Chapter One – Through the Cloudskin
The moment my foot left the terrace, the world vanished in a white so thick it had weight.It clung to my skin, my lungs, my eyes. I couldn't tell if I was falling, floating, or being carried. My stomach rose into my throat like I'd stepped off the edge of a dream.
The fox was somewhere ahead — I could hear its claws scraping something solid, even though I saw nothing. The Courier's voice came from somewhere behind me, muffled as if he was speaking through layers of wool.
"Don't fight it. The cloud knows the way."
A shape loomed in the fog. Not a cliff. Not a tree. Something half-sphere and bone-colored, with windows glowing faintly from within. The clouds around it didn't drift past — they were pulled into it, curling into vents along its base.
I realized the thing wasn't sitting still. It was moving.
And we were moving with it.
Chapter Two – The Vessel Without Decks
We landed — or rather, we were set down — on something that curved away in every direction. The surface was smooth but warm, pulsing faintly under my boots, as though it were alive.
The fox shook its fur, scattering beads of cloud. "We're on it."
The Courier's face was unreadable as he studied the glowing vents below. "Not on it. In its path. It's choosing to carry us."
I crouched, touching the surface. It was like stone wrapped in thick leather, and beneath that… a rhythm. Not a heartbeat. Something older.
We walked toward the nearest glow. No rails, no edges, no sign of where the surface ended. Just the endless curve and the fog swallowing all horizon.
The glow became a hatch. It opened without sound.
Inside was a corridor with no ceiling — only cloud drifting overhead, pale light filtering down. The walls seemed grown, not built, ridged like the inside of a shell.
From far ahead, a sound began — faint at first, then rising: voices, speaking in unison, words I didn't understand.
Chapter Three – The Choir Beneath
The corridor widened into a chamber where the walls pulsed with faint blue light.Dozens of figures stood in a circle, robes made from strips of cloud that trailed and shifted with every movement. Their faces were hidden beneath wide hoods, but their voices filled the air in perfect harmony — no pauses, no breaths.
The fox's fur bristled. "They're not breathing."
The Courier stepped forward, head bowed. "Cloud-Choir," he said. "We didn't come to intrude."
The voices stopped all at once. The nearest figure lifted their head. Under the hood wasn't a face, but a swirl of vapor shaped almost like one — and inside it, faint sparks, like embers in a storm.
"You carry ash," they said. Not as a question.
I swallowed hard. "It's following us."
The figure's head tilted. "No. It's inside you."
Chapter Four – Ash Woken
The chamber grew colder, the blue light dimming until the figures were only silhouettes against the shell-like walls.
I tried to speak, but something in my chest shifted — like a knot tightening. My vision blurred at the edges, and the cold spread through my arms.
The fox backed away, tail low. "It's waking."
The Courier's voice was sharp. "Not here. Not in this place."
The hooded figures closed in. Their robes swirled, and the cloud fabric curled upward, spinning around me like a funnel. The knot in my chest burned now, hot and cold at once.
A voice that wasn't mine spoke from my mouth."You can't hold me."
The cloud spun faster, the choir's voices rising in unison — not singing now, but forcing words like a blade against stone.
The burning snapped. The cold rushed out of me in a shudder. I fell to my knees, coughing.
The lead figure stepped back. "It will wake again. Stronger each time."
The Courier helped me to my feet. "Then we keep moving before it learns how."
Chapter Five – Descent into the Hollow
We left the choir without a word, following the curve of the vessel until we found a set of narrow steps winding down into its depths.
The air grew warmer, the light dimmer, the sound of the choir fading until only the hum of the vessel remained. The steps ended at a broad archway opening into a cavern that looked carved from black glass.
In its center was a pit — wide and perfectly round — filled not with water, but with liquid shadow. It moved in slow waves, though there was no wind here.
The Courier didn't hesitate. "This is the Hollow. Whatever's below… this is the only way down."
The fox sat at the edge, staring at the black surface. "Once we step in, we won't see sky again for a long time."
I looked back the way we'd come. The cloud corridor was already fading into white, as though the vessel was swallowing its own path.
There was nowhere else to go.
We stepped into the Hollow.
