Part 2: "The Ceremony of Chains"
*The branding is done, but Cael is forced to stand and watch the rest of the Ceremony. As beasts awaken and bonds form around him, he becomes an object of disgust and morbid fascination. He suppresses the voice stirring inside him. Then, one of the beasts turns to stare directly at him—not its bonded partner. Something isn't right.*
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The black cloth was still warm in Cael's hand as he stepped down from the dais, its edges singed from the seal's brief contact. It smelled like scorched metal and the copper tang of burnt skin. The insignia on the cloth was a hollow circle—the mark of a null bond. No animal. No burden. No future.
He could already feel eyes pressing in around him, thick as ashfall. The other initiates didn't hide their expressions. Pity on some. Disgust on most. A few looked away, pretending not to see him. That was worse.
He walked in silence toward the perimeter of the chamber, boots ringing on the steel mesh. The heat from the Branding Pillar still radiated faintly behind him, prickling his back like it wanted to punish him again.
The lines of teens in Line Nine had shifted. No one stood near where he'd been. The space he returned to was now a void, cordoned by discomfort. Even Jonnel, pale and shaking, had sidled two steps away without meeting Cael's eyes.
No one wanted to stand next to a hollow.
He clenched the cloth in his fist, then tucked it into his coat's inner pocket. The fabric was stiff. Official. Like they expected him to wear it proudly.
The Warden at the dais—a towering figure in matte black armor—continued his work, as if Cael's branding hadn't even happened. Names rolled out in steady cadence.
"Selin Drae. Burden: Iron Skin. Beast: Splitfang Hound."
The girl stumbled forward, her eyes wide with terror. She extended her arm. The Branding Pillar flared, searing a thick mark across her wrist. A few seconds later, a growl echoed through the chamber. The floor rippled.
From the ether, a shadow condensed beside her. The hound materialized in jagged pulses—massive, horned, with skin like molten armor. It sniffed her once, then lowered its head.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Selin wept.
Cael stared without expression.
Beast after beast was summoned. Burden after burden pronounced. Each time, the process was identical: branding, then the rise of smoke, the flicker of summoned energy, and the manifestation of a bonded creature. Some formed in seconds. Others took longer, as if clawing their way out of the very Vault.
Not all were pretty. One boy screamed as his burden—Acid Breath—tore through his lungs mid-bond. He was dragged off by medics, frothing and choking, his summoned creature writhing behind him like a thing born wrong.
Still, even that was better than Cael's result.
He shifted his weight, trying not to flinch under the glances that still flickered toward him like knives in the dark.
A group of Warden trainees passed near him, whispering. One pointed. Another smirked.
"That him?"
"No bond at all. Total hollow."
"Freak."
He gritted his teeth.
As the ceremony wore on, the heat in the chamber built with each summoned creature. Some radiated cold, others fire. The smells became worse: wet fur, scorched oil, sulfur, and something floral that made his eyes sting. Magic, some called it. Others called it rot.
Lira Thorn hadn't moved from her assigned place. She stood with the Tier Three veterans, arms crossed, face unreadable. Her gaze hadn't left him. Even now, as another teen collapsed during his summoning, she watched Cael as if waiting for him to move wrong.
Or maybe just move.
He looked away.
Then it happened.
The air shifted. A cold ripple passed through the chamber, cutting the heat like a wire. One of the freshly summoned beasts—an arachnid-like creature with too many eyes and legs bent at wrong angles—twitched.
Its head turned.
Not toward the Vault.
Not toward its bonded partner, who stood sobbing with relief beside it.
But toward Cael.
Every one of its ink-black eyes locked on him.
It tilted its head slowly, one leg scraping the floor. Its mandibles clicked. A low, vibrating chitter rolled from its chest. No one else seemed to notice. The girl beside it was whispering to it, smiling.
But the thing wasn't looking at her.
It was staring at Cael.
He took a half-step back, heart punching his ribs.
The thing hunched lower, like it might crawl to him. For one frozen moment, Cael thought it would.
Then a loud burst of static filled the air—a correction pulse from the Warden's staff.
The beast twitched violently, then turned back to its summoner. As if the moment had never happened.
Cael's throat felt raw. His legs were cold, numb.
He looked up. Lira was still watching. Her expression had changed.
There was something like confusion there.
Or recognition.
The ceremony continued. More names. More branding. More bonds.
Cael didn't hear them.
He felt the silence in his own body. The hollow space where something was supposed to be. Everyone else had something now—a piece of the Vault fused to them. A weapon. A companion. A monster.
He had nothing.
Except the whispering.
Faint. Fainter than breath.
It had started again, under the sound of the announcements. A murmur curling at the edge of his hearing. Words he couldn't quite grasp. Cold syllables etched in old stone.
**You are not empty.**
**You are not forgotten.**
His eyes darted around. No one else seemed to react.
He clenched his hands until his nails bit into his palms. Breathed shallowly. He wouldn't break. Not here.
Not in front of them.
The Branding Pillar dimmed. The Warden raised his voice.
"Trial Initiates of Batch Seventeen. The Ceremony is concluded. You will be escorted to Staging Barracks for final preparation. Vault Trial 09 begins at dawn."
There were cheers. Some applause. Laughter. A few screams of relief or terror.
Wardens stepped forward to herd the bonded into formation. Medical personnel approached the wounded. A boy collapsed from blood loss. Another laughed manically, his beast spinning in circles beside him.
Cael remained still.
A Warden officer glanced at him. Frowned.
"You. Hollow. Move with the rest."
He did.
His legs carried him forward like rusted pistons. His boots thudded on the floor. The others parted slightly to let him through, not touching him, not speaking to him. The silence moved with him.
Behind him, the arachnid beast chittered softly.
And far above, in the Vault wall, something answered.