The silence that followed was not stillness.
It had weight, shape, and pulse. It stretched like a living lung across the cavern, pressing into fissures and corners, into marrow and breath. The air was no longer empty; it was inhabited, thick with a vastness that could not be seen but that refused to be ignored. It clung to the skin, seeped into bones, and demanded to be carried in every inhale. It was not the silence of rest, nor of peace. It was silence sharpened into substance, silence that lived and breathed, silence that pressed its claim over all things within reach. And at its core was a heartbeat, steady, relentless, but not singular. It no longer belonged only to him. It was older, deeper, immeasurable the Hollow itself. In that moment, the Hollow crowned its vessel.
He rose.