Chapter Six – Beneath the Black Mirror
The instant my boots broke the surface of the Hollow, the shadow swallowed the light from above.It wasn't liquid like water. It was thicker, clinging like oil, and warm — too warm, almost fever-hot. The moment my leg sank past the knee, I felt as though the surface was gripping me.
The fox hesitated only a second before leaping after me. Its landing sent no ripples. The shadow didn't move the way a liquid should; it simply opened to let the fox through.
The Courier came last. I heard his boots enter, steady, measured, as though the temperature and strange pull meant nothing to him.
The deeper I went, the more the heat changed. It wasn't just physical — it curled into my thoughts, loosening memories I hadn't touched in years. My father's hand on my shoulder the day he left. The smell of rust and rain when I was small. My mother's voice calling my name from a far-off kitchen.
The Hollow didn't show these memories. It made me feel them, each one layered over the next until I wasn't sure where I was.
"Don't answer it," the Courier said quietly.
I blinked through the dark. "Answer what?"
He didn't reply.
Chapter Seven – Where the Hollow Leads
The first breath burned.
It wasn't air. It was something else filling my lungs, thick and tasting faintly of iron and rain. My body screamed at me to cough, but no sound came out. The darkness here wasn't blind — it had a strange depth, like standing in a black room where shapes moved just beyond reach.
A faint glow bloomed ahead. Not a light — a color, soft amber, pulsing like a heart. The Courier's silhouette moved toward it, the fox keeping close to his heel.
"What is this place?" My voice didn't echo here; it felt absorbed into the space, swallowed whole.
"This is between," the Courier said. "Not above. Not below. It's where the vessel lets go."
The glow sharpened into a doorway — tall enough for three men, carved from a smooth black stone. Around its arch ran words I couldn't read, etched so shallow they looked like ripples in still water.
The Courier stepped aside, letting me go first.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the ground shifted under my feet. The black stone gave way to soil. Real soil. Damp, smelling of moss and something sweet — like fruit left just before ripening.
We stood in a forest that stretched in every direction, trees taller than any I'd seen, their bark silver in the dim amber light filtering down from no visible sky. The air was warm, damp, and alive with the hum of unseen insects.
The fox sniffed the air, ears back. "We're not alone here."
Chapter Eight – The Silverwood
The trunks rose so high they seemed to vanish into haze. Each one bore narrow leaves the color of old copper, rustling without wind. Roots as thick as houses twisted over the ground, making the path uneven. The amber light never changed — steady, dreamlike, but with an edge that made my skin itch.
We followed a natural trail between the roots, our footsteps muffled in the thick moss. Every so often, a flicker of movement darted just at the edge of sight — something small, quick, and too fast to follow.
The Courier kept glancing up, scanning the canopy. "Silverwood is a border. Things pass through, but few live here. That means whatever's here now is either lost… or hunting."
He stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into him. Ahead, between two massive roots, a figure stood watching us.
At first I thought it was a person — tall, wrapped in tattered cloth — but when it turned its head, the movement was too smooth, and its face was featureless, pale like polished bone.
It raised one long hand and pointed deeper into the forest.
"Does that mean welcome or leave?" I whispered.
The Courier's jaw tightened. "It means follow. And we don't refuse an invitation here."
Chapter Nine – The Bone Guide
We trailed the figure for what felt like hours, deeper into the Silverwood. It never spoke, never looked back. Its movements were fluid, gliding over roots and rocks without sound. The forest around us grew denser, the trunks closer together, the moss giving way to black soil that seemed to drink in the amber light.
Finally, we emerged into a clearing.
At its center stood a pool — shallow, perfectly still, and reflecting the amber glow above like a mirror. In the middle of that pool was a single stone pillar, carved with spirals that seemed to shift if I stared too long.
The Bone Guide stopped at the pool's edge, pointing to the pillar.
The Courier nodded once, as though he understood. He stepped into the water without hesitation, the fox right behind him.
When I reached the pillar, I saw that the spirals weren't just carvings — they were words, written in a language that seemed half-familiar, like a song I'd heard long ago but forgotten.
The moment my fingers brushed the stone, the forest vanished.
