"It is said that The Light can seal the Hollow Gates. Not by rumor alone, but from testimonies across the stars—travelers who witnessed rifts collapsing into silence, or entire worlds reclaimed after years of ruin. The Light does not destroy the gates in an instant, but binds them, forcing them closed strand by strand, as if stitching the fabric of reality itself. Yet such work takes time—years, sometimes centuries. Time most worlds do not have.
Even so, its presence is not without blessing. The same radiance that holds back the Hollow seeps into every corner of the cosmos. Civilizations rise faster, their minds sharpened, their bodies strengthened, their sciences accelerated beyond what nature alone would allow. Entire species evolve in centuries where others might take millennia. All of it, touched—shaped—by the influence of the Light.
And so, for countless generations, we have endured. Watching gates open, watching them close too late, and clinging to the hope that one day, the Light's hand would reach not only to seal the rifts, but to save us from them entirely."
---
The city of Aeltharion, once a jewel of Elarion, stood in uneasy silence. Cracks from past Hollow Gates scarred its walls and streets, yet life stubbornly clung on.
Children still played among the ruins, their laughter brittle, echoing against broken stone. Merchants tried to sell what little remained of their wares, speaking in hushed tones, as though raising their voices might awaken the next disaster.
On the high walls, soldiers kept watch with weary eyes. Their armor was tarnished, their spears chipped, but still, they stood—silent guardians against the inevitable.
Near the central spire, remnants of the people gathered, lighting small braziers with fragments of crystal that shimmered faintly in hues of pale gold. Some whispered prayers to The Light, others simply stared at the skies above, where faint streaks of violet had begun to ripple like cracks across glass.
Elarion breathed, fragile and fleeting, as if the planet itself knew its final moment was drawing near.
In the market square, a mother held her child close, stroking his hair as he pointed at the faint violet cracks above.
"Are the stars breaking, Mama?" the boy asked, his voice trembling.
She forced a smile, though her eyes betrayed her fear. "No, little one… The Light still watches over us." Her words were gentle, but her grip on his hand tightened.
An old vendor, arranging wilted fruit on a splintered table, chuckled bitterly. "We've said that for generations," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Yet the cracks only grow wider."
A young guard passing by stopped, placing a firm hand on the vendor's shoulder. "And yet we still stand," he said, his tone steady though his jaw clenched. "As long as we stand, so does Elarion."
The vendor met his eyes for a moment, then sighed, bowing his head. Around them, others listened in silence—some with hope flickering faintly in their gaze, others already hollowed by despair.
And above, the sky trembled again.
The faint vibration rattled through the market stalls. A small hand tugged at his mother's robe—Elas, his wide eyes fixed on the violet scars above.
"Why does it keep shaking, Mama?" he asked softly.
She knelt to meet his gaze, brushing the dust from his cheek. "Because the sky is tired, my son," she whispered. "But we must not be."
Elas frowned, glancing at the others. The vendor had stopped arranging his fruit, the guard had gone silent, and every pair of eyes was drawn upward as another ripple stretched across the heavens.
Somewhere in the distance, bells rang—a warning the people of Elarion had learned to fear. Hollow Gates did not open silently.
The crowd stirred. Mothers pulled their children closer, vendors abandoned their stands, guards tightened their grips on rusted spears. Amid the growing panic, Elas looked again at his mother.
"Will The Light come?" he asked.
Her lips trembled before she answered, almost as though the words were for herself as much as for him.
"…It must."
---
The bells echoed long after the market had emptied. By the time Elas and his mother returned home, the sky had darkened, violet light flickering through the cracks above like veins of fire.
Inside, an old man sat by the hearth, his frail hands wrapped around a carved staff. His eyes, clouded yet sharp, lifted as the door creaked open.
"Elas," he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "You've seen it, haven't you?"
The boy nodded slowly, clutching his mother's robe. "The sky is breaking, Grandpa. Mama says The Light will come."
