The Hole was quieter the next morning.
Jalen almost wished it wasn't. The silence made him doubt what he had heard the night before — the voice, the whisper of his name. It clung to his mind like smoke, impossible to dismiss, and yet no one else seemed shaken. The streets of the First Ring bustled as they always did: beggars rattling empty bowls, fishmongers shouting over the stench of half-rotten catch, scavengers hawking bundles of spores to merchants who'd cheat them blind.
The abyssal cry was already becoming rumor. Some said it was a monster stirring, others claimed it was the gods demanding sacrifice. A few swore they'd heard nothing at all. Orrhollow had always lived with the Hole's moods. People adapted quickly, because they had to.
But Jalen knew he hadn't imagined it.
The girl had heard it too.
He found her later that morning, not by chance but by searching. She was in the mid-market square of the First Ring, a place where scavengers sold scraps and scholars occasionally came to collect samples. Even there, she stood out.
Her cloak was thick wool, lined at the edges with faded silver thread. The hem was torn, but not with the ragged wear of a scavenger — no, hers was travel-worn, as though she had come down from the upper rings where stones were smoother and walls less broken. Her staff marked her most clearly: dark wood carved with spiraling sigils that glimmered faintly when the light caught them.
She was older than Jalen, though not by much — perhaps fifteen to his thirteen. Her face was sharp, almost hawkish, with high cheekbones and a mouth that rarely smiled. Her eyes were an amber-gold, bright and unsettling against her brown skin. There was a steadiness in her gaze that unnerved him; she looked at the Hole the way priests looked at their idols — with reverence, but also calculation.
Jalen hovered at the edge of the square, basket on his hip, uncertain if he dared approach. She noticed him anyway.
"You followed me."
He flinched. "No—I mean, yes, but—"
She tilted her head, studying him. "You're bold for a gutter rat."
His cheeks burned. The insult was common enough, but hearing it from her lips stung more than it should. "I just… I wanted to know what you saw yesterday. On the overlook."
Her expression flickered, almost softening. Almost. "You heard it, didn't you? The cry."
He nodded. "And… the voice."
Now she truly looked at him, not just with curiosity but with something else — appraisal. "The Hole speaks to you?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I've heard things all my life, but never like that. Not so clear." He hesitated, gripping the edge of his basket until his knuckles whitened. "It said my name."
The words sounded foolish aloud. Dangerous, too. Priests burned people for less. Yet she did not laugh, nor did she call the guards.
Instead, she stepped closer. "What's your name?"
"Jalen."
"Jalen," she repeated, as though testing the sound of it. "I am Kaelith of the Hollow Academy."
He blinked. The Academy — he had heard of it, of course. A place in the upper rings where scholars studied the abyss: its winds, its spores, its secrets. But it was as distant to him as the stars.
"You're… a student?"
She lifted her chin, pride flashing in her eyes. "Not just a student. A Diver-in-training."
The word carried weight. Divers were the most daring of the Academy's orders, trained to descend into the Hole itself — with ropes, with spells, with courage few possessed — to gather relics or specimens from the dark. Most never returned. Those who did became legends.
Jalen stared. "Why come down here then? To the First Ring?"
Kaelith's smile was thin. "Because the priests lie. They tell the higher rings only what they must to keep control. But the truth of the Hole always shows itself down here first — in the quakes, the cries, the blooms. If something is stirring, I need to see it with my own eyes."
Her words sent a shiver through him. He wanted to ask more, but her gaze flicked over his shoulder. "Not here. Too many ears."
Before he could reply, she turned and strode away, her staff clicking against the stones. Jalen hesitated, then hurried after her.
They walked the winding causeways, away from the square and toward a stretch of wall half-collapsed, where few lingered. From there the Hole yawned wide, fog curling upward like smoke from a dying fire.
Kaelith leaned on her staff, scanning the depths. "What you heard yesterday, Jalen… it wasn't just a cry. It was a call."
He swallowed. "A call for what?"
"I don't know." She glanced at him. "But if the Hole is speaking to you, that means you're connected to it. And that means you're in danger."
His heart lurched. "Danger from what?"
"From everyone." Her tone was blunt. "The priests will call you a heretic. The guards will drag you to the dungeons. The Academy… might take you in, or might dissect you to see why the abyss favors your ears."
Jalen's mouth went dry. "And you? What will you do?"
Kaelith's amber eyes studied him again, weighing possibilities. "That depends on you. Tell me: do you want to serve the Hole, or survive it?"
The question tangled his thoughts. He had no dreams of serving anything. He only wanted food in his belly, a roof over his head, and the freedom to exist without being beaten down. Yet the Hole had always been part of him, its whispers curling in his mind like smoke. Could one survive without the other?
"I don't know," he admitted.
Kaelith did not look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "Good. The ones who claim certainty are the first to be swallowed."
That evening, Kaelith brought him to a hidden chamber beneath the ruins of an old shrine. Shrines were scattered in Orrhollow. Few visited them as there was nothing to be found. Whatever was of value has long been removed by the priests. What remained was history that too has been recorded long ago. The place smelled of damp stone and mildew, but its walls were carved with faded glyphs that pulsed faintly when her staff drew near.
"This," she said, tracing one with her fingers, "is the script of the First Kings. The ones who built Orrhollow around the Hole. They believed the abyss was not just a wound, but a door."
"A door to where?" Jalen asked.
Her smile was grim. "That's what I intend to find out. I will come find you when the time is right."
For the first time in his life, Jalen felt as though someone saw him not as a gutter rat, not as a cursed child, but as something more. A piece of a puzzle larger than himself.
Yet as he stood in the dim glow of ancient glyphs, listening to the abyss breathe through cracks in the floor, he could not shake the weight of Kaelith's words.
If the Hole had chosen him… then everyone was his enemy.