Aeren followed the ash-strewn path, every step echoing against the fractured stones like a heartbeat. The floating palaces in the distance glimmered faintly, as if reluctant to reveal themselves to the world. The closer he walked, the heavier the air became—dense with magic, with history, with memory that was not his own.
Lysara floated beside him, shadows draping her like a cloak, moving with a grace that defied gravity. She said nothing for long stretches, allowing Aeren to wrestle with the strange sensation in his chest—the ache of something missing, the whisper of memories he could not place, and the faint pulse of power thrumming in his veins.
At last, she spoke.
"Before we proceed, you must understand the Hollow Seas," she said, her voice cutting through the wind like a blade. "It is no ordinary ocean. It does not reflect the present. It reflects the forgotten—the futures that never were, the pasts erased, the souls that have been lost. And it tests everyone who dares to cross it."
Aeren squinted at the horizon. The sea lay below, a shimmering expanse of silver and black, its surface flickering as though it were alive. He saw shapes moving beneath the waves—figures indistinct yet familiar. Faces he thought he might have known. Voices whispered in the wind, crying out in languages he could almost comprehend.
"Why… why does it show this?" he asked, unease tightening around his heart.
"Because," Lysara said, eyes narrowing, "those who cross the Hollow Seas must face themselves. Not the you that is, but the you that could have been, and the you that might still be lost forever."
Aeren's hand flared instinctively. Sparks of ash rose from the ground, forming tiny, intricate runes in the air. He had no idea what they meant—yet they seemed to pulse with his intent. Each step toward the seas felt heavier, as though the world itself resisted him.
They reached a cliff overlooking the waters. The wind howled through broken arches of stone, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and sorrow. Aeren leaned over the edge. The Hollow Seas churned and twisted, reflecting not the sky, but memories he did not remember living.
"Do you see them?" Lysara asked.
Aeren nodded, though his stomach twisted. He saw a boy clutching a broken sword, a woman laughing and crying at the same time, a man kneeling in despair beside an invisible grave. None of them were alive—yet none were gone.
"They are echoes," Lysara said softly, almost reverently. "Cinder Echoes. Remnants of what was lost. They exist because someone, somewhere, once remembered them. But memory fades… and they risk being erased forever."
The sea pulsed, and suddenly the echoes rippled, forming a path of silver light across the waves. Lysara's gaze sharpened. "We must cross. But beware—those who step on the path must confront what they fear most. The Hollow Seas do not forgive hesitation."
Aeren swallowed hard. Fear gripped him, a cold and biting sensation that made his fingers tremble. Yet beneath it, determination burned. He lifted his glowing hand, sparks scattering across the cliff like fireflies, and took the first step.
The moment his foot touched the silver path, the air changed. The wind ceased, replaced by a thick silence that pressed against his chest. Images flashed across his mind: a city crumbling, a hand reaching for him and vanishing, laughter that turned to screams. He staggered but forced himself forward.
"Remember," Lysara said from the cliff, her shadow twisting and flowing like liquid night, "every step costs something. You may lose your courage, your memories… even your very sense of self. Keep moving, or be claimed."
Aeren forced his next step, then another. The echoes in the water reacted, shifting to meet him, forming shapes of people he did not recognize yet instinctively feared or loved. Each encounter drained a fragment of his being—flickers of identity he could not name vanished, leaving behind hollow certainty that he must continue.
A scream split the air. One of the echoes—a girl with eyes like fire—lunged toward him. Aeren instinctively raised his hand. Sparks of ash shot out, colliding with her form. She dissipated into silver mist, and Aeren stumbled, heart hammering.
"She tests you," Lysara said quietly. "The sea always tests the ash-touched first."
Hours—or perhaps minutes—passed. Time behaved strangely here. For every step he took, Aeren felt both older and younger, heavier and lighter, simultaneously. He began to understand: the Hollow Seas were not merely an obstacle—they were a mirror, reflecting not who he was, but what he might become, and what the world might lose if he failed.
Finally, they reached the other side. The silver path ended abruptly, dissolving into mist. The water below churned angrily, sending waves that seemed to claw at the stones. Aeren fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
Lysara extended a hand, helping him up. "You survived the first trial. Few ever do. But the seas are only the beginning. The world beyond is far more dangerous, and far more… alive."
Aeren looked toward the horizon. Floating palaces glimmered faintly, shadows moving across their surfaces. Somewhere within them, he knew, lay the answers—and the enemies.
"I… I understand," he said, voice hoarse. "I will learn. I will fight. I will not be erased."
Lysara smiled faintly. "Good. You must hold onto that. Because soon… everyone will try to erase you. And even the memories you fight to protect may turn against you."
The wind picked up again, carrying ash and distant laughter. Somewhere far above, the sky twisted into streaks of violet and silver, and Aeren felt the first true weight of destiny settle on his shoulders.
He had crossed the Hollow Seas. But the journey had only begun.
Chapter 2 End Hook:
In the distance, a shadow rose over one of the floating kingdoms—a figure cloaked in black and gold, watching. The Eternal Empress Seraphae. And her smile hinted that she had been waiting for him all along.