The wind had a strange weight to it that morning. Not the pressure of an oncoming storm or the chill of death that rolled from cursed domains. It was a slower weight. A tired one. As if the world itself exhaled after holding its breath for too long.
A small village lay quiet beneath fractured stone cliffs, tucked between the forgotten edges of two warring realms. The sun tried to shine but could barely pierce the smog that lingered above the mountaintops. Most of the homes had gone unpainted for decades. Wooden shutters creaked against wind that had learned how to whisper secrets. Livestock wandered without guidance. The people, those who remained, walked with bent heads and clenched jaws. This was not a place where hope dared speak.
Then came the sound of boots on gravel.
He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, steps deliberate but almost lazy. His black jacket fluttered behind him in the wind, long and tattered around the edges, with faint red embroidery etched into its seams like forgotten bloodlines. His hair, a mess of tangled strands and faded crimson, shimmered faintly in the half-light. Not red, not entirely. But something corrupted just enough to suggest it used to be.
Dantero.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept in days, but not in the way warriors look when battle-weary. His exhaustion was deeper. It sat behind the eyes, subtle but unshakable. There was a lightness in his stride that made him look younger than he was, but the eyes—those damned eyes—had seen centuries of violence, laughter, betrayal, and madness all stitched into the same canvas.
He stopped at the edge of the village square, where a rusted bell tower leaned sideways like it had finally given up trying to be useful. He glanced up at it, lips pulling into a grin that wasn't sarcastic, wasn't cruel, but definitely wasn't innocent either.
Dantero: Looks like even your bones got tired of ringing for help.
His voice carried smooth, deep, and relaxed. The kind of voice that didn't rush. It didn't need to. You either listened or you didn't. The world would keep turning. He bent down, picked up a pebble, and flicked it toward the bell.
It hit dead center. The bell let out one hollow chime before tipping sideways and falling off completely, crashing to the ground with a muted clang.
Dantero: Huh. Should've bet money on that one.
He stretched his arms out, spine cracking as he twisted left and right. The motions were fluid, almost like a dance warm-up, but without any performance anxiety. He moved like no one was watching, and even if they were, it wouldn't change a thing.
The villagers stayed hidden. Watching from slits in the wood. Mothers held children tight. Some recognized him, some didn't. All of them feared him.
Dantero walked forward without a word. The old marketplace stood half-crumbled ahead of him. He stepped up onto the dusty stone, boots making soft taps against the empty merchant stalls. A ghost town pretending to function. He stopped in front of one stall where rotten fruit had been left to decay, and ran a gloved hand over the edge of the counter.
He paused.
Dantero: No one's sold a damn apple in this place for years.
He didn't sound sad. He sounded annoyed. As if offended that the world had let this place go.
Then something caught his attention. The faint sound of a child coughing. Weak. Dry. Hiding.
Dantero turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He knelt beside a broken cart and looked underneath.
A pair of wide brown eyes stared back at him.
The girl couldn't have been older than six. Her cheeks were sunken, ribs just barely showing through a ripped shirt. Her hair was matted and full of dirt. She looked ready to bolt, but her body betrayed her. Too weak. Too hungry.
Dantero said nothing for a moment.
Then he sat down beside the cart, not looking at her directly, just staring ahead.
Dantero: You ever tasted honey before?
The girl didn't answer.
Dantero: Not fake syrup, I mean the real stuff. Comes in golden jars. Thick as magic. Warms your throat all the way down. Best thing you'll ever put on bread.
He pulled something from his coat. A wrapped piece of cloth. He opened it and inside sat a single slice of black bread with a smooth spread of honey over the top.
Dantero: I used to hate it. Thought it was too sweet. But then one day, someone made it for me. I was bleeding out in some alley, couldn't even move. Thought I was gonna die with a knife in my gut and a smile on my face. But she sat next to me. Made me eat it. Said it would 'remind me what the world could taste like when it wasn't trying to eat itself.'
He placed the cloth-wrapped bread on the ground and slid it slowly toward her.