Chapter Ten – The First Door Below
I stood in a vast cavern, the air cool and dry. The stone beneath my feet was smooth, worn by countless steps. The cavern stretched out before me in terraces — dozens of levels dropping away into a glowing blue depth I couldn't see the bottom of.
On each terrace stood doors. Hundreds of them. No two alike. Some wooden, some metal, some carved from bone or crystal. Some small enough for a child to crawl through, others towering like gates.
The Courier was already at my side. "This is where paths meet."
The fox paced along the nearest terrace edge, tail low. "And where they end."
The air here carried a quiet hum, as though the stone itself remembered every step taken on it. Somewhere far below, a single door began to open — slowly, deliberately.
The Courier's voice was low. "Our way down isn't chosen by us."
The door far below finished opening.
And something stepped through.
Chapter Eleven – The Thing That Came Through
From this height, whatever stepped through the far door was no bigger than my thumb. But even from here, I could feel the weight of its presence.It didn't walk. It uncoiled — a movement that suggested too many joints and not enough muscle. Pale blue light leaked from its seams, and every step it took down there sent a pulse up through the terraces like the stone itself was shuddering.
The Courier's eyes stayed locked on it."That isn't supposed to be here."
The fox's fur bristled, and for the first time since I'd met it, I heard a sound like a growl low in its throat. "It's tracking."
"Tracking what?" I asked.
The Courier didn't answer. He turned, scanning the hundreds of doors around us, as if searching for one in particular.
Behind us, the Bone Guide was gone.
Chapter Twelve – The Door That Waited
We moved fast, following the curve of the terrace. Every door we passed seemed to hum differently, like each had its own heartbeat. Some felt warm to the touch, others chilled my fingertips instantly.The Courier finally stopped at a narrow, metal-framed door with a handle of black stone. Unlike the others, it didn't hum. It was perfectly silent.
"This one's waiting," he said.
"For us?" I asked.
"For you."
The handle was cold, but when I pulled, the door swung inward without sound.On the other side wasn't a room — it was a bridge. A thin, uneven span of stone crossing over a chasm so deep it swallowed the blue glow from below. Far across, I could just make out another terrace, lit with an orange fire instead of the cold blue.
The fox went first, paws making no sound on the stone. I followed, every step sending pebbles skittering into the dark. Halfway across, I glanced back.
The thing from below was now on our terrace.
And it was moving fast.
Chapter Thirteen – Across the Span
Its approach was silent, but I could see its pale-blue light growing with each second. The way it moved wasn't human, or animal — it was a collapse and rise, collapse and rise, like a rope being thrown forward and reeling itself in.
The Courier glanced over his shoulder once, then spoke in a calm voice that made my stomach turn colder than the chasm below."Run."
The stone bridge was too narrow to sprint comfortably, but I pushed my legs harder, the fox a streak of red ahead of me. Behind, the pulses from the thing's steps hit harder, making the stone vibrate underfoot.
We made the far terrace just as the first crack split down the center of the bridge. The Courier turned and slammed the black-stone handle against the air behind us. For a second, nothing happened — then the space itself seemed to seal shut, swallowing the bridge and whatever was on it.
I was shaking. The Courier didn't look winded."That wasn't meant to touch you."
Chapter Fourteen – The Ember Hall
This terrace was warmer — much warmer. The walls glowed faintly with veins of ember-colored crystal, and the air shimmered as if from heat. Doors here were fewer, but taller, each one engraved with sunburst patterns.
In the center of the terrace stood a hall, open on all sides, its roof supported by blackened pillars. Inside, low tables were arranged in circles, and a fire burned in a shallow pit at the center.
We weren't alone.
Figures sat around the fire — not human, but humanoid. Their skin was the same ember tone as the walls, hair like strands of molten glass. Eyes bright as coals fixed on us as we entered.
One rose — tall, graceful, and wearing a mantle of gold leaf."You carry the mark of the Upper," she said, her voice like the sound of cracking firewood. "And something else."
The Courier inclined his head but didn't speak.
She studied me. "You smell of the Hollow."
I swallowed. "We came through it."
She smiled — though her teeth were too sharp."Then you have crossed once. Let us see if you can cross again."
Chapter Fifteen – The Ember Trial
They brought out a basin — wide and shallow, carved from stone so dark it drank the light. Inside, a thick liquid glowed dimly, swirling without being touched.
