The ruin shook as the shadow-Vestige consumed him.
Sané's body writhed, his limbs flailing, his chest torn wide as tendrils of living darkness sank into his veins. The others gasped, some in awe, some in revulsion. They had been chosen by blades, spears, serpents, relics. Sané had been chosen by something older — something for which even the other Vestiges dimmed.
His hollow did not break.
It answered.
The emptiness that had cursed him all his life yawned open, no longer void but vessel. The shadow poured into it, filled it, completed it.
Sané's scream cut the silence. It was not human, not beast. It was both, layered upon one another until the ruin itself shuddered. His spine arched, his bones cracked like branches, his skin split with crimson light that burned from within.
When the light dimmed, he stood transformed.
His eyes glowed red — not the red of fire, but of blood under moonlight. Twin crimson orbs that pulsed faintly, as though veins ran through the very whites. His hair, once matted black, now spilled in strands of deep violet, catching the ruin's light with unnatural sheen.
Veins of shadow coiled faintly beneath his skin, moving as though alive. His frame, once thin and broken, now bore sharpness, muscle taut and wiry, his every motion carrying strength he did not yet understand.
But more than his flesh, it was his presence. The air around him sank heavy, as though the ruin bowed under his weight. Even the other newly-chosen Hollowborn stepped back, their breaths caught, their Vestiges shivering faintly as if unwilling to near him.
Number 10's whisper carried across the chamber:
"…It has been a long time since a shadow chose."
---
The trial ended.
The Hollowborn, each claimed, each remade, gathered under 10's command. They bore wounds from their transformations, but the ruin itself nourished them. Sané walked among them, yet apart — his crimson gaze marking him different.
They returned through the wormhole, back to the obsidian halls of the base. There, for the first time, Sané saw it fully.
The Hollowborn had built not a city, but a fortress.
Walls of black stone pulsed faintly with aura, etched with veins of crimson script. The air was heavy with the scent of iron, smoke, and blood. Torches burned blue along the corridors, casting shadows that twisted unnaturally.
And everywhere, masked figures.
Some sparred with monstrous grace, their movements blurring faster than thought. Some knelt in meditation before strange altars of bone. Some simply watched, their masks gleaming in silence.
The children were led to a great hall — vast, cavernous, its ceiling lost in shadow. At its center lay an altar carved of obsidian, upon which rested rows of masks.
Number 10 stood before them. Her voice was quiet, but carried to every corner.
"You are Hollowborn no longer. The world cast you aside, but here, you are named. Here, you are given purpose. Here, you rise."
She gestured to the masks.
"These are not ornaments. They are your faces. Your names. Your ranks. They will never be removed. They will be carved into your souls."
One by one, the children stepped forward.
The first, claimed by the bone-blade, received Mask 121. His mask was white, the numbers etched in fresh black. He trembled as it fused to his face, searing his flesh, yet when it settled, his eyes burned with pride.
Another followed. 122. Then 123. Each number higher, each mask sealing their new identities.
The ceremony was brutal, but it was belonging. For children who had been nothing, every digit was recognition.
Sané waited. His chest pounded. His mind reeled. He did not understand why the shadow had chosen him, why his body burned with power that felt alien. He feared, he doubted, but more than both, he hungered.
At last, it was his turn.
Number 10 regarded him for a long moment. The hall fell silent. The other Hollowborn, even the masked veterans watching from the shadows, seemed to lean closer.
"The shadow has spoken," she said. "And so you are not like the rest. You will not take a number above. You will take what the shadow has given."
Her hand reached into the altar and drew a mask unlike the others. Not white, not black. It was deep gray, veins of faint crimson coursing through it like living blood. Across its surface, the digits burned into place: 99.
The hall stirred. Whispers spread.
A double digit.
A place within the true order.
Number 10 raised it high.
"From this moment, you are no longer Sané. You are Ninety-Nine."
The mask pressed to his face. It burned like fire, searing into skin, into bone, into spirit. He screamed, clutching at his skull, but he did not fall. He endured. The crimson in his eyes flared, his hair whipped like flame, and the shadow inside him laughed — it sound only he could hear.
When the fire faded, the mask was one with him. Not worn, but fused.
He breathed.
And the hall exhaled with him.
The other Hollowborn stared, some in envy, some in awe. For though his number was high, though he was no red mask, the weight of him pressed down like a truth they could not deny.
99.
---
The ceremony ended with feast — not of food, but of power. The children, now numbered, were welcomed by those who had come before them. Masked figures clasped their shoulders, offered words harsh yet proud:
"You endured."
"You are one of us now."
"Do not shame your number."
Sané moved among them as though in a dream. Every step felt unreal. Every breath carried weight. He had lived fifteen years as nothing, as Hollowborn trash. Now the mask fused to his face bore proof undeniable: he belonged to something greater, darker, and stronger than the families who had cast him aside.
Yet disbelief gnawed at him. He looked at his hands, at the crimson glow faint in his veins, at the violet hair that brushed his shoulders. He touched the mask, feeling its ridges, the carved 99 etched deep.
Is this truly me?
But even as doubt whispered, the shadow within him whispered louder.
Yes.
And though he trembled, though his heart raged against belief, Sané — Ninety-Nine — could not escape the truth.
He was strong.
For the first time in his life, he was strong.
---
TO BE CONTINUED...