the array of symbols and notes spread across the table. "These symbols, they’re not just decorative. They’re instructions. The Obelisk… it’s like a lock, and these marks might be the key."

Lena’s face paled. "So, what happened to that man… it wasn’t random?"

Eleanor hesitated. "No. The marking wasn’t random. He was chosen—or claimed. The question is, by whom or what?"

The sisters emerged from the cellar into the early evening, the estate bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun. Blackthorn itself seemed to hold its breath, the fog thicker than ever, obscuring the streets and muffling sound. They decided to visit the town square, where the Obelisk’s silent presence loomed.

The square was eerily empty, save for a few townsfolk who lingered at the edges, their expressions a mixture of fear and curiosity. The Obelisk stood at its center, black and featureless, yet pulsating with an energy that seemed almost alive. As Eleanor and Lena approached, they felt the now-familiar hum vibrating through their bodies.

“There’s something new,” Eleanor murmured, narrowing her eyes. Symbols glowed faintly along the Obelisk’s surface, shifting as though in response to their presence.

Lena clutched her sister’s arm. “I don’t like this, Eleanor. What if it marks us too?”

Eleanor glanced at Lena, her jaw tightening. "We can’t run from this. Whatever is happening, we’re already involved."

As they stepped closer, a figure emerged from the fog. It was Father Abernathy, the town’s aging priest. His face was drawn, his eyes sunken with sleeplessness. He carried a leather-bound book, the edges worn with age.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice hoarse. “The Obelisk is no place for the living."

Eleanor folded her arms. "You know something about this, don’t you? The symbols, the marks… they’re not just ancient nonsense. What do they mean?"

Abernathy’s gaze darted to the glowing symbols. "The marks are a warning," he said after a long pause. "Or perhaps a curse. The Obelisk… it’s a doorway. But not one we should ever open."

Back at the Thorncroft estate, Eleanor spread out the contents of Abernathy’s book across the library table. The priest had reluctantly loaned it to her, warning that its knowledge came at a cost. The book, titled Chronicles of the Veil, was filled with ominous passages and cryptic diagrams.

“‘When the shadow consumes the light, the gate shall open,’” Eleanor read aloud, her fingers tracing the faded text. “‘And through the gate, the Hollow One shall awaken, bringing the end to the beginning.’”

Lena shivered. "Who… or what… is the Hollow One?"

Eleanor turned to a page with an illustration of a towering figure cloaked in darkness, its face obscured. Around it, symbols swirled like a vortex. "The Hollow One is neither god nor mortal. It’s… something beyond comprehension. If this text is right, it’s been dormant, waiting for the gate to open."

Lena leaned back, her face pale. "And the Obelisk is the gate?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes. And the marks… they’re part of the unlocking process."

As night fell, the sisters were interrupted by a frantic knocking at the estate’s front door. Eleanor opened it to find Mrs. Hadley, a middle-aged woman from the town, clutching her young son. The boy’s face was pale, his eyes wide with terror.

“Please, Miss Thorncroft,” Mrs. Hadley pleaded. “You have to help us. He… he’s been marked.”

Eleanor ushered them inside, her heart sinking as she saw the faintly glowing symbols etched into the boy’s arms. The patterns were similar to those on the dead man in the square.

“When did this happen?” Eleanor asked.

“Just now,” Mrs. Hadley said, her voice trembling. “He was playing near the edge of the square, and then he screamed. When I found him, he had these… these marks.”

Eleanor crouched beside the boy, her voice gentle. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The boy hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. “The shadows… they moved. They touched me."

Eleanor’s research took on new urgency. She pored over the Chronicles of the Veil, searching for any reference to reversing the marks or halting the Obelisk’s activation. Meanwhile, Lena stayed with Mrs. Hadley and the boy, trying to comfort them.

“Listen to this,” Eleanor said, her voice tight with tension. “‘The marked are vessels, their essence drawn to awaken the Hollow One. Only by severing the bond can the process be halted.’”

Lena frowned. "Severing the bond? What does that mean?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I don’t know yet. But if we don’t figure it out, the boy… he might not survive."

The following day, Eleanor and Lena returned to the Blackthorn library, hoping to find more answers in its restricted section. The oppressive feeling of being watched grew stronger as they delved deeper into the shadowed corridors of ancient tomes. Eleanor’s fingers brushed against a book bound in cracked, blackened leather. Its title, The Mark of the Void, sent a shiver down her spine.

Opening the book, she found detailed accounts of people who had been marked throughout history. Each case ended in tragedy—death, madness, or worse. Yet one passage stood out:

“‘In the presence of the Obelisk, the marked may speak truths not their own, their voices channels for the Veil. To sever the bond, the words must be silenced.’”

“Speak truths?” Lena repeated, her brow furrowed. “Does that mean the boy might… talk about what’s coming?"

Eleanor nodded. "It’s possible. But it also means his bond to the Obelisk is growing stronger."

That evening, the boy’s condition worsened. His skin grew pale, and he began muttering in a language none of them recognized. Eleanor recognized the symbols he spoke from her mother’s journal and the Chronicles of the Veil. They weren’t random; they were incantations.

“We have to act now,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. "If we don’t sever his bond, he’ll… he’ll become a part of it."

“Part of what?” Lena demanded.

“The Obelisk. The gate. The Hollow One.”

Eleanor retrieved an old dagger from her mother’s collection, its blade inscribed with symbols similar to those on the Obelisk. The Chronicles of the Veil mentioned it as a tool for severing bonds, though the process was risky and imprecise.

“Are you sure about this?” Lena asked, her voice shaking.

Eleanor met her sister’s gaze. “No. But we don’t have a choice."

In the dimly lit cellar, Eleanor began the ritual. The boy lay on a makeshift altar, his body trembling as the marks on his skin glowed brighter. Eleanor recited the incantations from the Chronicles of the Veil, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her.

As she traced the dagger’s edge over the marks, a surge of energy erupted, throwing her backward. The boy screamed, his voice overlapping with a deeper, guttural tone that wasn’t his own.

“Eleanor!” Lena cried, rushing to her sister’s side.

Eleanor pushed herself up, her vision swimming. The marks on the boy’s skin began to fade, and the room grew eerily quiet. The oppressive energy dissipated, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.

“Is it over?” Lena whispered.

Eleanor looked at the boy, now unconscious but breathing steadily. "For now. But this was just the beginning."

As they carried the boy back upstairs, Eleanor’s mind raced. The Obelisk’s influence was growing, and the marks were just one piece of a larger puzzle. Whatever lay beyond the gate, it was awakening—and it wasn’t going to wait much longer.