The mist clung to Kael's skin like a second breath, cold and whispering. The deeper he moved into the Ruined Hollows, the more reality thinned, like stretched parchment on the edge of fire. Trees here were twisted remnants of themselves, gnarled bones reaching toward a lightless sky, and the soil beneath his boots pulsed with faint, unnatural warmth—like a dying heartbeat refusing surrender.
He didn't know why his feet kept moving forward, only that something ancient stirred here. Something that recognized him. He had felt the call ever since the pact was made—the first pact, the one that etched death's signature across his soul. He was no longer the Kael who wandered the streets of the outer rings, hiding from shadow-dogs and angry creditors. That man was a carcass left behind. This Kael was something else.
A whisper slid through the fog, subtle as breath on a windowpane. He halted. The air thickened. For a moment, he thought it might be the wind catching the broken hollows of the trees—but then it repeated.
"Kael..."
He turned sharply, one hand instinctively reaching for the black mark on his forearm. The sigil carved by death's hand pulsed faintly beneath the skin, a dull red glow like a simmering ember. The mist stirred at his movement, revealing a path that hadn't been there a moment before—a corridor of dead trees arching overhead like ribs of some long-forgotten beast.
He followed.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Not with exhaustion, but with memory. Flashes surged in his mind—the boy he had failed to save in the alley, the girl who coughed blood as he watched helplessly, the old woman who begged for life as he stood frozen. These were his burdens, the ghosts chained to his name. And now, they walked beside him, unseen but not unfelt.
The corridor opened into a clearing. In its center stood a stone monolith, cracked and aged, covered in unfamiliar runes. It radiated cold, ancient authority. The wind died as he approached. Silence pressed in, thick as wool. Then the monolith shuddered.
A figure stepped from behind it.
She was draped in black feathers, her hair tangled with thorns, her face hidden beneath a cracked porcelain mask. From the hollows of her eyes, a red glow flickered like distant lanterns.
"You came," she said. "I wasn't sure you would."
Kael's throat felt dry, but he forced the words out. "You called me."
"Not I," she corrected softly, circling him. "The Hollow did. It knows what you are becoming."
He narrowed his eyes. "And what am I?"
She stopped before him. The wind moved her cloak like wings stretching. "You are the fracture. The wound in the world. The balance undone."
"That's a poetic way to say I made a deal I don't understand," he muttered.
Her head tilted. "Understanding isn't the price. Sacrifice is."
Kael looked back at the monolith. He could feel something beneath it—something restless. "Why bring me here?"
"To warn you," she whispered. "You think the First Pact made you powerful. It made you hollow. The more you use death's gift, the more of yourself you leave behind. Piece by piece. Breath by breath."
He clenched his fists. "Then why offer it to me?"
"Because something worse is coming," she said. "And only a hollow can withstand it."
Kael felt his heart stagger in his chest. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she lifted a hand, and the fog parted once more. Beyond the clearing, a figure stood at the edge of the trees—silent, unmoving, its body wrapped in shadows that bent unnaturally with every breath. Its face was hidden beneath a mask identical to hers, except cracked straight down the center.
"That is the one who will seek you. The Second Harbinger. Death follows you, Kael, but he—he is something older."
Kael stepped forward, but the figure vanished, swallowed by the mist.
The woman turned her back. "You will return here when the veil breaks. When the world begins to forget itself. Then you'll understand why your name was written on the bone scroll."
"The bone scroll?"
But she was already fading, her form breaking into thousands of black feathers, carried away on a breeze that hadn't existed moments before.
Kael stood alone in the clearing, heart pounding, breath short. He looked down at his hands—his fingers trembled. Not with fear. With anticipation.
The whispers had not stopped. They hummed now, deeper in his bones.
When he looked back at the monolith, the runes had changed.
They spelled his name.