The Academy was quiet the next morning — too quiet. The laughter that usually drifted through the halls was gone. Students walked in silence, their heads down, their eyes flicking nervously at every shadow. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, masking the scent of death from the night before.
Alaric felt every stare that followed him. Some were filled with fear, others with suspicion. Whispers trailed behind him like a second set of footsteps.
"…He was there again, wasn't he? Standing with them."
"…The Hollow Ones bowed to him. I saw it with my own eyes."
"…What if he's the one sending them?"
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. Beside him, Clem walked close, her chin high, glaring at anyone who dared whisper too loudly.
"Let them talk," she muttered. "They don't know anything."
But her voice, steady as it was, couldn't mask the tension in her jaw.
Darvin caught up to them in the courtyard, his stride brisk, his usual grin tempered into something more serious. His bandages were gone, but the fire in his eyes was sharper than ever.
"You two look like ghosts," he said, falling into step with them. "Word is spreading faster than disease. Some kids are saying you commanded the Hollow Ones last night, Alaric."
Alaric stopped cold. "What?"
Darvin nodded grimly. "I don't believe it. But half the Academy does. And the other half is starting to wonder."
Clem swore under her breath. "It's Corval. He's feeding this. He wants people to turn on you."
Darvin folded his arms. "Then we prove him wrong. We find out what he's really up to."
Alaric wanted to agree, but his body ached, his thoughts were foggy. He reached for the amber stone in his pocket — only to feel silence. No thrum of power, no low murmur of Rudra's voice.
For the first time since the spirit had awakened, he felt utterly alone.
"Rudra's… gone quiet," he admitted softly. "Like he's sleeping. I can't feel him."
Clem's expression darkened. "That's not good."
Darvin placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder, steady and firm. "Then you've got us. Three heads against one shadow-crazed professor. We'll manage."
That night, the horror deepened.
The bells rang again — this time from the northern wing. By the time Alaric, Clem, and Darvin arrived, the Hollow Ones had already vanished, leaving carnage in their wake.
Four more students lay on the floor, their bodies pale and still. But this time, one was not entirely gone.
A boy named Rynn, known for his quick wit and endless chatter, lay trembling, his eyes wide and glassy. His lips moved soundlessly, forming words no one could understand. His skin was cold, his veins faintly blackened, as if the Hollow Ones had stolen only part of him.
When Alaric knelt beside him, Rynn's gaze snapped to him — and the boy screamed.
"No! Don't take it! Don't take the rest!" His voice was raw, desperate.
Alaric reeled back, his stomach twisting. Around them, the other students stared, whispers rising again.
"…He's half-soulless because of Alaric…"
"…Why is Alaric always here first?"
"…Maybe he's calling them. Maybe he's testing us."
Eldrin arrived with several professors, pushing through the terrified crowd. He crouched beside Rynn, murmuring incantations, but even the Headmaster's power couldn't restore what had been lost.
"His soul is fractured," Eldrin said grimly. "He may live… but not as he was."
The weight of those words settled over everyone. Eyes turned toward Alaric again, sharper this time, filled with fear.
Darvin stepped forward, his voice loud and firm. "Enough! He's not the one doing this. If you've got doubts, keep them to yourselves instead of spreading filth!"
The students recoiled under his glare, but the rumors were already too deep.
Alaric's chest ached. Every time the Hollow Ones struck, he was there. Every time, they bowed. And now, without Rudra's voice to guide him, he felt like the very walls were closing in.
That night, he dreamed.
He stood in a vast black plain, the air thick with smoke. All around him, the Hollow Ones moved in silence, carrying wisps of silver light in their hands. Souls. The same silver light he had seen ripped from the students.
They moved toward a throne of bone and shadow. Upon it sat a figure half-formed, its body a storm of smoke and flesh, its eyes burning with red fire.
Eryndor.
The Hollow Ones lifted the souls high, pouring them into the figure's chest. Each one made it more solid, more real. The hollow body was filling, piece by piece.
Alaric tried to move, to scream, but his feet were rooted to the ground. The Hollow Ones turned toward him, faceless heads bowing.
"For you, our king. For your return."
He woke with a strangled cry, his sheets drenched in sweat, his heart pounding.
Clem was at his side instantly, shaking his shoulder. "Another dream?"
He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
"He is being revived from the souls" Alaric murmured.
Darvin sat at the edge of the bed, his expression grim. "Then it's true. They're using the souls to bring him back."
Alaric buried his face in his hands. "And everyone thinks it's me."
Clem's voice was fierce, steady. "Then we'll find proof it's not. We'll find who's behind this."
Darvin's grin flickered back, sharp and determined. "Three against the darkness. That's better odds than none."
Alaric lifted his head slowly, meeting their eyes. For the first time, he didn't feel entirely alone.
But the whispers outside the dorms told another story.
"…The Hollow Ones bow to him…"
"…He's feeding them…"
"…Alaric is the Hollow King reborn."
And deep within the shadows of the Academy, the Hollow Ones waited — patient, hungry, carrying their stolen light toward the throne where their king would rise again.