The old man's lips curved into a faint, sorrowful smile. "Yes… That is what we've always believed." He reached out, resting his palm gently on Elas's head. "Remember this night, child. Someday, the story of what happens here will not just belong to me. It will belong to you."
For a long moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the distant groaning of the heavens. The old man closed his eyes.
"And now… I remember it still, even as the years crumble away. I was there, when Elarion's sky tore apart. I was there, when hope became fear."
The wound in the sky widened, and from its bleeding edges they fell—shapes that defied sense.
At first glance, they seemed like silhouettes of men, but wrong. Too tall, too thin, their joints bending in places no bones should move. Their skin shimmered like cracked glass, glowing faintly with the same violet as the Hollow Gate. Where faces should have been, there was only emptiness—smooth voids that stretched and pulsed as if hungering for breath.
When they landed, the ground shuddered beneath them. Their limbs bent low, spindly yet heavy, dragging deep gouges across the cobblestones. Some crawled on all fours, their elongated arms scraping sparks against stone, while others lurched upright, heads twitching toward the terrified cries of the people.
Then came the sound—an awful, grinding resonance, like stone grinding against stone, echoing from their hollow chests. It wasn't a roar, nor a scream, but something in between, something that made the hair on every neck rise and hearts stumble in terror.
One touched the wall of a house. The stone blackened instantly, crumbling like ash beneath its clawless fingers. Another turned toward a fleeing man, and the void where its face should have been widened—stretching into an impossible grin that devoured the man's last scream.
They were not beasts. They were the absence of life given form, hunger given shape.
And they multiplied.
---
Elas pressed his face against his mother's robe, but curiosity forced his eyes to peek past the doorway. He wished he hadn't.
One of the Hollow dragged itself across the street, its limbs bending backward like broken branches. The grinding noise in its chest rattled his teeth. Behind it, another figure lurched into view, its void-face turning as though it could see him—though no eyes existed.
"Don't look, Elas!" his mother whispered sharply, pulling him away. Her arms trembled as she held him, her heartbeat frantic against his cheek.
The old man rose slowly from his seat, leaning on his staff. "They are closer than I feared…" he muttered, his voice low but steady. His cloudy eyes flickered toward the violet sky. "The Gate is pouring them out faster than ever before."
"Mama," Elas whispered, tugging at her sleeve, "are they coming here?"
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Only silence.
A crash thundered nearby—stone splintering, followed by a chorus of screams that chilled Elas more than the creatures themselves. The house shook, dust raining from the beams.
His mother clutched him tighter. His grandfather stepped forward, gripping the staff with both hands, its faint glow now steady. For the first time, Elas saw no trace of frailty in him—only a grave resolve.
"Stay behind me," the old man said.
The street was no longer the same marketplace they had walked hours ago. Stalls lay shattered, fruit and cloth scattered across bloodstained stone. Smoke rose from burning homes, and through it all, the Hollow prowled like shadows given flesh.
A squad of soldiers stood at the center of the avenue, shields locked in a trembling wall. Their spears jabbed outward, catching two Hollow at once. This time, the steel struck deep—cracks splintered across the creatures' glass-like bodies. With a final thrust, both fell, shattering into shards of violet mist that bled away into the air.
For a fleeting heartbeat, hope flickered.
"Push them back!" the captain roared, raising his blade high. His strike cleaved into another Hollow, splitting it in two. The men cheered—yet their triumph died as fast as it rose.
Because for every Hollow that fell, three more slipped from the alleys. They moved unnaturally fast, limbs twisting at impossible angles, skittering along walls and leaping over rooftops. One soldier cried out as a Hollow darted past his guard, tearing him down before the others could react.
"They're too many!" another shouted, panic breaking his voice. The line wavered, shields shaking as Hollow slammed into them from every side.
Elas clutched his mother's arm, wide-eyed. He saw the soldiers fighting with everything they had, blades flashing in the dimming sun. Hollow could die—but not fast enough.
