The Silver Heir
Chapter Six: The Hollowing
The village bell still tolled when Pearl staggered from her bed, her body aching with the weight of silver scars. Her mother was already at the door, clutching a lantern, lips moving in frantic prayers. Mareth pulled on his cloak, his axe already in his hand.
The bell's cry was desperate, frantic. Another child was gone.
Pearl's chest seized. The taste of ash still lingered on her tongue from the night before, the memory of burning the boy alive carved into her bones. Now Kaelith had stolen again.
This wasn't random. It was deliberate.
He was forcing her hand.
The villagers crowded the square, their faces pale, their voices ragged with fear. They surrounded the weeping mother of the new victim. Her daughter's bed had been found empty, sheets cold, window shattered.
"They take them through the dark!" a man shouted, spit flying from his mouth. "We cannot stay here, not while she lives among us." His hand stabbed toward Pearl, his finger shaking with rage.
"She's cursed!" another screamed. "It's her shadow they're after!"
The crowd roared, torn between grief and fury. Some wanted to drive Pearl away. Others wanted to lock her up. A few begged her to fight again, to burn whatever monsters Kaelith sent.
But none of them looked at her with trust.
Pearl stood rooted, every word a blade in her chest. Her light had saved them, but her light had also killed their child. To them, she was savior and executioner both.
Mareth raised his axe, his voice booming above the chaos. "Anyone who raises a hand against her will answer to me."
The crowd quieted, but the hatred in their eyes smoldered.
Pearl couldn't breathe. Their whispers were louder than screams. Cursed. Monster. Murderer.
And somewhere in that sea of voices, she swore she heard Kaelith laugh.
That night, Pearl sat alone by the river that cut through the fields. The water reflected the moon in fractured shards. She traced her fingers along her arms, the bandages damp from sweat. Beneath them, the faint cracks of silver still pulsed, glowing like veins of fire.
The scroll's words gnawed at her: Every spark burns the soul.
How much of herself had she already lost?
The boy's face haunted her—the way he'd begged her to end him, the way his body had gone limp after her storm. How many more would she have to burn before Kaelith was satisfied?
A cold wind swept over her. She shivered. And then she heard him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Pearl's blood ran cold. She spun.
Kaelith stood across the river. His form was tall, wrapped in a cloak of writhing shadows. His golden eyes cut through the dark like knives. He wasn't an illusion this time. He was here.
Pearl's hands flared silver instinctively, though the light sputtered weakly. Her body recoiled, screaming against more loss.
Kaelith chuckled, the sound smooth, mocking. "Ah, little heir. You wear your suffering well. Tell me—how does it feel to burn a child alive?"
"Shut up," Pearl hissed, but her voice cracked.
He tilted his head, his smile sharp. "Do you remember his scream? The way his body twisted under your light? That was your gift, Pearl. Not mine. Yours."
Her knees shook. The river's roar drowned her thoughts.
"You think yourself different from me?" Kaelith's cloak unfurled, spilling shadow across the water. "We are the same. You destroy what you touch. You feed on your own life. Every strike you make brings you closer to me."
"I'll never be like you."
His laugh echoed through the night. "You already are. You killed a child with your own hands. And when the next one begs, you'll do it again. Because you cannot resist the light. It owns you, not the other way around."
Her silver faltered, flickering out. She fell to her knees, clutching her arms.
Kaelith's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why fight what you were born to become? Come to me, little heir. I will free you from the cost. No more weakness. No more pain. Only power."
He stretched out his hand across the river. Shadows writhed around his palm, coiling like serpents.
For one heartbeat, Pearl wanted to take it.
To stop bleeding herself dry. To stop burning piece by piece. To stop killing innocents with the only weapon she had.
But then she remembered the boy's eyes. His plea. His final breath.
Pearl snarled and forced her light to burn. It tore through her veins like fire, ripping a scream from her throat. Silver flared in her hands, searing the darkness around her.
Kaelith's smile widened. "Yes. Burn."
Then he was gone, his laughter trailing into the night.
Pearl collapsed on the riverbank, shaking violently, her body hollow. She stared at her hands, blistered and cracked, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Kaelith was right about one thing.
She couldn't stop.
The next morning, the village woke to another grave. This time, there was no body to bury—only ash, smeared across the child's bed.
The villagers' grief turned to fury. Some demanded Pearl leave at once. Others begged her to hunt Kaelith's spawn.
Pearl stood silent, every eye piercing her like a dagger. She wanted to scream that she wasn't their savior, that every spark she gave was killing her. But their fear left no room for truth.
That night, Mareth barred the door against the mob. "They'll turn on us if this continues," he muttered.
"They already have," Liora whispered, clutching Pearl's hands. "They see her as the curse, not the cure."
Pearl pulled away, pacing. "Then I have to end this. I can't sit here while he takes them one by one. I won't."
"You're not ready," Mareth growled.
Pearl's laugh was hollow. "I wasn't ready when he sent the boy back to me. I wasn't ready when I burned him alive. But he keeps coming. Ready or not, I have no choice."
Her father's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Her mother's eyes filled with tears. "Pearl… if you do this, he'll break you."
Pearl turned toward the door, her silver eyes cold. "He already has."
She left the house at midnight, her body trembling with exhaustion, her veins burning with borrowed light. The forest loomed ahead, thick and silent, the air heavy with the stench of rot.
She knew Kaelith was waiting. She felt him in every shadow, in every shiver of the trees.
Pearl pressed forward, deeper and deeper, until the moon was only a faint blur behind the branches.
Then she heard it.
A child's cry.
Her heart froze.
She followed the sound, pushing through the undergrowth until she reached a clearing.
There, tied in chains of shadow, was the missing girl. Her small body trembled, her eyes wide with terror.
"Help me," she whimpered.
Pearl rushed forward—only to stop.
The chains weren't real. They were alive, twisting, writhing, whispering. When Pearl touched them, they recoiled like snakes. They weren't binding the girl. They were feeding on her.
And from the trees, Kaelith stepped forth. His eyes burned brighter than the moon.
"You came," he purred. "Good. Now choose."
Pearl's breath caught. "Choose?"
He gestured to the girl. "Save her. Burn the chains. Spend what little life you have left." His smile curved cruelly. "Or walk away. Keep your strength. Let her become mine."
The girl sobbed, struggling weakly. "Please… don't leave me."
Pearl's hands shook. The silver inside her roared for release, screaming to be used. She could already feel the cost clawing at her bones.
Kaelith leaned closer, his voice silk and poison. "Every choice you make will hollow you further. Every life you touch will break you. That is your gift, Pearl. Not salvation. Destruction."
The girl screamed.
Pearl's light flared.
And in that moment, she knew: whatever choice she made, Kaelith would win.