"You must reach the bottom," the gold-mantled woman said. "And bring back what you find."
I glanced at the Courier, but his face gave nothing away.
The liquid wasn't hot — at least, not at first touch. It was heavy, though, and resisted every movement. The deeper I reached, the more it seemed to cling to me, as though trying to pull me in.When my fingertips brushed something solid at the bottom, the liquid surged, rushing over my head.
It was like drowning in molten honey — no air, no light, only pressure and weight.
Then my hand closed on something small, smooth, and cold.
I broke the surface gasping, holding a stone no bigger than a coin, black with a single ember-red vein through its center.
The woman's eyes lit. "Then you are permitted to pass deeper."
Chapter Sixteen – The Mark of Passage
The ember-veined stone sat in my palm, heavier than its size should allow. The gold-mantled woman pressed her own palm over mine, and heat bled from her skin into the stone. The vein of red light flared once, then faded to a dull glow.
"It knows you now," she said. "It will open the door meant for you. Only for you."
The other ember-skinned figures watched without speaking, their bright eyes reflecting the fire pit's restless light. None of them moved closer, but I felt the weight of their scrutiny. The fox had settled beside the Courier, but its gaze tracked every flicker of movement in the room.
I asked the question that had been gnawing at me since we'd crossed the chasm. "What was that thing on the other terrace?"
The woman's smile faltered. "A Hallow-Stalker. They follow warmth. Breath. Thought. This one was… summoned."
"By who?"
Her gaze flicked to the Courier, then away. "If you survive the next crossing, you may ask again."
Chapter Seventeen – The Ember Door
She led us to the farthest end of the terrace where a single door stood apart from the rest. It wasn't set into stone but into a frame of cooled lava, the edges still glassy. My ember-stone pulsed once in my palm as we approached.
"You go first," the woman said. "The stone will not allow the rest of us through."
I looked at the Courier. He gave a small nod. The fox leapt up to my shoulder, its claws digging lightly into my jacket.
When I pressed the stone to the door, the surface rippled like molten metal. Heat poured through, and for an instant, I saw a different world on the other side — not the next terrace, but a place of towering spires of black glass under a crimson sky.
Then the ripple drew me in.
Chapter Eighteen – The Bridge of Cinders
We emerged on a bridge suspended between nothing and more nothing. Below, a slow river of fire wound through the dark like a living thing, currents twisting and sparking.
The bridge wasn't made for comfort — sharp stones bit into my boots, and the wind was hot enough to dry my mouth instantly. Each step forward rattled something loose, and I kept glancing down at the faint orange glow beneath the cracks.
Halfway across, the fox stiffened. "Something follows."
I turned, but nothing moved in the heat shimmer.The Courier stopped, listening. His eyes narrowed.
The sound reached us then — a whisper, faint but carrying in the hot wind. Not words exactly, but the shape of speech. Something below the bridge was talking to us.
Chapter Nineteen – The Voice Below
I made the mistake of leaning over the edge.
At first, I saw only the fire river. Then a shape rose from it — slow, immense. It wasn't flame. It was made of flame, every flicker forming a shifting muscle, every spark an eye.
"Return what you carry," it whispered, though no mouth moved.
My hand tightened around the ember stone without thinking.
The Courier's voice was firm. "We are passing."
The flame-shape rose higher, heat pressing against my skin like a solid wall. "Then you will be marked."
Before I could move, a single spark lifted from the river, drifting toward me. It touched my chest — and sank in. I gasped, the heat flaring through my ribs before fading.
The Courier grabbed my arm. "Don't speak to it again."
We didn't look back as we crossed the rest of the bridge.
Chapter Twenty – The Shifting Terrace
On the far side, the terrace wasn't stone or metal — it was shifting sand. Every step sank an inch, and the doors here were half-buried, their frames weathered and warped.
We didn't have time to explore. The air here was alive with motion — sand lifting in spirals, shapes flickering at the edges of sight. The fox leapt from my shoulder to the ground, sniffing the air.
"They're not real," it said, "but they can hurt you."
I didn't have time to ask what it meant before the first shape lunged from the sand.
