PROLOGUE~Beyond Normal

"Cannonball!"

The sound of Welsh's exuberant shout echoed through the air as he leaped fearlessly into the vast river, his friends following suit with laughter and splashes. The water danced and sparkled under the warm sunlight, creating a playful atmosphere that transported them back to their carefree childhood days.

But as Welsh emerged from the depths of the river, his excitement quickly turned to bewilderment. His friends, once filled with joy, now wore expressions of terror and shock. Confusion etched across Welsh's face, he attempted to speak, but his voice failed him, leaving his friends even more unnerved.

Desperate to understand their sudden fear, Welsh scanned his surroundings, searching for any sign of danger. Yet, to his dismay, he found nothing out of the ordinary. He tried to call out to his friends, hoping to ease their fears, but his voice remained silent, intensifying his own growing worry. How had he lost his ability to speak?

As his friends hastily swam away, abandoning him in their panic, Welsh's heart sank. Their reaction disturbed him deeply, leaving him feeling isolated and vulnerable. Struggling to reach the safety of the riverbank, he noticed a heaviness in his movements, as if an invisible weight burdened his every stroke. Something was undeniably wrong, but he couldn't fathom what it could be.

To his surprise, an old woman stood at the water's edge, clutching a wooden stick tightly in her trembling hands. Her eyes were fixed on Welsh, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. It was clear that she, too, saw something amiss.

With a quivering voice, the old woman spoke, her words barely audible above the rushing river;

"Immerse yourself into the water body and resurface again," she whispered, her voice carrying an air of ancient wisdom.

Welsh felt a strange compulsion to follow her advice, as if it held the key to unraveling the mystery that had befallen him. Without hesitation, he submerged himself once more, the cool water enveloping his body. As he resurfaced, a wave of relief washed over him. He felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his very being.

Swimming towards the riverbank, Welsh approached the old woman, her frail form trembling with each step he took. Confusion etched across his face, he couldn't understand why she was so frightened of him.

"Why are you so frightened, mama?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

The old woman's hand shook as she slowly raised it, her aged finger trembling as she pointed directly at Welsh.

"You...you are...evil," she stammered, her voice quivering with fear.

Welsh's heart sank at her words and his confusion deepened. "I'm not evil, mama," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation.

"What are you trying to say?" Welsh repeated.

The old woman took a step back, her eyes wide with terror. "You bear the mark," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The mark of the evil ones."

Welsh's heart raced as he looked down at his own body, searching for any sign of this supposed mark. But there was nothing. No strange symbols or scars marred his skin. He was just an ordinary teenager, or so he had always believed.

"I don't understand," Welsh said, his voice trembling. "What mark?" He tried to approach her.

The old woman's gaze shifted to the river before returning them to him, filled with fear and shivering;

"St…stay away. You evil being."