The carriage groaned as we wound down the serpentine road from High Ardent, the jagged peaks of the Dragonspine Mountains swallowing the last bloody fingers of sunset. Mother sat rigid across from me, her golden braid coiled tight as a noose, her fingers tracing the cracked wax seal of Aunt Alyssa's letter over and over. The parchment smelled faintly of smoke and something else—something sickly sweet that made my stomach twist.
Vaelira's knee pressed against mine, warm even through the layers of wool and leather. "Stop moving," she pressed herself to me, "we are just as bored as you."
I sighed, leaning against her, "I wasn't."
She looked out the carriage window, "You were."
Outside, the pines whispered secrets to one another, their branches scraping against the carriage like bone on bone.
---
Fort Marin rose from the plains like a clenched fist of black basalt, its walls pockmarked by centuries of war. No horns announced our arrival. No guards called challenges from the battlements. Only the silver-and-rose banners stirred in the evening wind, their movements sluggish, as if even the cloth was exhausted.
"Stay close," Mother ordered as the carriage rolled to a halt, her hand finding the dagger at her belt.
The air stank of iron and wet stone. Torches guttered along the ramparts, their light barely piercing the gloom.
Commander Orryn emerged from the door, his usual booming voice reduced to a rasp. "Lady Alyssa. You made good time."
Deep grooves framed his mouth, his beard streaked with more white than I remembered. His eyes kept darting to the tree line.
Mother's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Show me."
---
The courtyard was a tomb. No clang of hammers from the smithy. No laughter from the training grounds. Just a ring of ashen-faced soldiers standing around something massive on the stones.
Then I saw it.
A stag.
Or what had once been a stag.
Its body was a ruin of twisted limbs and exposed ribs, patches of fur sloughing off like rotting parchment. One antler was sheared clean off; the other jutted skyward, crusted with blackened gore. But the worst part was its head—lolling on a broken neck, milky eyes wide and staring, its mouth frozen in a soundless scream.
Vaelira made a noise low in her throat. "Gods above."
Mother stepped forward, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "When?"
"Three nights past," Orryn said, rubbing his arms as if chilled. "Came right up to the gates at the witching hour. Didn't make a sound. Just... stood there." His throat worked. "Then it started *ramming* the doors. Like it knew we were inside."
A young soldier—barely older than me—vomited suddenly in the shadows.
"Took six arrows to bring it down," Orryn continued, ignoring the retching. "Six. And it didn't bleed. Not properly. Just this..." He nudged the carcass with his boot, revealing a gaping wound in its flank. Thick, black sludge oozed out, stinking of spoiled meat and wet earth.
I crouched, reaching out—
"Don't touch it!" Mother yanked me back so hard my teeth clacked together.
But I'd already felt it. The unnatural *cold* radiating from its flesh, deeper than winter, older than stone.
Vaelira's dagger was in her hand now. "Burn it."
Mother's face was bloodless. "You haven't burned it yet?"
Orryn shook his head, "No, we were waiting for you to arrive, so you could tell King Aerdran of this."
Mother nodded quietly, bringing me closer, her eyes staring at the carcass, "Send a letter for scholars from High Ardent. Mention me, my husband will make sure this is given importance."
Vaelira came and stood beside us, shifting her focus from the carcass to Orryn, "Are we safe?"
Commander Orryn smiled, "Don't worry, my lady. Even if a hundred of these attack, we can fend them off easily. This castle has survived attacks from hundreds and thousands of intelligent men. Brain-dead animals are no issue. Our men are strong."
Mother brought Vaelira closer and sighed, "That's good to hear. Last time I was here, Targan was only 6, good to see the defenses have only improved."
Orryn lowered his head, "It's only because of His Grace's help, Your Majesty."
"We are tired," Mother said, "let's discuss this inside."
Orryn nodded, "Of course." He turned around and signalled the guards to move aside, so we could get in.
The great hall smelled of smoke and sour wine. Orryn served us himself, I didn't drink wine, so he gave me some hot soup.
"It's not the first," he admitted, staring into his drink. "Farmers north of here have been reporting things in the woods for months. Wolves with no eyes. Bears missing half their bodies. All moving. All... wrong."
Vaelira leaned forward, her braid slipping over one shoulder. "And the bodies?"
Orryn's cup hit the table with a thud. "They don't rot. Don't bloat. Just lie there, cold as mountain rock, staring at nothing." He lowered his voice. "And sometimes... sometimes they're *gone* come morning."
Mother's nails dug into the table. "Why are the Holloweds showing up more frequently now? Ever since that Hollowed showed up six months ago, the first in a year, the numbers of encounter have increased drastically. Just like that time twelve years ago."
I looked at Mother, dying to know what these "Hollowed" were, "What are the Hollowed?" I asked.
