The fire crackled gently as the night wrapped itself around the small camp. They had set up near a quiet cliffside, sheltered by jagged rocks and half-dead trees. The stars above blinked faintly, dimmed by the ever-present haze of the Infinite Planes.
Code Seven sat at the edge of the firelight, sharpening a short, blackened blade he'd scavenged days ago. The edge glinted faintly under the moonlight. He wasn't used to company, but he had learned to stay silent and observe.
The squad had finished eating. Trin leaned against a boulder, head back, eyes half-closed. Jin fiddled with a small silver ring in his hand, whispering words as he tested some minor ritual. Varka sat cross-legged, her long green cloak folded neatly beside her. She was writing something in a thin leather journal, the pages already yellowed with use.
"It's quiet," Varka said softly. "Too quiet."
"You want a monster to liven things up?" Jin smirked.
"Not monsters," she replied. "People. I don't like this quiet."
Code Seven didn't speak, but he agreed.
The Infinite Planes weren't known for peace.
As the fire dimmed and most of them drifted into uneasy sleep, Seven stayed up. His eyes scanned the dark. His instincts, sharp and buried deep from years of testing and war simulations, whispered to him.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't long before it arrived.
---
The first arrow landed inches from Jin's neck.
He jerked awake with a yell as others scrambled to their feet. A dozen figures emerged from the darkness. Cloaked in dark leather, faces hidden behind dull steel masks. Each moved with precision.
Mercenaries.
"Don't move!" barked a tall man in front, his voice rough like crushed gravel. A scar ran down his neck to his collarbone.
Seven's hand went to his blade. Varka did the same.
"No sudden moves," the scarred man warned, lifting a strange black sigil in his palm. It pulsed, and a pressure filled the air—like heavy water pressing down on their bodies.
"Name's Borin," the man said, eyeing each of them. "You're trespassing."
"We're just passing through," Varka said, raising her hands slowly.
"This area's under Watcher claim," Borin replied. "You either pay tribute… or earn your passage."
"What do you want?" Jin growled.
Borin grinned. "There's a ruin nearby. Recently uncovered. You lot are going to help us explore it."
Varka took a step forward. "And if we say no?"
"You'll die tired," Borin said.
Code Seven watched them all. These mercenaries were professionals. Their gear was tight, clean. Their formation was too perfect for chance. Someone had sent them, and he doubted it was random.
He narrowed his eyes. Were they after him?
He said nothing. But his thoughts sharpened.
They were taken at blade-point and marched east, through stone valleys and twisted roots. By dawn, the ruin came into view.
It was half-buried in the ground—a wide stone arch cracked down the center. Faint red lines ran along the surface, like veins. Symbols etched into the rock flickered in the light.
"Old," Trin whispered. "Older than any we've seen."
Borin gestured. "In you go."
One of the masked mercenaries lit a ritual torch. The flame turned blue, casting strange shadows on the ruin's face.
They stepped inside.
---
The air grew colder instantly.
The ruin's walls were made of smooth gray stone, oddly untouched by time. The hallway stretched far ahead, narrowing as it dipped downward. Faint echoes followed their steps.
Seven noticed something. Not a sigil. Not a trap.
A presence.
Like eyes watching from behind the walls.
He said nothing.
As they moved deeper, the group split slightly. Borin and two mercenaries stayed near the entrance while others pushed ahead with the squad.
A loud click echoed through the ruin.
Everyone froze.
Then the floor cracked open beneath one of the mercenaries. He screamed as he fell into the darkness, cut off mid-sound.
"Traps," Varka said grimly. "It's rigged."
"I'll lead," Seven said.
The group looked at him. He had hardly spoken before.
Varka nodded. "Careful."
Seven crouched low, eyes scanning the floor and walls. He tapped lightly with his blade as he moved. Each step was measured. Each stone studied.
Another trap triggered ahead—spearheads shot out from the walls. He dodged cleanly.
Behind him, Trin whispered, "What kind of reflexes…"
They advanced slowly. But the ruin wasn't finished with them yet.
As they reached a large chamber, the torchlight revealed something strange.
Statues.
Dozens of them. All kneeling, hands raised as if in prayer. But their faces…
They were twisted in silent screams.
"No one touch anything," Jin said.
Too late.
One of the mercenaries stepped near a broken pillar.
The moment his boot touched it, a loud groan rolled through the chamber.
The statues moved.
---
They weren't statues.
Stone peeled back, revealing ancient creatures with long limbs and blank white eyes. Their bodies were part flesh, part dust. They moved with unnatural jerks.
"Get ready!" Varka shouted.
The first creature lunged. Seven was faster. He ducked low, his blade slicing across its leg. Dust sprayed like blood.
Jin pulled a small orb from his satchel and smashed it. A wave of heat erupted—a ritual. Fire swept across the floor, slowing three of the creatures.
Trin whispered a spell, drawing a circle in the air. A shield flickered around him and Varka.
Seven kept moving, never still. He weaved between the monsters, striking fast. But they were many. And strong.
One slammed him into a wall. His vision blurred. He rolled aside as claws tore the stone where he'd been.
He reached into his pouch, pulling out a ritual shard he'd hidden.
It was crude. But deadly.
He slammed it to the ground.
The explosion shook the room. Half the chamber cracked open. Three creatures were blown apart. The rest screamed, retreating to the shadows.
Silence fell.
Everyone was breathing hard. Jin had a cut across his cheek. Trin's cloak was torn. Varka leaned on his spear, chest heaving.
"You," Borin growled, stepping forward. "Where did you get that shard?"
Seven didn't answer.
Borin stared at him for a long time.
Then laughed. "You're more than you look."
He gestured to the chamber ahead.
"Let's keep going."
