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Essek was only 20 when his first soulmark painted itself on his shoulder as he watched his father emerge from the chambers shared with the umavi of their den. Of course he didn't notice, there was no sensation, just color as with all soulmarks. Not that he knew that then.
No, he only learned of it when his father ceased shaking out a rather bruised looking hand to stride over and lift Essek's petaled sleeve. A soft remark slipped through a very tired smile before he placed a palm at Essek's back and led him into the room where his brother had just been born.
Essek wondered what kind of person this Verin would become for his mark to be a handful of golden stars.
His second mark came later, though he couldn't be sure of when. At some point before his sixth decade a thumb sized green beetle had made a nest of pale pink to rest on, right behind his left ear and almost completely hidden. It had only been found when one of the den's healers was checking both himself and Verin for head wounds after an ill-fated climbing venture by his brother ended with Essek as a cushion.
He decided to never let Verin attempt such folly again. Even if he had been secretly pleased to have such a well hidden confidant, it had taken a number of mirrors to even see the beetle himself.
Truthfully, Essek hadn't expected any mark other than that of his overly cheerful little brother. He'd held an idle hope that whomever the beetle tied him to might be someone of like mind, a friend he could spend time with in comfortable quiet.
He was in his nineties when a third mark caught him by surprise as he turned in a tailor's mirror. A small ship with full sails sat between his shoulder blades, still quite prominent beneath the slightly sheer fabric that formed the upper back of this particular piece. Grateful for the privacy curtain that hid both this new mark and his reaction, Essek had made sure to take an appropriate amount of time before dropping the supposedly imperfect garment within reach of the den servant waiting on the other side. Once he emerged, his next picks from the samples provided were rather more… opaque. He hoped no more appeared, three were quite enough people to have… attachments to. Especially when he lived in the web of the dens and their politics.
The ship was not the last. In fact, after his third mark they had come faster , and in dizzying numbers.
The first was a vibrant flame over the veins in his left forearm, only a couple years after the ship's appearance. Essek could only thank whatever small mercies of chance had the mark form on a day he happened to wear sleeves long enough to hide it from view. He most certainly had not needed such a weakness to have been visible without his knowledge. The thought occurred that he would be restricted to concealing sleeves now as well.
The bitterness had been a familiar sense, one he made all attempts to ignore despite the somewhat new source.
The flame was followed by a bright yellow button with four holes directly over his pulse point on the same arm.
Then a sunlike yellow flower he later learned was called lion's tooth bloomed on his right collarbone.
A lavender crown on the nape of his neck necessitated further adjustments to his clothes. Frustratingly.
A cobalt blue lion paced across his right shoulder, maneless head lifted proud and sharp claws visible.
A small blue gem, faceted and deep, rested atop his heart and Essek had resented every implication that one might have drawn from such a placement.
Nine.
He'd had nine marks in total, and almost two thirds of them had formed within a single decade. Shortly after his hundredth year.
And he'd born nine soulmarks.
None, other than his brother and possibly the beetle were of the dynasty's noble dens. Not a single one. To make matters worse it had been highly likely that several were not of the dynasty at all . The flower and ship most certainly, as neither matched what could be found of those within the borders.
The marks were restrictive, dangerous and unhelpful. Better to conceal them and pretend they had never formed.
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Essek hadn't necessarily forgotten that marks could change, rather he hadn't expected any changes quite yet. After all, so far neither his brother's mark or the beetle's mark had shifted over the last several decades. Then almost two decades since it first formed, the mote of fire on his arm turned a dark grey. Dull in comparison to it's former twists of bright color.
That…. That was certainly not a good sign. There was still a clear difference from his own skin tone, rather than the transparent echo those with dead markmates wore. There was that at least.
No. There was no reason for him to care. This was a stranger who had intruded into his life, onto his very skin. Essek did not need to waste another moment over this foolishness. The only mark he held any affection or care towards was his brother's, and that was his own choice. Another decade passed.
The flame vanished and was replaced by a page of parchment with inky paw prints winding across it. Essek did not attempt to identify the language.
The flower shifted into one with different leaves and orange petals. He did not open a single book regarding the identification of plants.
The button was replaced by a cracked porcelain mask. He did not let himself think of masks and how heavy they are.
A sickly yellow eye takes the place of the ship that he was sure he resented.
He…..
He could not, would not waste valuable time fretting over those he had never even met . He'd had plenty on his plate already between appeasing both the Bright Queen and the Assembly, not to mention his own research.
Essek refused .