The carvings gave off a very slight glow, which seemed to subtly shift from white to silver to black to purple. It reminded me of something that I couldn’t place. Not until I looked at Asar and saw his scars gleaming with that exact same light. Then my gaze drifted down to his Mark, visible between the hem of his sleeve and the edge of his glove. The organic strokes of ink were a near-perfect sibling to the flowing lines of glyphs on the mask’s surface.