It was man-shaped, but made entirely of grit and wind, its edges shredding and reforming as it moved. The Courier's hand shot out, pulling me back just as its arm scythed through the space where I'd been standing.
We ran.
Chapter Twenty-One – The Sand-Hall
A half-buried structure appeared ahead — tall, with a slanted roof and a single archway. The Courier didn't slow, diving through just as another sand-shape tore from the ground behind us.
Inside, the air was still. The walls were carved from a single block of stone, etched with scenes of storms and battles. At the far end, an altar held a small dish filled with water so clear it seemed unreal in this place.
The fox leapt up, sniffed the dish, and looked at me. "It's for you."
I stepped closer, the ember stone in my pocket pulsing faintly. When I touched the water, the dish flared with blue light, and the shifting sand outside went silent.
The Courier nodded once. "That will hold them. For now."
Chapter Twenty-Two – The Second Mark
The water had left a faint blue trace on my fingertips, like frostbite that didn't hurt. When I looked closer, the mark wasn't random — it was a symbol, a circle with three lines cutting through it.
The fox tilted its head. "You're collecting them."
"Collecting what?"
"Marks. From things that will remember you."
That didn't sound like a good thing, but the Courier was already moving toward the back wall of the hall, running his hands over the carvings until he found a seam. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing another door — plain wood, the first I'd seen here.
The ember stone and the blue-marked hand both flared as I touched the handle.
Chapter Twenty-Three – The Cold Stair
The door opened onto a narrow stairwell spiraling downward. Each step was carved from black stone slick with condensation. The air grew colder as we descended, the sound of water dripping somewhere below.
The fox's fur puffed against the chill. "Too cold for this place."
The Courier's voice was low. "We've gone beneath."
When the stair ended, we stood before a vast cavern lit only by faint bioluminescent threads dangling from the ceiling. In the center, a black pool lay perfectly still, its surface like glass.
The fox sat, staring at it. "That's not water."
Chapter Twenty-Four – The Mirror Pool
When I knelt beside it, my reflection looked… wrong. My eyes were brighter, my skin paler, and there was a faint outline of something behind me — tall, thin, and crowned with shadow.
The Courier's reflection wasn't there at all.
"You shouldn't look too long," he said.
Too late. The shadow behind me moved in the reflection, and I felt a hand — impossibly cold — brush the back of my neck. I jerked upright, heart hammering.
From the pool's surface, words rose without sound: Not enough.
The water — or whatever it was — shivered once, then stilled.
Chapter Twenty-Five – The Path of Three Lights
At the far side of the cavern, three tunnels opened. One glowed faintly red, another blue, the third green.
The Courier didn't hesitate. "We take the middle."
The blue tunnel narrowed quickly, the glow coming from thin veins of crystal in the walls. The air smelled faintly of ozone, and with each step, the marks on my hand and in my chest warmed.
Halfway through, the fox froze. "Something's walking with us."
I turned, but the tunnel behind was empty.
"It's walking in front of us," the fox corrected.
Chapter Twenty-Six – The Keeper in Blue
It appeared like it had always been there — a figure in robes the same blue as the tunnel's glow, face hidden behind a mask of smooth glass. Its voice was like a whisper under water.
"You have two marks. One of ember, one of water. You cannot carry a third without surrender."
"Surrender what?" I asked.
The figure extended one pale hand. "What you were, before the first door."
My mind flooded with memories — my mother's voice, the mining town streets, the smell of dust after rain. The thought of letting that go made my stomach turn.
I shook my head. "No."
The figure tilted its head, then stepped aside. "Then walk."
Chapter Twenty-Seven – The End of the Tunnel
We stepped out into a place that wasn't a terrace at all — it was a cliff overlooking an endless ocean lit from beneath by drifting lights. Towers rose from the waves in the distance, their windows glowing like constellations.
The Courier stood still, as if measuring the horizon.
"This is where we stop," he said. "For now."
I didn't ask why. Some places told you without words that you weren't ready for them yet.
The fox lay down beside me, eyes half-lidded. "You've crossed enough for one passage."
But the marks on my hand and in my chest still pulsed, faint and steady — reminders that the doors ahead already knew my name.
TO BE CONTINUED IN VOLUME III.