The night fell heavy over the Academy, clouds swallowing the moon until the courtyard lay in darkness. Only the torches along the walls flickered weakly, their flames straining against a wind that seemed to come from nowhere.
Alaric couldn't sleep. The whispers in his head pressed closer tonight, curling like smoke around his ears. They weren't Rudra's voice, nor Kenive's. These were older, hungrier.
"…Hunger… hunger…"
"…More souls… more…"
He sat up in bed, sweat cold against his skin.
Moments later, the bell rang through the halls — sharp, frantic, alarm.
Clem burst into his room, her hair loose, her eyes wide. "Alaric — the Hollow Ones. They've broken through the wards."
They ran. The corridor was alive with chaos: students scrambling, professors shouting incantations, the air thick with fear. But the true horror waited in the east wing.
Alaric and Clem arrived just in time to see them — Hollow Ones, faceless figures of shadow, their limbs too long, their bodies flickering like smoke given shape. They moved soundlessly, gliding across the stone floor.
Three students had already fallen. Their bodies were still, eyes wide but glassy, their mouths frozen in silent screams. Their skin was pale as bone. Above them, the Hollow Ones floated, clutching something — faint wisps of silver light.
Souls.
The shadows bent low, drawing the lights into themselves. And as the last flicker vanished, the students' bodies collapsed like empty shells. Dead.
A scream tore through the hall.
Clem froze, her dagger shaking in her hand. Alaric's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He had seen Hollow Ones before, but never this close, never feeding.
"Alaric—" Clem's voice cracked, "they're taking their souls."
He staggered forward, his hand clutching the amber stone. The Hollow Ones turned, their faceless heads tilting, and the whispers rose louder in his skull.
"…Our king… bow, our king…"
The nearest Hollow One dropped the soul it had been devouring and dropped to one knee before him. The others followed.
Students screamed, backing away. Professors shouted spells — but none landed. The Hollow Ones ignored all others, their bowed heads fixed on Alaric.
"Why are they doing that?" Clem hissed, her grip on his arm trembling.
Alaric shook his head, panic burning his chest. "I don't know. I don't want this."
The professors rushed forward, their faces pale with fury and fear. At their head was Professor Corval. His robes were rumpled, his eyes wild, but his lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Stand back," he barked, though his voice carried no fear. "Do not touch them."
The Hollow Ones didn't move. They simply knelt before Alaric, their faceless forms trembling as though awaiting command.
Corval's gaze flicked between Alaric and the shadows, and his smile deepened. "Fascinating," he whispered. "So it's true. They recognize him."
Alaric felt Clem's grip tighten. She leaned close, her words a whisper only for him. "It's him. Corval. He's too calm. Too interested. He knows more than he should."
Alaric swallowed hard. His mind screamed with the horror of the soulless bodies, the bowing Hollow Ones, and now the professor's strange fascination.
Finally, Eldrin arrived, his staff blazing with silver light. "Enough!" His voice thundered, filling the hall.
The Hollow Ones hissed, shuddered, then melted back into smoke, vanishing into the cracks of the walls. Only the bodies remained, still and lifeless, their souls gone forever.
Silence followed. The students clung to each other, sobbing.
Eldrin's eyes swept the carnage, his jaw tight. Then his gaze fell on Alaric. Not with anger. With sorrow.
"We'll speak in the morning," he said softly.
The students were herded away. The dead were covered, their bodies carried to the chapel. Alaric and Clem lingered at the edge of the hall, hearts pounding.
Corval crouched near the spot where the Hollow Ones had vanished. His fingers traced the cracks in the stone, his eyes gleaming with something like hunger. He murmured to himself, words too low to catch.
Clem tugged Alaric's sleeve. "Did you see that?"
"I did," Alaric whispered back.
"He didn't fear them. Not at all. He welcomed them."
Alaric's stomach twisted. "He knows something."
Rudra's voice stirred in his mind, dark and steady. "Your suspicion is not misplaced. That man studies shadows not for knowledge — but for kinship. Be wary of him, Alaric. His heart leans toward the abyss."
Alaric's hands trembled. Clem caught them, grounding him. "We watch him. We don't accuse him yet. But we watch."
They left the hall together, though the memory of the Hollow Ones lingered in their minds. The sight of the children's bodies — empty shells, lifeless eyes — etched itself into Alaric's soul.
And in the silence of the night, the whispers pressed closer than ever.
"…More… bring more… our king will rise…"