They ran until their lungs burned and the cathedral's pillars were only a memory carved into their backs. The doors slammed shut behind them with a sound like a locked jaw. For a long time none of them spoke.
Kael felt hollow in a way that went deeper than the memory he'd given. It was a thin, cold space under his ribs, like someone had scooped out a little of him and wrapped the gap in paper. He kept his hand on the Key because it was the only thing that felt real.
Riven stamped at his boots, trying to clear the slick of the cathedral from his soles. "So," he panted, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "we survive the fancy church and get a souvenir. What's the shop called? Debt & Gifts?" He tried to laugh but it came out short.
Seren didn't laugh. She crouched in the shadow of a broken arch and pulled a scrap free. Her handwriting was small and quick as always, but her hand was shaking. She pushed the scrap at Kael: Listen. They marked us. Keep quiet. Don't draw it more.
He read it twice. The scraping of the letters felt loud in his head. Marked. The word settled like a stone.
The corridor they had fled into was narrower. The torchlight showed damp in streaks down the walls. Names were carved into the stone here too, but thinner, as if someone had started them and then thought better of it. The Ledger always found a place to write.
The system, dull and steady as a wound, wrote itself in Kael's head:
[Status Update] Trio: In Debt to the Cathedral Marks: Active Ledger Interest: Increased
Kael tasted metal. The Compass at his chest spun once and then found its useless calm. He could feel the glow now, not in his eyes but under his skin. When he closed his hand over his shirt he could almost feel it — the carved letters from the wall seeping into him.
Riven kicked a loose stone. "Great. That's just great. I always wanted to be famous for owing something." He tried to spit the joke out and it broke on the stone of his throat.
Seren wrote, shoved another scrap at him: Not fame. Target. She tapped the paper on his chest like a warning.
They moved as a small unit: Riven in front, blade loose at his hip; Kael in the middle, hand circling the Key; Seren like a shadow at their backs, eyes scanning, pencil ready. The corridor opened into a low room with a single pool of dark water at its center. The surface was still, too still. The air tasted like old ink.
Kael stared at his reflection in the dark water. The face was his, but the eyes looked tired in an old way. When he blinked his reflection blinked too, but there was a hang to it. The carved name in the Ledger felt like a hand on his collar.
He touched the water with one finger. The ripple spread slow, and for the briefest second the reflection smiled wrong, as if it had read his name already and decided it liked it.
Riven snorted. "If my face gets famous, I want it on a wanted poster. 'Reward: One big punch.'" He jabbed the water with his toe and it didn't move. "What, is that reflection stuck in traffic?"
Seren pressed a scrap into Kael's hand: Don't look long. She pointed at the water and then tapped her throat: Words cost more here.
He pulled his finger back and took a breath that felt like glass.
They walked on. Not long after, a thin man stepped from behind a column. He had a ledger of his own — a worn book tied with string. He watched them with eyes like coin slits. When he spoke his voice was dry.
"You three left the Cathedral hot," he said. "Word travels. Be careful who you meet." He flipped his book open like a shield and the pages rustled. "Marks stick. People watch marks." He tapped the book. "Some like that sort of thing."
Kael said nothing. He did not want more words to meet the marks, to give them weight. Seren wrote one quick note and shoved it at the man: Who are you? She didn't like names in the open, but she wanted to know who watched them.
The man smiled like a cracked coin. "A walker. Like you. I collect tales." He closed the book with a soft thud. "Tales pay. Sometimes." He slipped back into the gloom like he was part of the stone.
Riven muttered, "Collectors. Huh. Great. Now we've got fans." He tried to scoff, but his hand trembled just a touch.
They found a place to sit, a half-collapsed bench that might once have been part of a throne. Seren spread her scraps and began to write faster than before, piling notes into neat stacks. She tore one in half and burned the pieces carefully, watching the ash drift. Every act felt like it had to be small and careful now; large gestures invited the Ledger's ink.
Kael tried to remember the memory the altar had taken. He searched the empty places in his mind like someone picking pockets — small motions, fingers in the dark. Nothing came. A shape. Rain. A street. But it blurred like a smear when he reached for it. He pressed his thumb into his palm until the skin went white.
The system whispered another note, colder this time:
[Mark Intensifies] Kael: Hollow mark brightens. Riven: Shadow burden deepens. Seren: Silence strain noted.
Kael could feel it. Riven's shadow seemed to pull at his steps more than before, like a hand glued to his calf. Seren's pencil squeaked as her hand trembled — she nearly missed a letter. The silence felt heavier around her as if a cloth had been laid over sound.
Riven tried to joke and it fell flat. "We'll just… get stronger. Or drunk. One of those." He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, trying to busy his hands.
Seren shoved a scrap at him: Less talk. Fix things. She pointed at his arm where the shadow clung and then at the Key. Help.
Kael felt the weight of the Key like a promise and a threat. He could use it to buy breath, to pull the tide and push the stone. But every bend spread cost. Every fix poured Echo out like warm water.
He looked at his friends. Riven's jaw was clenched, but his eyes were steady. Seren's hand shook but her notes were clean and sharp. They had each other in a place that wanted to write them down and lock them in.
The corridor beyond them hummed faint, and the sure, patient sound grew like a memory.
BOOOONG.
The gong rolled through the stone and settled in Kael's bones. It sounded like a comma in a long sentence — not the end, just another line to come.
They rose together. Kael tucked Seren's scraps into his cloak, feeling the paper edges like teeth. They would move. They would try to hide the glow where they could. But the Ledger had marked them, and that mark would pull at the world until it was paid.
They left the bench and walked on, the Key cold and small in Kael's fist, the word Hollow bright in the dark.