Mother sighed, "They are creatures. Of Dark and Evil, their origin is ancient, the Norwyns used to use them, much like how the Caelyn control animals. They've been present before the Norwyns, even before civilizations were given a name. They can be created through magic, they are born from impurity, evil. Some say they are the work of a god."
"A god, huh...." I looked down at my soup, it wasn't tasty, it wasn't supposed to be, a Fort isn't exactly supposed to have tasty food, "What happened twelve years ago?"
Vaelira broke her silence, "The Hollowed rose in number, just like this time. Forces were deployed to kill the Hollowed, and cautions were taken to burn every dead body, so they don't turn Hollowed. I was 5 when it happened, I don't remember much."
"People died. Although it's not something that's never happened before, it's an eternal war. They appeared in thousands. Fort Marin itself, defended hundreds of people, it's one of the safest places to be at such times, the men here know how to fight the Hollowed."
"They say the older a Hollowed is, the more human they seem, until you look into their eyes." Vaelira said, dramatically looking into my eyes.
"I am sure you don't wish to be stranded here, Your Majesty. In a scenario that the numbers increase like we expect, travel won't be safe. You should depart tomorrow for Veron Valley, and I'd say you should depart within 2-3 days from there, incase you don't wish to be stranded there." Orryn said from his table.
Mother nodded, "Yes, we intended to depart the next morning either way." She looked at me and Vaelira, "You two, go with a maiden to your chambers. Stay together, don't leave the side of your sister, Targan. No matter what, stay quiet at night. Rest, we are gonna need it."
The room they gave us was small, the stone walls pressing close in the flickering torchlight. A single bed dominated the space—large enough for two, though Vaelira had scoffed when she saw it.
"For warmth," she'd said, as if daring me to argue.
Now, lying beside her in the dark, I could feel the heat of her body even through the layers of wool and fur. Her breathing was slow, steady. Asleep.
Outside, the wind howled through the battlements, carrying with it the occasional shout of a guard or the creak of iron hinges. The fort was quiet. Too quiet.
I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come.
----------------------------------------------------------
It was midnight, the crickets were chirping, the sound of maidens finishing their work was heard.
Then—
A sound.
Not the wind. Not the stones settling.
Something else.
*Scratching.*
My eyes flew open.
The noise came again—a slow, deliberate drag of something sharp against the outer wall. Not at the door.
*At the window.*
I held my breath, listening.
*Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.*
Like claws on stone.
Vaelira stirred beside me, her hand twitching toward the dagger under her pillow.
"Did you hear—?" I whispered.
She clamped her hand over my mouth, her violet eyes wide in the dark. *"Shhh."*
We lay frozen, the silence between us thick as smoke.
Then—
*Thud.*
Something heavy hit the wall just below the window.
Vaelira was on her feet in an instant, her dagger glinting in the faint moonlight. I scrambled up after her, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The scratching stopped.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then—
A shadow moved outside the window.
Slow. Deliberate.
*Watching.*
It was a stag.
Or what had once been a stag.
Its head filled the narrow window, its milky eyes unblinking, its broken antlers scraping against the stone as it tilted its skull to peer inside. Its muzzle hung slack, revealing yellowed teeth too long for its jaw.
It didn't breathe.
It didn't move.
It just *stared.*
Vaelira's grip on her dagger was white-knuckled. "Don't. Move."
The stag's nostrils flared, as if scenting us. Then, with a jerk, its head twisted—too far, too *wrong*—and it pressed its ruined muzzle against the glass.
Black sludge oozed from its nostrils, streaking the window in thick, glistening trails.
*Thud.*
It rammed its skull against the wall.
*Thud.*
Again.
*THUD.*
The glass rattled in its frame.
Vaelira shoved me behind her, her dagger raised. "Get ready to run."
Then—
A shout from the courtyard below.
"Hollowed at the gates!",
The stag's head snapped toward the noise. For a moment, it lingered, its dead eyes flicking back to us.
Then it was gone.
We didn't leave the room.
We didn't need to.
From the window, we watched as the fort's soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, their arrows finding their marks with cold precision. The Hollowed came—stags, wolves, a bear with its jaw hanging by sinew—but they fell just as quickly, their bodies piling up outside the gates.
No screams. No panic.
Just the steady *thrum* of bowstrings and the occasional grunt of effort as a soldier drove a spear through a twitching skull.
Vaelira let out a slow breath. "They've done this before."
I nodded, my fingers gripping the windowsill until my knuckles ached.
The stag didn't return.
By dawn, the courtyard was empty, the Hollowed corpses dragged away to be burned. The only sign of the night's terror was the black smear still streaking our window.
And the feeling—the certainty—that something had been testing the fort.
Testing us.
---
Commander Orryn met us at breakfast, his face unreadable. "You'll leave for Veron Valley today."
Mother didn't argue. "And the Hollowed?"
Orryn shrugged. "Gone. For now." His gaze flicked to the window, to the stain no one had yet scrubbed away. "But they'll be back."