The Academy's halls were quiet that night, but not with the silence of peace. It was the silence of something watching. Something waiting.
Alaric sat in the training hall, his back against the cold stone wall, the amber stone clutched tightly in his hand. Clem and Darvin were asleep nearby — or at least, they had tried to sleep. Rest was nearly impossible these days, not with the funerals, the whispers, the ever-present dread.
Alaric stared at the stone, wishing Rudra's voice would return. Wishing for guidance. For anything.
Instead, the world around him shifted.
The torches flickered out. The air grew colder. And then the shadows began to move.
He rose quickly, heart pounding, but Clem and Darvin didn't stir. Their forms were hazy, blurred, as though he stood in a dream.
From the shadows, a voice slithered, low and smooth.
"…Poor Alaric. Always watched. Always blamed. Even by those closest to you."
Alaric turned sharply, his fists clenched. "Show yourself."
The shadows swirled, shaping into a towering figure on a throne of bone and smoke. His face was half-formed, shifting between flesh and void, but his eyes burned bright crimson.
Eryndor.
Alaric's breath caught. "Stay out of my head."
The Hollow King's smile was slow, cruel. "Your head is the doorway. You left it open when you touched the stone. I need not force my way in — you invited me."
Behind him, the blurred shapes of Clem and Darvin sharpened. They stood frozen, their eyes glassy, their faces pale.
Eryndor leaned forward, his crimson gaze piercing. "You think they believe in you. You think they will stand by you. But faith falters. Watch."
Clem's lips parted. Her voice was soft, almost broken. "You scare me, Alaric… Every time they bow to you, I wonder if they see something I don't."
Alaric shook his head. "No. That's not Clem. That's not her voice."
Darvin's voice cut next, sharp and heavy with bitterness. "I almost died for you. And for what? To protect someone who might already belong to him?"
Alaric staggered back. "Stop! That's not real!"
Eryndor's laughter filled the hall, deep and resonant. "Not real? These are their thoughts, buried deep. I merely bring them to the surface. Do you think they have never wondered? Never doubted?"
The blurred versions of Clem and Darvin stepped closer, their faces twisted with pain.
"Why do you keep secrets from us?" Clem whispered. "Why didn't you tell me about the dreams sooner? About the way they bow?"
"Why do you always play the victim?" Darvin snarled. "Why do we have to hold you up, when you're the one dragging us down?"
Alaric clutched his head, his breath ragged. The whispers swirled in his ears, louder, sharper, impossible to shut out.
Eryndor rose from his throne, his towering form blotting out the dim light. "You cannot hold them. Already, the cracks show. Sooner or later, they will leave you. And when they do, you will see that only I remain. Only I understand you. Only I can make you whole."
The shadows surged, swallowing Clem and Darvin. Their screams echoed as they vanished into the dark.
"NO!" Alaric shouted, his voice tearing from his chest. He reached out, but his hands grasped only smoke.
He fell to his knees, the weight of despair crushing him. His chest burned, the amber stone searing hot against his skin.
And then — faint, like a whisper through water — came another voice.
"Not true… not theirs… fight it."
Rudra.
For the first time in weeks, the spirit stirred, his presence faint but fierce.
Alaric gasped, clutching the stone tighter. "Rudra—"
"Do not listen. Eryndor feeds on doubt. He cannot create it, only twist what already exists. And you, boy… you let fear in. Push it out. Remember who you are. Remember who they are."
The shadows around him wavered. The blurred figures of Clem and Darvin flickered, their twisted words fading.
Eryndor's crimson eyes narrowed. "You cannot fight me forever. They will break. And when they do, you will crawl to me on your knees."
Alaric rose shakily to his feet, his voice trembling but resolute. "I'd rather crawl through fire than bow to you."
He lifted the stone, and light burst outward — golden and black intertwined, unstable but strong. The shadows shrieked, tearing apart. Eryndor's form dissolved into smoke, his laughter echoing even as he vanished.
The world snapped back.
Alaric stood in the training hall, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged. Clem stirred awake in her chair, blinking at him. Darvin grumbled, half-asleep, rolling over.
Both were exactly as they had been.
Alaric's hands shook as he sank to the floor, clutching the stone.
He didn't tell them what he had seen. Not yet. But the echo of Eryndor's words lingered in his chest, heavy and poisonous.
Because deep down, a small part of him wondered: what if the Hollow King was right?