Dantero: It's yours. You don't owe me anything. Just don't let it go to waste.
He stood, brushing dust off his jacket.
The girl didn't move at first. But slowly, one trembling hand reached out. She grabbed the bread and pulled it close. Eyes never leaving his.
Dantero gave her a small two-fingered salute.
Dantero: See you around, kid.
He kept walking. As if it hadn't meant anything. As if he hadn't just done more kindness in ten seconds than most people managed in a year. He made it look like part of the dance.
He always did.
A few miles beyond the village, at the edge of a crumbled bridge leading into a forgotten basin, Dantero sat alone atop a massive fallen statue. It looked like a giant warrior, half-buried in dirt, face broken off, hands reaching toward nothing.
Dantero rested on its shoulder.
He stared into the sky for a long time. Quiet. Letting the breeze cut through his jacket. The cliff winds here were sharp. They bit at your skin and reminded you that the world still had teeth.
A small bird landed near his foot.
Dantero looked at it and raised an eyebrow.
Dantero: What, you too?
The bird chirped once. Then another, slightly larger bird landed beside it. Then three more. Then six. Then twenty. A whole flock surrounded him. They didn't sing. Just stood still. Watching him.
Dantero stared back. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not fear. Not power. Something older.
Memory.
He reached inside his coat again and pulled out a small wooden flute. It was cracked in two places, and its mouthpiece had burn marks. But it still worked. Barely.
He played one note.
Low. Sad. Wavering.
Then another.
And another.
The birds began to shift slightly. Not flying, not singing. But moving. Almost in rhythm. Like they understood the song.
Dantero didn't smile.
He just played.
And for a moment, the dead cliffs echoed with something close to life.
Not hope. Not yet.
But the possibility of it.
When he finished, the birds were gone.
The wind was quiet.
Dantero: Yeah. I miss her too.
He exhaled softly and leaned back against the lone wooden bench outside the crumbling rest stop, where the mountain wind whispered of older wars. A tiny campfire hissed nearby, low flames crackling beneath a blackened pot of untouched broth. He stared into the flame for a while. Not to think. Not to mourn. Just to feel something burn that wasn't him.
He never said her name aloud anymore. Not since the fall.
She'd been everything. The only one who danced with him at dusk without asking why. The only one who laughed when he cracked stupid jokes to mask the guilt. The only one who stayed even when his shadow told her not to.
He adjusted the old scarf around his wrist. Her scarf.
Dantero: If I'd been faster that day...
His voice trailed off. The words didn't need to land. They never did. No one was around to listen anyway.
So he stood. Boots brushing the frost-coated grass as he walked past the dying fire, the scent of ash clinging to him like old regret. He wasn't going back south, not anymore. There was nothing left there. The old guild halls had collapsed. The contracts were dead. The voices on the wind didn't whisper about him like they used to. Which was fine. It gave him the quiet he needed. For now.
But today felt different.
The air tasted strange, heavier. Not like rain. Like... density. As if the sky had thickened, and something vast loomed just beyond the hills ahead.
He kept walking. No map. No path. Just the same rhythm in his step he'd used since he was fifteen. A rhythm that spoke of fights survived and partners buried. Every motion effortless. Every turn of the heel like part of a larger, invisible dance.
And after a long hike across the black plains, with smoke from faraway mountains curling into the sky like shattered towers, he saw it.
The Empire.
No banners. No noise. Just a skyline built from myth, layered with obsidian peaks and structures that shimmered with cursed magic. And standing at the massive outer gate, two armored sentinels that seemed more sculpture than soldier.
Dantero stopped about thirty feet from them.
Dantero: Alright then. Let's see if the stories were true.
He cracked his neck to one side and began walking forward, boots tapping gently on the blacksteel road.
The Hollow Knights didn't speak until he was well within range. Their armor reflected no light. They cast no shadow.
Hollow Knight: State your identity. Declare your intent.
Dantero smirked.
