The first sensation was cold. Not the kind that numbs, but the kind that burrows deep, reminding him of something he couldn't name. He was lying face-down, chest pressing against damp stone. His breath came in short, dry gasps as if he hadn't breathed in weeks. His ribs ached. His spine trembled. The air tasted like metal.
When Kael opened his eyes, he didn't know his name. Not at first.
Above him stretched an endless ceiling of black rock, cracked and layered like an ancient wound. Pale light drifted down from fractures in the stone, catching the floating motes of ash that drifted through the air like snow. The silence was perfect—so deep it pressed against his eardrums.
He pushed himself up, muscles stiff and uncooperative. His bare hands trembled as they pressed against the cold floor. He was shirtless, bruised, young. Sixteen, maybe. The rest was a blur.
His eyes scanned the chamber. The ground beneath him was etched with spiraling lines, veins of faint blue light that pulsed at irregular intervals, as if the stone itself was breathing. Symbols were carved between the cracks—curved and spiked like blades mid-swing. He couldn't read them, but something in his bones recoiled from the sight. Not fear. Something older. Recognition, maybe.
He sat up slowly, back pressed against a stone pillar. He touched his temple. No blood. No gash. His body was intact, but wrong—too light, too quiet, as if something vital had been taken from him.
Somewhere far behind his consciousness, he remembered rain. Streetlights flickering behind fogged glass. A world filled with noise and speed. That place was gone now, or maybe he was. Wherever he was now, it was older. Hungrier.
The chamber opened into a long corridor at his back. He hadn't noticed it before. Shadows spilled from it like ink, and yet he could see the path clearly. The same pale light trailed along its floor, leading further inward, as if beckoning.
He didn't want to follow it.
Still, something moved within the corridor. A shape. Human at first glance, though it lacked all details. It was a figure of smooth, faceless stone, its joints held together by strands of gold thread that shimmered unnaturally. It stood motionless at the edge of sight, watching. Or perhaps waiting.
Kael froze. His breath caught in his throat. The stone figure didn't move, but its presence pushed against the space, like pressure from a depth he couldn't withstand.
Then, a voice that wasn't a voice echoed through his skull.
"You were born without a name in this world. You are Hollow. Find your shape, or the world will give you one."
The figure shattered into dust.
He staggered backward, half-expecting it to reform. It didn't.
Kael didn't know how long he wandered after that. The corridors twisted without logic, looping through halls of ruin and decay. Statues of forgotten kings stared down from broken alcoves. Doors with golden frames refused to open. Walls whispered in languages that made his eyes burn. Once, he heard footsteps—soft, uneven, scraping across stone from a hallway he didn't enter. He never saw who made them.
At some point, he found clothing. A traveler's coat, aged and worn. Simple cloth pants. Sturdy boots with cracked soles. Near them lay a spear. The shaft was wrapped in dark leather, the blade long and curved like the fang of something ancient. Dust covered its edge, yet when he touched it, the air seemed to flinch.
He hesitated. Then took it.
The moment his fingers closed around the weapon, the runes on the wall pulsed.
Something in the distance groaned awake.
He didn't look back. He didn't speak. There was no one to speak to.
Eventually, the corridor ended at a massive stone gate, half-swallowed by earth. The same runes stretched across its surface, but now they throbbed with pale gold light. A corpse leaned against the base of the door, slumped over, his armor fractured. His helmet had been torn in half. His face was dry bone and cracked teeth. But in one skeletal hand, the man clutched a torn scrap of paper.
Kael reached for it.
The parchment was stiff with blood, but legible.
The boy summoned is different. No aura. No resonance. We offered him to the Hollow.
If the seal breaks—gods help us.
He has no Concept. But the Hollow... it chose him.
Kael's throat dried. The gate moaned.
Stone cracked.
And the door began to open.
A wind poured through—cold, and far too vast to belong to anything natural. It howled across the chamber, rattling the old man's bones, whipping Kael's coat as if trying to drag him in. But Kael didn't move.
The spear on his back hummed quietly.
He took one breath. Then another.
And walked into the light.