The old man's jaw tightened. "Their courage will not be enough," he muttered, staff glowing faintly at his side. His eyes flicked to the Gate above, widening with each breath. "Not against this storm."
The clang of steel rang across the avenue—but these were no ordinary weapons. Blades of pale silver shimmered with faint radiance, each forged from fragments of The Light itself. When they struck the Hollow, the creatures recoiled, violet cracks splintering across their bodies before bursting into mist.
For a moment, the line held strong. Shields infused with Light energy blazed faintly, repelling the first rush of Hollow. Spears thrust forward, carving through the twisted forms, each kill flashing with a burst of pale brilliance.
But the tide did not stop.
The Hollow swarmed faster, too many, too relentless. From the rooftops they dropped like shadows; from the alleys they skittered in packs. One soldier impaled a Hollow clean through—only to be struck down as two more slammed into his side. His shield tumbled away, its Light dimming as his blood spilled across the stone.
"Hold the line! For Elarion!" the captain bellowed, his sword blazing brighter as he cut down three foes in a single arc. But already his men were faltering. Light-forged weapons could kill, but arms grew heavy, and courage cracked beneath endless numbers.
One by one, the formation broke. Soldiers fell, their weapons clattering dim and lifeless beside them. The Light burned strong in steel—but weaker in men's hearts.
Elas's mother gasped, yanking his hand. "We can't stay here!"
She pulled him from their home into the street. The old man followed, staff glowing faintly—not a weapon, but a remnant of The Light's gift.
They ran.
Around them, Elarion was unrecognizable. The square lay littered with broken bodies, Light-forged swords and spears scattered among the fallen. Some still flickered faintly, as if resisting death itself. Blood mingled with pale light on the cobblestones, pooling beneath the dead.
Elas stumbled, catching sight of the old fruit vendor. The man's hand still clutched a dim spear, its glow fading as his eyes stared lifeless toward the sky.
"Mama—" Elas's voice cracked, but his mother pulled him forward, choking back her own sobs. "Don't stop! Don't look!"
Behind them, the resonance of Hollow grew louder, clawing at every shadow, drowning out the fading cries of the soldiers.
A shriek tore through the air, sharper than steel against stone. One of the Hollow—its jagged maw still dripping with the blood of a fallen soldier—snapped its head toward the fleeing family.
Its violet-cracked body twitched, then lunged.
The creature bounded across the square with grotesque speed, claws digging into the cobblestones as it climbed over corpses and shattered shields. Two more Hollow followed, drawn by the scent of fear, their howls echoing like hunger made flesh.
Elas's legs nearly buckled. He clutched his mother's hand tighter, heart pounding so loud he thought the Hollow would hear it.
"They've seen us—" his grandfather rasped, stumbling as the glow of his staff flared faintly in warning. "Run. Don't look back."
The family sprinted through the ruined street, weaving past toppled stalls and broken carts. Behind them, the Hollow crashed forward, relentless, their bodies flickering with unholy energy. Each leap closed the distance, the pounding of their limbs drowning out even the crackle of burning homes.
One soldier, barely alive, raised his Light-forged spear with trembling hands as Elas's family dashed past him. "Go!" he cried, voice raw with defiance. He thrust the weapon upward, piercing the first Hollow through its chest.
For a moment, hope sparked. The beast screeched as violet fractures spiderwebbed across its body—then with a violent shudder, it snapped the spear in two and raked the soldier down, silencing him in a spray of blood.
Elas screamed. His mother dragged him faster, tears streaking her soot-stained cheeks.
The Hollow were closing in.
The family stumbled through the burning quarter of Elarion. Once, this part of the city had been filled with the scent of spiced bread and the clamor of merchants. Now, the air reeked of ash and blood. Stalls lay overturned, their wares crushed beneath collapsed beams, and the light of dying torches flickered against walls fractured by the tremors of the Hollow's arrival.
