Kael's boots crunched against the ash-gray soil as he pressed deeper into the wasteland. The horizon was jagged with broken spires of stone, like the bones of a forgotten god scattered across the earth. The air itself seemed heavier here, thick with a strange vibration that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Every step echoed back, not as sound but as whispers, faint fragments of words carried through the dust. He could not tell whether they belonged to the voices of the Hollow Star or his own unraveling mind.
His hand rested against the indigo book at his side. It pulsed faintly, in rhythm with his heartbeat. Each time his fingers brushed its cover, he felt steadier, as though its presence anchored him against the chaos. Yet the whispers grew louder the further he walked, until the wasteland seemed alive, churning with murmurs of regret and promises he dared not believe.
He remembered Liora's warning: The further you stray, the closer you come to what should remain forgotten.
And yet here he was, following instinct more than reason. His steps carried him to a fracture in the wasteland, a deep ravine that glowed faintly with silver ink-light seeping from its cracks. The light was not warm—it was cold, brittle, like moonlight on broken glass. Peering over the edge, Kael saw chains of ink embedded deep into the ravine's walls, glowing faintly as they stretched down into the abyss. Something was bound there. Something alive.
For a moment, Kael's breath caught. He should have turned back, should have sealed the book and returned to the safety of the Archive. But curiosity, that reckless spark within him, pushed him forward.
He began his descent.
The ravine was narrow, the walls slick with an oily sheen that clung to his fingers. The chains hummed, resonating with an almost human groan. The whispers grew clearer as he went deeper. They were not chaotic anymore—they were a voice, fragmented but deliberate.
"…who…breaks…the silence…?"
Kael froze, his foot hovering above a jagged stone ledge. He swallowed hard before speaking.
"I—Kael. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—" His words faltered, foolishly small against the vastness of the voice.
A pause. Then, a low laugh, brittle like parchment tearing.
"…Kael. A name that does not belong. Yet it beats against the chains. Curious."
The ravine opened into a cavern, and Kael's lantern-light revealed it at last: a figure suspended in the air, bound by chains of ink. The prisoner was tall, impossibly so, his body half-formed, as though sketched hastily by a trembling hand. His face shifted constantly—sometimes a man with sorrowful eyes, sometimes a faceless void, sometimes something monstrous Kael could not describe. His chest glowed faintly, where a shard of broken text was embedded like a heart.
Kael could not look away. The prisoner radiated both power and ruin, a presence so suffocating it made him want to kneel, and yet so fragile he thought the chains themselves might tear him apart at any moment.
"Who… are you?" Kael asked, his voice trembling.
The prisoner's head tilted, and dozens of shifting faces overlapped before settling into one: pale eyes, ancient and weary.
"I am what remains when memory is torn from story," the prisoner whispered. "I am the one they erased and yet could not unmake. They call me the Forgotten Prisoner. You may call me… Seroth."
Kael's blood ran cold. That name. He had heard it before—whispered between the Archivists, half-fearful, half-reverent. Seroth was not just a prisoner. He was the Librarian who had once ruled this Archive, before being cast down.
"But you—" Kael began, then stopped. His mind spun. If Seroth truly was the Librarian, why had they bound him here? And why did it feel as though every word he spoke tugged at Kael's soul?
"You are not of this world, are you?" Seroth said, his tone almost gentle now. "I smell the ink of another page clinging to you. A reader misplaced into story. A trespasser… or perhaps, the final chance for salvation."
Kael's heart thundered. He staggered back, shaking his head. "How do you know that?"
"Because I, too, was once a reader." Seroth's expression twisted with something between grief and fury. "Once, long ago, I held a book like the one you clutch. It pulled me into this world, promising meaning. But stories are cruel. They demand blood for every word written. And so I was bound here—punished for seeking too deeply."
Kael wanted to deny it, to call it a lie. Yet deep within, he recognized the truth in Seroth's words. Hadn't he felt the same pull, the same hollow promise when he first opened the book?
"Why are you telling me this?" Kael asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Because you stand at the threshold I once did," Seroth said, his chains rattling softly as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with desperate intensity. "You still believe you can turn the page without consequence. But every choice you make will carve itself into you. Already, the Hollow Star coils around your name. Soon, you will not know if you are Kael, or the story's sacrifice."
Kael's throat tightened. "Then… what should I do?"
A silence fell. The chains groaned, as if resisting the answer. Then Seroth smiled—a smile filled with both sorrow and a strange, cruel hope.
"Free me."
The word struck like a bell, reverberating through Kael's bones. His hands clenched involuntarily around the book. The thought was madness. To free Seroth, the one the Archive itself had bound? It would unravel everything. And yet… a part of him whispered that it was the only way forward.
"I… I can't," Kael stammered, stepping back. "If I release you, won't you—"
"Destroy?" Seroth interrupted, his voice low, sharp. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I will remake what has rotted. But you cannot leave me here, Kael. For if you do, then know this: the Archive will not spare you. They will burn your name into silence, as they did mine."
Kael's breath came shallow and quick. He turned, backing toward the shadows of the cavern. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to forget this place. Yet Seroth's words clung to him, like hooks buried deep into his mind.
"You will return," Seroth whispered, his voice following Kael like smoke. "You will return, because you have already begun to doubt the story. And once doubt takes root, it does not die."
Kael stumbled back into the ravine, his lantern shaking in his grip. He climbed without looking back, but the whispers followed him, clinging to the walls, curling inside his chest. When he finally emerged onto the surface of the wasteland, the sky seemed darker than before, as though the Hollow Star itself had drawn nearer.
He pressed a trembling hand against the indigo book. It pulsed faintly, almost as if mocking him. He had seen the prisoner, spoken with him. And though every part of him wanted to believe he could walk away, he knew Seroth was right.
The seed of doubt had been planted.
And there was no escaping it.