TW: Non Con

Nox spent most of his last year as a mercenary for a neighbouring lord. He was still fairly close to his family home, but also had the freedom to do some more research on his Mark and meet more Marked people.

Everything seemed fine at first; he met many great warriors, and it was his first mission with his horse Gerhart. They were well fed, and apart from basic defense tasks, they didn’t face any serious combat.

One of his closest companions was Blint, a skilled swordsman who was always helpful during sparring. They were evenly matched, making their duels fair and intense. He was a good companion both in battle and over a pint of ale. They often joked together, and every time they fought side by side, Nox hoped to see Blint alive afterward.

Once, Nox and Blint found themselves caught in an enemy ambush. They were surrounded by five armed men. Blint held off one, while Nox ended up fending off the other four. The sound of clashing blades filled the air, sharp and relentless. It was one of those moments when Nox genuinely thought it might be the end.

One of the attackers stood out, broad as a wall, with a red Mark on his cheek and the kind of strength that didn’t seem natural. As the fight dragged on, it became clear they couldn’t win. Not like this and not alone.

Nox’s and Blint’s eyes met briefly, and without exchanging a word, they both turned toward a horse tied to a low branch nearby. They ran. Nox reached the animal first, swinging onto its back without hesitation. Blint turned, took one last look at the men closing in, and shouted, “Go!” before slapping the horse hard on the flank.

The horse bolted. Nox glanced back only once, long enough to see the enemy surrounding Blint.

He couldn’t go back. Couldn’t do anything. Nox just rode in silence, heart pounding, feeling useless and ashamed. As far as he knew, he had just left his closest friend to die.

But the next day, Blint came back.

He appeared at camp as if nothing had happened. Tired and scraped up, of course, but alive. He never explained how he got away or what he’d been through. Nox didn’t ask.

He knew some things were better left unsaid, and was just glad Blint had made it. He cherished their friendship even more from that day.

...But one night, Nox went straight to his tent after having a drink together by the campfire with his friends. The taste of roasted meat still lingered on his tongue. He felt a bit dizzy from the alcohol, but he really enjoyed himself. Together with his comrades, they were celebrating another victory. For the fleeting moment, the war now seemed to be distant. And he still had a quarter-moon on his hand.

Sleep came quickly and untroubled, until it wasn’t.

Blint, his comrade, his sparring partner, someone he had called a friend, was.....Sitting on top of him, panting and rubbing against him. His face was twisted in ecstasy, his breath hot and ragged. He moved over Nox’s body. In his hand, he stroked his member up and down as he positioned himself against Nox’s unresponsive body.

‘WHAT’S GOING ON?’. Nox was paralyzed by disbelief and horror.

It took Nox a moment to fully wake and register what was happening. But as his senses returned and he saw clearly what Blint was doing, revulsion surged through him.

Blint’s shirt was pushed up, revealing a green half-moon-shaped Mark on his stomach near the navel.

‘That bastard must’ve seen my mark...’

Nox realized the pervert had been using him for pleasure in his sleep, probably not for the first time. Rage exploded within him. The warmth of friendship, so real just hours earlier, immediately turned into something sickening.

Panic struck him, he tried to move but he couldn’t, his body was unresponsive, forced into obedience by the command of whom he had once thought of as a companion. Nox felt trapped and as if he was only able to observe how this horrible scene was unraveling. ‘Please no, please no’, he begged in his mind and desperately tried to free himself somehow and exerted every ounce of his physical and mental strength.

Finally! Nox felt as if the invisible chain that held him down was breaking apart, and he could move again.

In the next second, he drove his clenched fist into Blint’s face with all the strength he could muster, catching one last glimpse of his stunned expression before he lost consciousness.‘He must be surprised I broke free from his control,’ Nox thought bitterly. At the same time, he felt disgustingly violated and unclean.

With a deep sense of revulsion, he looked at Blint one last time and decided to leave the region immediately. He was no longer safe there.

Nox galloped on horseback as fast as he could, afraid Blint would regain consciousness and somehow force him to return. He cursed himself. ‘Why didn’t I kill him?’, gripping the reins tightly and riding forward without knowing where he was going.

Nox fled for days, covering miles with Gerhart, stopping only when absolutely necessary. He feared the pervert might follow, so he allowed himself and his horse only a few hours of rest at a time. Finally, once he felt far enough to be safe, Nox stopped by a river, trembling, and vomited into the bushes. Once again, he cursed his fate. ‘Why did this have to happen? Was there something I could have done differently?’ he wondered.

He spent at least an hour scrubbing his body in the cold stream, trying to rid himself of the feeling, and just couldn’t stop thinking about what else that repulsive man might have done to him while he was unconscious or whether others knew what had been happening.

For weeks after this, he couldn’t sleep without seeing Blint’s twisted face. Nox couldn’t close his eyes without feeling that crushing weight on his chest. The worst part wasn’t even the act. It was the betrayal. The laughter they’d shared, the battles they’d fought together. All of that turned into something rotten. He questioned everything. How long had Blint been planning it? Had the friendly sparring, the shared drinks, the easy smiles all been lies? The thought made him nauseous.

‘That green Mark,’ he thought back then. He had seen that half-moon shape on Blint’s skin; he probably wasn’t his only victim. There could be dozens like him. The thought crossed his mind that he’d gladly return the favor: with a blade to the throat.

But Nox never had the chance to give Blint what he deserved. About a month later, he heard some gossip that Blint had been found dead in his tent, beaten to death.

No one knew who’d done it. Some claimed it was a fight that went too far, others whispered it was revenge. Nox felt no guilt, there was just satisfaction. Perhaps one of Blint’s other victims had gotten their chance. The news brought a strange kind of closure, but no peace. Blint was gone, yet the damage remained. Nox still woke with clenched fists, still carried the weight of what had been taken away from him. His choice.

‘Well, at least he got what was coming to him,’ Nox thought grimly. Just the memory of what had happened made his blood boil even now in the small and cold room, weeks after everything transpired. He felt sorrow, disgust, and immense rage when he thought about Blint’s other potential victims.

His thoughts drifted again to Torven.

He wondered about Torven’s motives, why he was keeping him here, locked away, instead of letting him go free.

Nox would have gladly taken his horse and ridden off that same day.

But he also knew that Torven had seen his Mark and that he stayed close to Nox, likely making it easy to keep control over him, especially if he too bore the green Mark.

He just hoped he hadn’t escaped one predator only to fall into a deadlier trap...