Elas clung to his mother's arm as they darted between toppled carts. Behind them, the Hollow shrieked again—three of them now, their jagged limbs scraping sparks as they bounded over stone and rubble.
"Don't look back, Elas!" his mother cried, pulling him along. Her voice shook, but her grip on his wrist was iron.
They squeezed through a narrow side street where laundry once hung, now torn to ribbons by fire. The fabric whipped in the wind as the family pushed through, the shadows of the Hollow stretching longer across the walls.
One beast slammed into the street just behind them, its claws cracking the cobblestones. Elas risked a glance back—its void-face twisted toward him, violet fractures glowing like embers in the dusk. The monster lunged, nearly brushing his mother's cloak, before Elas's grandfather yanked them into another alley.
They burst into the open square—a marketplace reduced to carnage. Dozens of bodies lay sprawled among shattered lanterns and broken pottery. Soldiers had made a stand here; their Light-forged weapons still glowed faintly where they'd fallen, useless against the overwhelming swarm.
The Hollow shrieked with renewed hunger at the sight of their prey in the open.
"Not this way!" the old man barked, shoving Elas and his daughter forward. His voice was hoarse but commanding, carrying the weight of centuries. "Keep moving! Don't stop!"
They stumbled between corpses, the crunch of pottery and bone echoing beneath their feet. A toppled statue of an ancient guardian loomed over the square, its once-proud blade snapped in two.
The Hollow bounded after them, their violet fractures blazing brighter with every movement. One perched atop the ruined statue, crouched like a predator, before leaping down to cut off their path. Another slithered low across the stones, circling to trap them.
The old man finally skidded to a halt, planting his staff into the bloodstained ground. His crystal core flickered weakly, pulsing with the faint residue of the Light. With trembling hands, he raised it toward the advancing beasts.
"Run," he commanded, not to be argued with.
Elas's mother pulled him back into motion, but the boy twisted to look over his shoulder. For the first time, he saw his grandfather not as a frail elder—but as the last wall standing between them and the abyss.
The Hollow lunged, claws scraping against stone as the square filled with their shrieks. Elas's mother yanked him forward, but his grandfather slammed his staff into the ground, standing firm.
The crystal at its head sputtered, then flared with pale light. Not the steady brilliance of the soldiers' forged weapons, but enough to burn shadows across the ruins. The glow spilled into the air, forming a trembling barrier between the advancing creatures and his fleeing family.
The Hollow recoiled, their limbs jerking unnaturally as the light seared their violet fractures. A guttural hiss erupted from their hollow chests, more enraged than wounded.
"Go!" the old man bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. "I can only hold them for moments!"
Elas's mother clutched him tight, dragging him through the wreckage of the marketplace. Behind them, the barrier shuddered under the assault—each strike of the Hollow like a hammer against fragile glass. Cracks of darkness splintered through the glow, threatening to burst at any second.
Elas looked back, heart in his throat. His grandfather stood alone in the flickering light, shoulders squared, staff trembling in his hands. The image burned into the boy's mind—courage and desperation bound into one fragile frame.
The Hollow pressed harder, their shrieks splitting the air. One slammed its body against the light, its jagged limbs leaving black scorch-marks. The barrier rippled, dimmed.
Elas's mother didn't dare look back. She pulled her son down another street, past the fallen banners of Elarion, toward whatever safe haven might still stand.
Behind them, the old man's final shout rang out like a prayer against the dark.
Elas's mother half-dragged, half-carried him down the cracked street, lungs burning as the stench of smoke and blood filled the air. Her eyes darted wildly, searching for any path away from the horrors chasing them.
Then she froze.
At the far end of the road, more Hollow emerged from the haze. Their jagged silhouettes limped and jerked forward, violet cracks glowing in the twilight. One crawled along the wall like an insect, its limbs stabbing into stone with every movement. Another stalked upright, its hollow chest gaping open with a grinding hum.
Elas's mother gasped and swerved into a side alley, clutching him tighter. The boy's heart pounded as their footsteps echoed against narrowing walls.