Seven glanced back at the shattered floor.
And noticed something beneath it.
A small stone tablet. Faintly glowing.
He knelt, brushing away rubble.
The sigil carved into the stone was old. Unreadable. But it pulsed. Alive.
He didn't touch it.
Not yet.
There was more to this ruin.
And someone—or something—was waiting.
---
The stone pulsed beneath Seven's fingertips. Faint, cold. Like a heartbeat long forgotten. He studied the sigil etched into the tablet. Unlike the sharp, clear ones usually seen on common artifacts, this one was cracked, ancient, as if etched by time itself.
"What is it?" Trin asked, crouching beside him.
"I don't know," he said quietly.
Borin stepped closer, his boots scraping over broken stone. "Grab it. We're not here to admire dust."
Seven didn't move. Instead, he slowly reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded cloth. He wrapped the tablet carefully, without touching the sigil again, and tucked it away in his pack.
It was best to be careful. Some things in the Infinite Planes didn't like being disturbed.
They pressed deeper into the ruin. The passage narrowed, slanting downward. Each step echoed like a whisper. Dust drifted from the ceiling in faint clouds. The torchlight grew dimmer, struggling against the growing cold.
"We're below the ground level now," Trin whispered. "Way below."
"Then we're close to something," Jin muttered. "And I'm not sure I want to know what."
Seven moved ahead of the group, careful with every step. He could feel something in the air now—thicker than fear, older than time.
The hallway opened into a wide chamber.
And the silence broke.
Not with sound.
But with presence.
A pressure descended upon them like stone grinding against bone. The kind of weight that sank into skin, coiled into the mind.
At the center of the room was a hollow pedestal. Around it, eight broken statues—each twisted, arms raised, their mouths gaping as if mid-scream.
No one spoke.
Because something was breathing in the dark.
Seven narrowed his eyes.
A shimmer moved between the statues. Slow. Heavy.
The torchlight flickered—and then went out.
For two heartbeats, there was only darkness.
Then chaos.
---
The creature came from the ceiling.
A long, hunched form, skin like melted obsidian, limbs too many to count. It dropped silently behind one of the mercenaries—and snapped his spine in a blink.
Screams echoed. Weapons drawn. Rituals sparked to life.
"Light!" Jin roared.
Jin cast a flare—a burst of white light flooded the chamber. The creature shrieked and reeled back, revealing a hollow chest and a featureless face.
"What is that?" Trin gasped.
"A Hollowborn," Borin growled. "Guardians of old ruins. They weren't supposed to be real."
"It seems real enough to me" Seven said.
The Hollowborn lunged. Trin blocked the strike with his spear, but the force sent him skidding back.
Another mercenary tried to flank it. The creature's arm split into a whip of bone and shadow—impaling him instantly.
Seven didn't wait. He moved low, fast. His blade carved along the Hollowborn's thigh. The cut barely slowed it.
Behind him, Jin tossed a ritual powder and snapped a chant.
A net of lightning sprang up, catching the Hollowborn mid-lunge. It screamed, thrashing violently.
"Now!" Jin shouted.
Seven rushed in. He slammed a second ritual crystal beneath the creature's foot. The explosion rocked the chamber, blowing dust and shards into the air.
The creature collapsed, its body cracked, leaking black smoke.
But it wasn't dead.
It began to reform.
Seven's jaw clenched.
"They don't die normally," Borin shouted. "We need the anchor—destroy the pedestal!"
Varka had already started tracing a ritual circle, her fingers dancing with trembling precision. "I can shatter it, but I need a minute!"
"You don't have a minute!" Borin barked, pointing to the Hollowborn rising again.
Seven moved.
He leaped onto the pedestal, driving his blade deep into its center.
Nothing.
Then something clicked.
A quiet pulse from his pack.
The sigil stone.
Without thinking, he pulled it out and pressed it into the pedestal.
The stone vanished.
The room trembled.
The Hollowborn froze. Its limbs twitched. It gave a low, warbling hiss—then its body collapsed into dust, as if the thread of its life had been cut.
Silence returned.
---
The torchlight returned, dim but steady. Everyone was silent.
Borin stepped forward, eyeing the empty pedestal. "What did you do?"
Seven didn't answer. He just shrugged. "Just returned something to where it belonged."
Trin gave him a strange look. Jin was staring, not at Seven, but at the dust where the Hollowborn had vanished.
"You're lucky," Borin muttered. "That thing would've torn us all apart."
"Or," Trin said, wiping blood from his face, "he knew something we didn't."
Borin gave Seven a long look. "We'll talk. Later."
They didn't find much else in the ruin. Whatever had been stored here had either decayed or been taken by time. But they left with two things.
One: proof that Hollowborn were real.
Two: suspicion.
---
Back at the surface, the sunlight felt wrong. Too bright after so much darkness.
The mercenaries didn't talk much as they packed up.
Borin approached Seven once more, slower this time.
"You're hiding something," he said. "And I don't like mysteries I can't solve."
"Then don't waste your time chasing them," Seven replied, calm.
Borin smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "We'll meet again, Seeker. I'm sure of it."
With that, the mercenaries vanished into the trees, shadows melting behind them.
The squad was quiet for a while.
Finally, Varka broke the silence. "That sigil… You didn't keep it?"
Seven shook his head. "It wasn't mine to keep."
"But it reacted to you," Jin said. "That's rare."
Varka nodded slowly. "You don't need to explain. But I want you to know… you've earned your place."
Seven looked out toward the endless lands of the Infinite Planes. The ruin behind them now buried once again by dust and silence.
His journey had just begun.
But for the first time, he wasn't alone.
And somewhere, in the depths of the Planes, the true test was still waiting.