The night hung heavy over Duskmere, the stars hidden behind an iron curtain of clouds. The river's gentle voice, once the heartbeat of the village, now carried an unease that Kael couldn't ignore. Every ripple seemed to whisper, every shadow to move with intent.
Kael had tried to sleep, but his dreams were fractured. Flames. Screams. A hooded figure standing by the riverbank, unmoving as chaos unfolded. The image branded itself into his mind until he bolted upright, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum of war.
Downstairs, the faint glow of a lantern spilled from the kitchen. His father, Elandor, sat at the table sharpening his old sword. He looked up, eyes narrowing.
"You felt it too?"
Kael hesitated. "The… wrongness? Yes."
His father slid the blade back into its sheath. "Something stirs tonight. The forest is too quiet. Even the hounds won't bark."
Kael moved to the window. Beyond the fields, a dark mist crept along the river like smoke slithering across the ground. His breath caught. "Father… the river."
Elandor followed his gaze. For a moment, silence ruled the room, until the lantern flickered and died. Only the moon's pale silver remained.
Then came the scream.
It tore through the night, raw and desperate, from the village's edge near the water. Kael's blood ran cold. He grabbed his cloak, but his father was already out the door, sword drawn.
They sprinted through the streets. Doors opened, faces pale with fear peering into the darkness. The mist was thicker here, curling between houses, carrying with it the stench of rot and iron. Kael covered his mouth, gagging as they reached the riverbank.
What he saw rooted him to the spot.
The water was no longer clear. It churned thick and dark, streaked with red—blood seeping upstream as if the river itself was wounded. Bodies floated near the shallows, faces twisted in terror, villagers who had gone to fetch water only hours ago.
But worse were the things crawling out of the river.
They weren't human. Black silhouettes with jagged limbs, dripping sludge, their eyes glowing faintly blue like shards of ice. Hollowborn. The whispers Kael had dismissed now became screams in his mind, foreign voices clawing at his thoughts.
"Stay back!" Elandor shouted, thrusting Kael behind him as one of the creatures lunged. His sword flashed, cleaving the shadow-beast in two, but its form dissolved into mist only to reassemble again moments later.
Kael staggered back, gripping a fallen branch as though it could save him. His mind raced. Why does this feel familiar? Why do I know these things…?
Another scream split the night—Mira's voice.
Kael's heart lurched. He tore away from his father and sprinted toward the sound, weaving through chaos. The Hollowborn were everywhere, spilling from the river in dozens, tearing through homes, clawing at fleeing villagers. Flames licked the sky where torches had been knocked aside. Duskmere, his quiet village, was becoming a battlefield.
He found Mira near the old well, clutching her younger brother. A Hollowborn towered over them, claws raised. Kael didn't think—he moved. The branch in his hand glowed faintly, heat rushing through him as if his soul itself were catching fire. He swung.
The impact released a surge of light, a blinding arc that ripped the shadow apart. The Hollowborn shrieked, dissolving completely this time. Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping. His hands shook, the branch reduced to ash.
Mira stared at him, wide-eyed. "Kael… what did you—?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. His veins burned, and for a heartbeat he saw flashes—armies clashing, castles falling, a hooded figure standing above mountains of corpses. A woman's voice echoed in his head, soft and broken: You must not fail again.
Then he was back, the screams of Duskmere dragging him to reality.
"Go!" Kael shouted, forcing himself up. "Take your brother and run to the old barn. Don't stop for anything!"
Mira hesitated, tears glistening in her eyes, but she obeyed, dragging her brother into the dark.
Kael turned, chest heaving. The river was alive now, bleeding shadows as if the underworld itself had cracked open. Dozens of Hollowborn prowled the banks, their eyes locking onto him. And beyond them, at the heart of the mist, stood the hooded figure.
He hadn't moved since Kael first saw him. Silent. Watching.
Their eyes met across the chaos, and Kael's knees buckled. A pressure, heavy and suffocating, crushed down on him. He couldn't breathe. The whispers in his head became screams. Words in a tongue he didn't know, yet understood.
You again.
Kael staggered back, clutching his skull. His vision blurred, blood dripping from his nose. The figure raised a single hand, and the Hollowborn surged forward.
A flare of light cut through the night—Elandor. He charged into the swarm, his blade a whirlwind, cutting down shadows left and right. "Kael, run!"
But Kael couldn't. His father's movements slowed under the endless tide. Every time he struck one down, two more took its place. His face was twisted with determination, but Kael saw the truth—Elandor would not last.
The hooded figure lowered his hand, and the Hollowborn swarmed.
Kael screamed, a raw sound that tore from his chest, and something inside him broke. Power flooded outward, a shockwave of light and heat blasting from his body. Hollowborn disintegrated in every direction, their shrieks echoing into the void. The ground cracked beneath him, the air shimmering like molten glass.
When it faded, Kael collapsed, barely conscious. The survivors of the village stared at him, terrified—not of the Hollowborn, but of him.
The hooded figure remained untouched, still watching from the mist. Then, slowly, he raised his hand to his hood and lowered it just enough for Kael to glimpse pale skin and eyes like burning coals.
This time, you will fail faster, the voice whispered in Kael's mind.
Then the figure vanished, dissolving into shadow, and the remaining Hollowborn retreated into the bleeding river until nothing remained but silence.
Duskmere lay in ruins. The river still ran red. Bodies lined the ground. And Kael, trembling in the ashes, realized the truth he had been trying to deny.
The war of his past lives had already begun again.