"Don't stop, Elas—don't look!" she whispered frantically, her voice trembling.
They burst into the end of the alley—only to find it sealed. A collapsed building had choked the path with broken beams and rubble, forming an unscalable wall of stone.
"No… no, no, no," she muttered, spinning in place, eyes wide with terror.
Behind them, the distant shrieks grew closer. The Hollow were coming.
"Elas!" The old man's shout carried across the streets like thunder. They could hear the clatter of his staff against stone as he stumbled after them. "Not that way! It's a dead end!"
His warning came too late. Shadows lengthened across the rubble as another Hollow rounded the mouth of the alley, cutting them off. Its violet fractures pulsed hungrily, claws dragging sparks from the cobbles.
Elas pressed himself against his mother's side, too terrified to cry. The alley was narrow, the walls high—nowhere to run.
From behind, more shrieks answered, echoing like laughter in the dusk.
The Hollow had them trapped.
The old man sprinted as best his tired legs could carry him, abandoning the sputtering barrier. The glow collapsed behind him with a shattering sound, and Hollow shrieked in triumph as they surged forward—only to halt when thunder rolled across the street.
A blinding beam of Light roared past him, searing the cobblestones in a straight line. One Hollow was torn apart instantly, its body disintegrating into dust.
The ground shook as something massive rolled into view from the smoke. An armored vehicle, its hull inscribed with glowing runes of the Light, screeched to a halt at the mouth of the square. Its wheels weren't wheels at all, but circular Light-forged rings that hovered just above the ground, humming with power. Mounted on its top, a cannon pulsed, glowing like a newborn star.
Behind it, a formation of soldiers leapt down in practiced motion, their armor segmented and alive with the same crystalline energy that fueled their weapons. Blades, rifles, and spears forged with shards of the Light gleamed in the dusk.
"Forward! Cut them down!" a commanding voice barked.
Commander Kael Draven strode ahead, his armor darker than the rest, streaked with scars from countless battles. His glaive—long, double-edged, its core burning white—cut through the air as if it weighed nothing.
The squad fanned out. Two soldiers sprinted past the old man, their rifles blazing with beams of concentrated Light. Hollow shrieked and collapsed, their bodies dissolving into violet smoke. Another group charged straight into the alley where Elas and his mother were trapped.
Elas's mother shielded him with her body as the Hollow advanced—but suddenly the creature was cleaved in two. Kael himself stood between them and death, his glaive dripping with violet residue that hissed as it burned away.
"Clear the path!" Kael shouted, his voice sharp and unshakable.
Soldiers poured into the alley, pushing back the creatures that had cornered the family. The glow of their weapons turned the narrow walls into a flashing corridor of battle.
Meanwhile, in the square, more Hollow rammed against the collapsing barrier. The old man gasped for breath, only to stumble aside as another pair of soldiers vaulted past him. Their Light-spears flared, piercing the monsters just as the last fragments of the barrier shattered.
The tide turned in moments. Where panic had ruled, now disciplined fury carved through the chaos.
But Elas, clutching his mother's arm, couldn't shake the tremor in his chest. Even as the Hollow fell, he saw how many still prowled in the smoke, how endless the shrieks sounded from the distance.
This wasn't a victory. It was only a delay.
The roar of engines drowned out the fading shrieks of the Hollow. Soldiers barked orders as they secured the perimeter, dragging survivors into the armored transports. One by one, the glowing runes along the hulls lit up, sealing the vehicles shut.
Elas sat pressed between his mother and grandfather inside one of the war-trucks. The air was hot, thick with the stench of smoke and blood carried in on the survivors' clothes. Around them, frightened civilians huddled shoulder to shoulder, their eyes wide, their faces pale under the flickering emergency lights.
The old man kept an arm wrapped around Elas, as if afraid he might vanish if let go. His staff rested across his knees, the faint glow at its tip finally extinguished.
