The smoke had thinned by dawn, but the smell lingered like a wound.
Caelen stood on the cliff until the sun touched the horizon, its pale light cutting across the blackened ruins below. The Hollow Guard was long gone, but their absence didn't bring peace. It left only silence—the kind that made your skin itch, as if the air itself was waiting for something.
And then there was the heartbeat.
Not his own.
It pulsed inside his chest like a second drum, slow but deliberate, each thud echoing through his bones. When he focused on it, his vision swam. The whispers from the shrine were gone, but the feeling remained—an emptiness that wasn't empty anymore.
What did that thing do to me?
His mother had told him stories about Soulwake awakenings. People gained powers tied to their bloodlines, their destinies, or the blessings of old gods. But this—this felt like no blessing. No warmth, no light. Just a constant gnawing, like hunger.
The wind picked up, carrying ash into his face.
He needed to move.
Caelen descended the cliff slowly, boots crunching on brittle earth. Every step toward the village made the knot in his gut tighter. The ground was littered with charred timber and warped metal. Doors hung from broken hinges. Roofs were piles of black dust.
And then he saw them.
Bodies.
Men, women, even children. Their faces locked in expressions of terror or defiance, their skin gray with ash. The Hollow Guard had cut through them as if they were nothing. He stopped counting after ten.
His gaze caught on one familiar shape—a woman's frame, lying half-covered by debris. Her hand was outstretched toward the road, as if she'd been trying to crawl away.
His breath caught.
"No".
He stepped closer, lifting the beam from her body with shaking arms. Her hair was burned at the ends, but he recognized it instantly. Dark brown, streaked with silver.
"...Mother."
The word broke something in him.
He fell to his knees beside her. The hunger inside him stirred, not with food, but with something worse—a cold, pulling sensation, like the air being sucked from the world. He didn't understand it, but his instincts screamed that if he gave in, that hunger would take something from her. Something final.
Caelen forced himself to stand and step back. His hands shook so hard he nearly dropped her.
The second heartbeat slowed.
He found a shovel in the rubble and worked until his palms bled, digging a grave under the roots of the old sycamore tree where she used to sit and tell him stories. The soil was cold and stubborn, but he didn't stop until it was deep enough.
He laid her down gently.
There were no priests left to speak rites, so he spoke the only words he could remember:
"May the Ash veil your path, and may the First Flame guide you beyond."
When the last handful of earth fell, he didn't cry. Not because he didn't want to, but because something inside him wouldn't let him. The same thing that had swallowed his fear last night.
And that scared him more than anything.
He scavenged what he could from the ruins—a satchel, a half-burnt cloak, a waterskin. He found no food worth taking, only scraps too spoiled to eat. But in the remains of Old Korran's hut, he found a short blade, its edge nicked and rusted.
It would have to do.
As he stepped back into the road, movement flickered at the edge of his vision.
He froze.
Something stood in the doorway of a collapsed barn.
It was tall, thin, its limbs too long, its head tilted unnaturally. Its skin was pale as bone, marked with faint red lines that pulsed like veins. Where eyes should have been, there were only dark hollows.
Caelen's grip on the blade tightened.
The thing stepped forward, bare feet silent on the ash.
It didn't move like a Hollow Guard soldier. It didn't move like anything human.
When it opened its mouth, the sound that came out was not a voice, but a low, vibrating hum that made his teeth ache.
And the heartbeat inside him—the second one—answered.
Pain ripped through Caelen's chest. He staggered back, clutching at his ribs as the hum grew louder, vibrating through the ground. The thing was calling to whatever was inside him.
The hunger roared awake.
For a split second, he felt an urge—not to run, not to fight, but to feed.
On it.
The realization chilled him to the bone.
The creature lunged.
Instinct took over. He rolled aside, the blade in his hand flashing clumsily. The creature's arm swept past him, its fingers like hooks, tearing through wood as if it were paper.
Caelen slashed at its side. The blade bit shallowly, black ichor hissing where it touched the steel. The smell was rancid, like rotting flowers.
The thing didn't scream. It just turned its head toward him in a slow, jerking motion.
It lunged again.
This time, Caelen didn't dodge. He stepped forward.
The hunger inside him surged. His vision dimmed at the edges. And for a moment, the world slowed.
He saw the creature's strike coming before it landed. Saw the gap in its stance.
His blade drove up under its jaw.
Black ichor sprayed across his face, hot and foul. The creature convulsed once, then fell still.
Caelen stood over the body, panting, his hands trembling.
And then—he felt it.
The hunger inside him reached out. Not with hands. Not with breath. But with something deeper.
The black ichor on his skin sizzled, then sank into his pores. The second heartbeat quickened. Strength flooded his limbs—not much, but enough to notice.
He dropped the blade, staggering back in horror.
"What… am I?"
The thing at his feet was already dissolving into ash.
He didn't know if more were coming. He didn't care.
Caelen turned away from the ruins for the last time and began walking toward the horizon.
He didn't have a destination. Only a truth:
The Hollow Guard had taken everything.
But whatever had awakened inside him last night…
It wanted it back.