Dantero: Name's Dantero. Former guild hunter. Current nobody. I heard some wild tales about a place rising out here. Thought I'd come see what all the hype was about. Y'know, maybe ask around, see if anyone's hiring.
The knights did not move. Their silence was more pressure than pause.
Dantero: You guys always this warm and fuzzy?
No answer.
He stepped a little closer, folding his arms casually.
Dantero: Alright. Serious version. I'm not here to start a fight. I'm just... wandering. Chasing ghost stories, if you wanna call it that. Heard this empire wasn't like the others. Thought I'd take a look. Maybe find a reason to stay for a while. I'm good at a lot of things. Especially fighting things that don't die easy.
The knights finally stirred.
Hollow Knight: Outsiders are restricted. Your presence must be reviewed by a Champion or the Emperor himself.
Dantero: Then tell the boss a crimson-haired bastard's at the gate. He can toss me out himself if he wants. But at least let me ask one thing first.
He leaned forward, just enough to peer through the massive gate's shadowed interior.
Dantero: That shadow-eyed guy. The one they say brought the world back from the edge with nothing but his hands and his hate. Who is he... to you?
For a moment, the Hollow Knight did not respond. No shift in stance. No twitch of a blade. Just stillness, vast and unshakable. The wind itself seemed to bend around the knight's figure, as if unwilling to disturb something it did not understand.
Then—
Hollow Knight: He is the Emperor.
The words dropped like obsidian pillars, slow and crushing.
Hollow Knight: He is the hand that rose from the pit of nothing and gave us purpose. The voice that silences gods. The shadow that refuses to fade. We do not worship him. We obey. And in that obedience, we are reborn.
Dantero blinked once, his smirk fading just slightly. He wasn't expecting that kind of answer. Not loyalty. Not fear. Something deeper. Something that crawled beneath the ribs and sat in the silence between thoughts.
Dantero: (softly) Huh. You all speak like he's a god.
Hollow Knight: Gods bleed. He does not.
A pause followed.
Then, just as suddenly, the silence shattered. The gate behind the knights began to rumble. Not creak. Not grind. Rumble. Like the very world was making space for something it could not contain.
The blacksteel doors parted with impossible smoothness. What lay beyond them was a kingdom not of gold or marble, but of black fire and elegant ruin. Obsidian towers cracked the skies like fangs. Ancient spires bled shadow magic from their tips. And beneath them, roads filled with beings not fully human, not fully monstrous. An empire of hushed chaos, ordered only by the will of one.
Dantero took one step forward, breath calm, eyes watching.
Dantero: Alright. I'll play your little game, Emperor.
He adjusted the scarf around his wrist, her scarf, the one that never faded despite everything. Then smiled to himself.
Dantero: Let's see if your empire lives up to the legends.
He stepped through the gates like a man entering a dream he didn't remember waking from. The Hollow Knights didn't follow, nor did they offer direction. They simply stood at the threshold, motionless again, returning to that eerie, perfect stillness that no living thing could match. Inside, the path sloped downward into the city's heart, where blacklight lanterns floated like wisps along the edges of every street. No flames, no wires—just weightless glows humming with unfamiliar energy.
The deeper he walked, the stranger it became. The air was heavy but not suffocating. It felt like walking through memory. Every corner whispered something that hadn't quite happened yet. Every passerby—Hollows in dark robes, strange beasts in chains, even a few cloaked humans—paused to glance his way before continuing as if his presence had already been accounted for. As if this moment had been predicted, or perhaps rehearsed.
Dantero: (muttering) Feels like I'm bein' watched by ghosts too proud to admit they're dead.
He passed a towering statue in the shape of a cloaked figure, face hidden beneath a jagged hood. At its feet, a plaque read simply:
"He who walks with darkness. He who walks alone."
Dantero stared at it for a few moments longer than he meant to. Something about it stirred him, like an itch deep in the chest that couldn't be scratched.
Dantero: I'm not here to follow another ghost.
Still, he moved forward.
At the center of the capital—if it could be called a capital—rose the Throne Spire. Not a palace, not a temple. It looked more like a blade impaled into the earth, endlessly tall, endlessly black. As he approached it, he passed by two more Hollow Knights flanking the final stairway.