Across from them, Commander Kael sat rigid, his glaive resting against the wall. He scanned the cramped interior, his gaze sharp but not unkind.
For a while, only the rumble of the engine filled the silence. Then a voice broke it—shaky, brittle.
"Are… are we safe now?" a young woman whispered, clutching her child to her chest.
Kael's jaw tightened. He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his tone was steady, but heavy.
"Safe… for now. But Elarion is burning. We cannot hold the city forever."
A murmur rippled through the passengers, a mix of dread and disbelief. Elas's mother lowered her eyes, hugging him closer.
The old man leaned forward slightly, his voice raspy but firm. "How many…?" He didn't finish the question, but Kael understood.
The commander's gaze shifted, meeting his. For the briefest moment, his eyes faltered, as if weighed down by ghosts.
"Not enough," he said quietly.
Silence fell again. The truck rocked as it rolled over broken streets, the world outside still echoing with distant chaos.
Elas dared to look up at Kael, studying the commander's scarred armor and the calm authority in his presence. For reasons he couldn't explain, he felt both safer and more afraid than ever.
---
Inside the truck, the air was thick with silence, only broken by the distant rumble of the engine. Emergency lights pulsed red against steel walls, painting weary faces in shadows of exhaustion and fear.
Kael finally looked up, his gaze falling on the small family. His voice was steady, but there was a hidden warmth beneath the roughness.
"…You're a brave child, Elas."
Elas froze, unsure how to respond. His mother shifted uneasily, as if wanting to shield him from the conversation, but Kael continued.
"And your grandfather… from the way you stood, from the way you held yourself against that Hollow… I'd wager you were once a soldier, weren't you, old man?"
Slowly, Elas turned to his grandfather. His breath caught in his chest.
The old man gave a faint smile, more like a scar than a gesture of joy. His hand rested on the light-forged staff, now dim and lifeless.
"Yes… I was. I served. And so did my son—Elas's father. His name was Ardyn Veynar."
His voice faltered for a heartbeat, then grew firm again.
"He was braver than I ever was. Stubborn, fearless, and always the first to stand—for his family, for his planet. Ten years ago, during the Fall of Drosmere… he fell."
The truck fell into silence. Even the groaning of the wheels seemed to fade.
Kael's eyes widened. His expression tightened as if struck by an old wound. "…Ardyn Veynar?"
The old man met his gaze, sharp and unflinching. "You knew him?"
Kael slowly nodded, his voice heavy, almost reverent.
"So… he was your son."
In his eyes, something flickered—grief, respect, and a weight of memory. Around them, some soldiers shifted, exchanging hushed whispers. The name carried weight. Ardyn Veynar—and his father before him—were not just soldiers, but legends.
Elas swallowed hard, staring at his grandfather with wide eyes, questions burning inside him, but no words came out.
Kael's eyes widened. His expression tightened as if struck by an old wound. "…Ardyn Veynar?"
The old man met his gaze, sharp and unflinching. "You knew him?"
Kael slowly nodded, his voice heavy, almost reverent.
"I didn't just know him. I fought beside him."
The weight of those words silenced the truck. Even the engine's rumble seemed to vanish, leaving only the sting of memory in the air.
Kael's jaw clenched as he leaned forward, his tone carrying both pride and grief.
"He stood where no man dared, and when the Hollow surged against us, he held the line long enough for hundreds to escape. Without him… I wouldn't be here speaking to you now."
The old man lowered his gaze, his grip on the staff trembling. Elas's mother closed her eyes, holding her son tighter.
And Elas… he sat frozen, staring at Kael, at his grandfather, at the unspoken legacy that had suddenly wrapped itself around him like a mantle too heavy for his small shoulders.
Kael's eyes softened, the weight of memory heavy in his tone.
"I fought beside him once… at the Siege of Karveth. The Hollow swarmed us in numbers that should have ended us. But your father—he stood his ground. If not for his courage, I wouldn't have survived that day."
His voice faltered, then steadied, carrying both respect and grief.
