Eliah didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment, he was staring at the spiral he had drawn in his notebook. The next, he was somewhere else — a vast expanse without ground or sky, where the world bled into white emptiness. He floated, weightless, though his body felt real enough when he clenched his fists.
At first, he thought it was a dream. But the air carried pressure, a steady rhythm pushing against his skin. Not air — vibration. A pulse that wasn't sound, but something deeper, as though the silence itself had been given shape.
The spiral appeared in front of him. It stretched outward, alive, its lines bending and folding like strands of liquid light. The center pulsed, felt like each throb pressing against his chest, as if syncing with his heartbeat.
He raised a hand, moved forward against his will. The spiral quivered, and suddenly thousands of fragments burst from it — not words, not images, but flashes of thought, sensation, memory. A thousand voices, yet none with sound.
We are not gone.
The meaning landed in his mind, not through language, but like a tide pulling at his nerves.
We are speaking. But the world forgot how to listen.
Eliah stumbled backward, his pulse racing. He wanted to shout, to demand who they were, but in this place, his mouth carried nothing. Instead, the thought left him raw and unprotected: Why me?
The spiral flared, twisting violently.
Because silence has always lived in you.
A rush of sensations overtook him — a boy sitting in the back of a noisy classroom, his lips shut tight while the teacher's words blurred. His mother's hands trembling as she learned to sign for him. The first time he pressed his palm against a speaker and felt only vibration.
Memories. His own. But here, they weren't memories — they were proof.
The spiral convulsed again, its threads unraveling like nerves set aflame. The whiteness cracked. Through the fractures, Eliah saw shadows writhing — human shapes with their mouths stretched unnaturally wide, but no words escaped them. They clawed and writhed, reaching through the cracks.
The spiral shuddered.
The Hollow Ones are coming. You must not let them take your voice.
And then the silence collapsed.
Eliah jolted awake at his desk, his notebook open beneath his cheek. His pulse thundered in his ears, his throat dry. The spiral he had drawn seemed sharper than before, almost vibrating on the page.
A knock at the door startled him. He looked up to see Ava standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed.
"You didn't answer my calls," she signed.
Eliah rubbed his face, trying to steady himself. I… fell asleep.
She studied him closely, then glanced at the spiral in the notebook. You dreamed again, didn't you?
He hesitated. Not a dream. More. It spoke to me.
Her hands froze mid-motion. It?
Eliah nodded slowly. The silence. Or what's inside it. It said… it's not gone. It's speaking. And something's coming for us.
Ava's jaw tightened. She dropped her hands into her lap, staring at the floor. Do you realize how that sounds? Like you're slipping into their madness?
Her words stung, though he knew they came from fear. Already, the city was unraveling — people drawing circles on the ground, mumbling broken syllables, staring into nothing as if listening to something only they could hear. Was he just another one of them now?
Before he could answer, another knock came. Firm. Deliberate.
Eliah and Ava exchanged glance.
She opened the door cautiously. Dr. Kael stood there, his dark coat buttoned, his eyes sharp and restless. He didn't wait for permission before stepping inside.
"I warned you," he mouthed, his movements slow and deliberate so Eliah could read. "Once you opened yourself, it would find you."
Eliah felt a chill trace his spine.
Kael produced his recorder again and pressed it on the desk. The screen came alive with lines of static. At first, they were jagged, chaotic. Then they bent into the spiral — the same spiral from Eliah's dream.
Ava inhaled sharply. Even without sound, the recognition was clear on her face.
Kael scribbled into his notebook and shoved it toward Eliah.
This is not coincidence. You're resonating with the frequency. That means you've been marked.
Eliah signed, his movements rough with tension. Marked by what?
Kael's smile was thin, unsettling. He wrote quickly.
By whatever intelligence is inside the silence. But there are others who want that frequency for themselves. The Hollow.
Eliah froze.
The Hollow Ones are coming. The words from his dream twisted inside him.
"How do you know that name?" he mouthed.
Kael's gaze flickered, surprised for the first time. Then his smile returned, colder. "Because I've seen them."
They argued until the room felt too small to contain them. Ava demanded answers, her hands slicing through the air, accusing Kael of manipulation. Kael countered with page after page of frantic notes — fragments of research, diagrams of spirals, sketches of figures with hollow mouths.
But what unsettled Eliah most was not Kael's words, but how closely they matched what he had seen.
When Kael finally left, Ava slumped against the wall, pressing her palms to her face.
He's using you, she signed without looking up. He sees you as proof of his obsession. Don't give him that.
Eliah wanted to agree. Wanted to dismiss Kael as a fanatic. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the spiral convulsing, the shadows reaching through the cracks.
And he heard the words: You must not let them take your voice.
That night, he tried not to sleep. He scribbled spirals across dozens of pages, his hands cramping, but the patterns would not stop emerging. They twisted into each other, repeating, shifting, as though guiding him toward something he could almost—but not quite—grasp.
Finally, exhaustion pulled him under.
This time, the whiteness was not empty.
Figures stood in rows, their bodies rigid, their faces pale and stretched too thin. Their mouths opened and closed, but no words emerged. Not even broken syllables. Just void.
The Hollow.
They turned toward him in unison, as though sensing his presence. The spiral quivered behind him, dimmer now, shrinking.
He tried to move but his limbs felt heavy and restrained. The Hollow advanced, their steps soundless but synchronized, their eyes black and unblinking.
One reached forward. Its hand pressed against his throat. Coldness seeped into him, a draining pressure that pulled at his very breath. His chest convulsed as though his voice — his self — was being pulled out through the hollowed fingers.
Panic flared. He struggled, his hands clawing at the figure's arm, but its grip tightened. The others surrounded him, their mouths gaping wider, wider, until they were nothing but openings into dark emptiness.
And through the spiral's dying light, the silence spoke again.
Fight them, or you will vanish too.
Eliah jerked awake, choking on air. His room was cold, sweat dampening his shirt. His notebook lay open in front of him. But something was different.
The spiral he had drawn earlier… had changed.
Lines had shifted overnight, bending into a more intricate form, one he hadn't drawn.
A message.
His breath trembled as he traced the new pattern with his finger. A warning. Or perhaps, a map.
Behind him, Ava stirred awake on the couch, where she had fallen asleep keeping watch. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and noticed his expression.
"What is it?" she signed groggily.
Eliah turned the notebook toward her. His hands shook as he signed the only word that fit.
They're here.