The Hollow bled silver.
At first, it was no more than a whisper a fragile shimmer threading itself through eternity's fractures, weaving into the marrow of silence like a rumor too dangerous to speak aloud. It clung to the broken air, faint and trembling, yet so insistent that even the void seemed to pause and listen. The shimmer did not roar, did not demand it lingered, soft as breath, delicate as a candle flame, but impossible to ignore. It was almost imperceptible amid the cacophony of storm, flame, frost, and betrayal that had already torn the chamber apart, yet despite its subtlety, it did not fade. No, it thickened, as though memory itself had been waiting, buried deep, patient and merciless, until the Hollow cracked wide enough to let it slip free.