"And years later… at Drosmere… he gave everything. I wasn't there, but every soldier remembers the stories. He died as he lived—facing the dark so others could see the light."
Ardyn closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. The name of that battlefield still cut deep after all these years.
Kael shifted his gaze to Elas, his expression softening again.
"Your father saved my life once. Because of him, I still breathe. So long as I live, I'll make sure you and your family remain safe. That is my vow."
The words hung heavy inside the rattling truck, more enduring than the steel walls themselves. Elas clutched at his mother's sleeve, too young to understand—but old enough to feel the weight of legacy settling silently upon him.
Kael's eyes lingered on the old man. After a moment of silence, he asked,
"…And what should I call you, elder? I never caught your name."
The old man straightened his back despite the years weighing on him, his hand tightening around the staff.
"Theron. Theron Veynar."
Kael's expression shifted—recognition flashing in his eyes.
"Veynar… of course." His voice carried both respect and awe. "Your name was spoken often in the barracks, even before Drosmere. You weren't just a soldier… you were a commander."
Theron's gaze fell, his tone quiet but firm. "That was a lifetime ago. Now, I am only a grandfather."
But Kael shook his head, his jaw set with conviction. "No, sir. Once a commander, always a commander. Men like you… their legacy never dies."
Theron's eyes narrowed faintly at Kael's words, the echo of his past grinding against the weight of the present. For a moment, he almost looked younger—like the commander he once was—but the flicker faded just as quickly.
"I left that life behind," he said firmly, though his voice trembled at the edges. "The titles, the battles, the men who looked to me for orders… all of it ended at Drosmere. I buried my son there. Since that day, the name Veynar has been nothing but a reminder of what I've lost."
He exhaled slowly, as if setting down a burden too heavy for his years.
"I am Theron, yes. But to this boy…"—he placed a weathered hand on Elas's shoulder—"…I am only a grandfather. That is all I wish to be."
Kael bowed his head slightly, his respect deepening. There was no further challenge in his eyes, only recognition of a man who had already carried more weight than most could bear.
The truck rumbled on, carrying the small family and the soldiers deeper into the city's remnants. Outside, the ruins of Elarion stretched as far as the eye could see—smoke rising from collapsed buildings, streets littered with the remnants of battle, and the faint, distant shrieks of Hollow echoing through the alleys.
Inside, a few soldiers moved quietly, offering rations and water to the survivors. Elas clutched a small piece of bread in his hands, nibbling slowly, eyes wide as he tried to process everything that had happened. His mother brushed soot from his hair and pressed her hand gently to his head, her fingers lingering as memories of her late husband—the boy's father—passed silently through her mind.
Theron sat beside them, his gaze drifting out the open window. The city behind them lay in ruins, smoke curling into the sky like dark fingers. His weathered hands gripped his staff, knuckles white, as the weight of the devastation pressed on him. He didn't speak, but his eyes told stories of battles fought, lives lost, and a world that seemed to crumble faster than it could be rebuilt.
Kael's gaze lingered on the Veynar family, a mixture of respect, grief, and determination in his eyes. Even surrounded by soldiers, lights, and the hum of engines, he felt the weight of the battles yet to come.
Though the Hollow had been pushed back for now, Theron knew—as did everyone inside the truck—that this respite was only temporary. The world outside was still fractured, the Hollow still prowling, and somewhere beyond the shattered horizon, the light of The Chosen One—or the darkness it might bring—was waiting.
Elas pressed his face against his mother's shoulder, chewing quietly, his young mind trying to make sense of the chaos, the names, and the legacy suddenly placed upon him. Theron placed a hand over his own heart, a silent vow that he would do everything to protect the boy from the world's relentless shadows.
The truck sped onward, leaving the city behind for now, but carrying with it the weight of past battles, lost lives, and the unspoken knowledge that the universe was far from safe.
And somewhere, in the depth of the fading light, the first threads of destiny were already beginning to weave…
—End of Chapter One—