The void dropped him.
One moment Sané was clenched in the claws of the beast, blood dripping from his side, his ribs gnawed by agony, his lungs burning with screams he no longer had voice to give. The next, he was nothing more than a scrap of flesh hurled into a chasm of red.
He fell into a liquid.
It was thick, warm, metallic. It clung to his skin like oil and forced its way up his nose, his mouth. He gagged, thrashing in it, until his limbs gave up. He expected to sink and drown.
But he floated.
The pool itself cradled him, buoyed him, pulled him into its embrace as though it had been waiting for him. His wounds closed with unnatural speed; the punctures from the beast's talons sealed into scars before his eyes. His skin, once gray with hunger and poverty, regained color. Even the hollow sharpness of his ribs softened as his body began to fill, not with food, but with… sustenance.
He was not alone.
Dozens floated beside him — boys and girls, their faces gaunt, their frames frail, their eyes sunken with years of neglect. Hollowborn, every one of them. Their thin bodies drifted as though asleep, though some stirred, murmuring in confusion, groaning as if waking from a nightmare.
Sané blinked, disbelieving. He had lived his life as though he were the only one discarded, the only one damned. But here, in this grotesque womb of blood, he was surrounded by mirrors of his own suffering. Forty at least, maybe more, shifting in the crimson tide.
The pool glowed faintly, veins of light coursing through it as though it were alive. Each pulse seeped into Sané's body, each wave filling the emptiness inside him with something new.
He should have felt fear. He should have clawed his way out, fled, screamed. But his limbs betrayed him — not because of weakness, but because some deeper instinct whispered: This is where you belong.
The beasts stood watch.
At the edges of the chamber, hulking silhouettes loomed. They were curse-beasts, but they were not rampaging, not mindless. Their limbs, twisted with jagged bone and oozing shadow, knelt in grotesque stillness. Their eyes, pits of violet flame, stared at the blood pool like priests at an altar.
They guarded.
They waited.
And then came the two.
From an arch of obsidian, two figures stepped forward. Both wore masks of polished black iron. The woman's mask bore the carved mark of 12, etched in silver that shimmered faintly with each breath she drew. The man's mask bore 11, the digits sharp and cruel as knives.
They moved with purpose, their boots sinking into the blood at the pool's edge without fear or hesitation. They were no prisoners. They were no sacrifices. They were sovereigns of this place.
The Hollowborn stirred, their hollow eyes fixing on the strangers. Whispers rose, confusion and dread blending in voices too weak to carry far. Who were they? Why were they here?
The woman — 12 — spoke first. Her voice was calm, steady, yet carried weight enough to silence the murmurs.
"You do not know why you are here."
Her tone was not question but statement. The pool itself seemed to shiver at her words.
"You believe you were discarded. Abandoned. That you are nothing. Hollow. That your birth was mistake, and your lives a curse. That is the lie of the ruling families. That is the comfort of the powerful, who feared what they could not understand."
The children stared. Some trembled. Some averted their eyes. Sané, however, could not look away.
12 raised her hand, trailing fingers over the blood's surface. The liquid quivered, rippling outward in perfect circles.
"We were once like you."
The man — 11 — stepped forward then, his voice deeper, rougher, as though carved from stone.
"Cast aside. Spat upon. Kicked into the dirt. Used until broken, then left to rot. Hollowborn."
He spat the word, not with shame but with venom.
"But the Hollow is not absence. It is potential. It is the abyss that waits to be filled. While the others are born with cages around their strength, you are born with nothing — and so you may become anything."
A murmur spread through the children. Some gasped, others whispered denials. Sané felt his chest tighten, not with fear but with something unfamiliar, something dangerous: recognition.
12 continued, her masked face turning to sweep across them all.
"The pool heals you because it recognizes what you are. It nourishes you because it was made for you. We were once here, as you are now, drowning in despair, broken by the scorn of the world. But we were given purpose."
11's voice thundered, shaking the chamber.
"And so will you."
The beasts rumbled, a low chorus of growls that shook the walls. Yet none moved against the masked pair. They bowed their monstrous heads, as though in obedience.
Sané felt his breath falter. He tried to speak, but his throat was raw. The words barely escaped, broken and weak:
"Purpose…?"
12 turned. Though the mask hid her face, Sané felt her eyes pierce through.
"Yes, child. Purpose. To show this realm that we are not hollow. To become the teeth of the abyss, the hands of retribution. You are not nothing. You are the beginning."
The blood pool pulsed, a deep crimson glow illuminating the chamber. The Hollowborn flinched as their bodies shuddered, fed by the tide. Wounds vanished. Bones thickened. Muscles filled. Their gaunt frames were being rewritten.
Sané looked at his own hands. They no longer trembled from weakness. His fingers, once like twigs, clenched into fists with strength he had never known.
For the first time in fifteen years, he did not feel empty.
11 raised his arm, the number on his mask gleaming in the red glow.
"You will rise as we rose. You will cast off the chains of pity and scorn. You will not beg for scraps beneath the families' tables. You will take what is owed. You will carve your place in the marrow of this world."
The Hollowborn began to stir louder now, voices rising in disbelief, in awe, in hunger. Some wept openly. Others clenched fists as though afraid of losing the moment.
Sané's heart pounded. His chest ached, but not with pain. The hollow within him sang in answer to their words, thrumming with resonance he could not explain. He did not yet understand, but he could not deny.
The woman's voice softened, yet it cut deeper than before.
"Children of Hollow, you were abandoned because the world fears what you may become. And now, you will see why."
The beasts rose, their shadows blotting out the crimson glow. Their roars shook the chamber, but none moved against the pool. They bowed still, subservient to the will of 11 and 12.
The man's final words cracked like thunder.
"You are not Hollowborn. You are Chosen."
And in that moment, Sané felt the blood pool surge into him, into all of them. A tide of fire and shadow, agony and ecstasy. Their screams merged into one, echoing through the rift.
The transformation had begun.
---
But ofcourse....life can take an unexpected turn....