This time, one of them turned their helm slightly.
Hollow Knight: You are not on the list.
Dantero: I ain't tryna join your choir.
He pulled his coat aside just enough to show his hip—no guns, just a crescent-shaped blade with a fractured core tucked into a loose holster, one that looked older than most civilizations.
Dantero: Just had questions. Thought maybe your boss might wanna answer 'em.
The Hollow Knight tilted its head.
Dantero: (smirking) No response? Okay I guess he'll find me on his stairs or something.
Without permission, he brushed past. Not arrogantly. Not foolishly. Just like someone who understood the weight of consequences and had long since stopped caring. His boots clicked with purpose up the stairs as the doors of the spire creaked open by their own will.
Inside was silence. Deep. Living.
He stepped into the throne hall. It was empty, for now. But the throne was not. It sat high above, cloaked in absence. There was no figure yet, no shadow-eyed monarch gazing down.
Dantero stood in the middle of the room, whistled low, and spun once.
Dantero: Nice place. Lotta room for dancing.
He took a seat on the edge of the stairs, crossed one leg over the other, and glanced up at the throne like a man waiting for a storm he wasn't sure he wanted to stop.
Dantero: Let's see what kind of man can build a whole kingdom from whatever the fuck and keep it standing.
He rested his chin on his hand.
The gates opened.
No ceremony. No horns. No great announcer proclaiming his name. Just the low groan of massive obsidian doors parting, and the faint whine of the wind rolling down the mountain ridges behind him.
Dantero: Eh? Alright.
Dantero stood and turned.
Dantero stepped through like a wanderer, not a warrior. His boots tapped against the stone walkway, echoes falling into the hollow quiet between the walls. But the silence didn't last.
Because the moment he entered the heart of the city, life came back in full force.
Children were running between stalls. Villagers bartered for spices and ores. Merchants advertised steel, relics, and potions glowing in glass jars. Some wore crimson cloaks. Others bore strange tattoos that pulsed faintly under sunlight. A few stopped to glance at him, curious—recognizing he didn't belong, but not fearing him.
Dantero blinked. This wasn't what he expected. Not a city built on fear and blood like the rumors said.
It was... functioning. Alive.
A hollow knight passed him silently, its faceless helmet nodding once in respect before continuing patrol.
Dantero muttered to himself, eyes drifting across the crowd.
Dantero: The hell kinda empire is this...?
Then came the scream.
Boy: Get away from me, you freak!
Dantero's instincts ignited. His head snapped to the left, and he saw it—a young boy, no older than ten, sprinting between merchant stalls, eyes wide with panic. Behind him, a tall figure stalked with a crooked gait, humming and laughing to himself like a lunatic.
The man's black jacket trailed behind him like a shredded banner. His boots didn't even touch the ground half the time. He moved like someone unhinged, but with a terrifying sort of rhythm, like chaos rehearsed.
Dantero narrowed his eyes.
Dantero: That your idea of babysitting?
He didn't wait for logic. His body shot forward, blurring past shocked villagers. With a single leap, he landed directly between the boy and the stranger.
Dantero: Back off.
The grinning figure paused, tilting his head like a cat watching prey twitch.
Dantero didn't hesitate. He launched forward and slammed the man to the ground. Dust shot up as the stone cracked under impact. Dantero's arm pinned him by the throat.
Dantero: You mess with kids, you mess with me.
But instead of struggling, the pinned man... laughed. Loud. Wild. Maniacal.
???: You think I'm the bad guy? HAHAHA! Oh, this is rich!
Boy: WAIT! STOP!
Dantero blinked. The boy had returned. He was tugging at Dantero's coat, tears in his eyes.
Boy: Don't hurt him! That's just One!
Dantero: The hell do you mean "just One"...?
Boy: He was playing tag with me! We always do this. I ran too far. It's not his fault!
Dantero turned to the figure beneath him. The laughter slowed into a wide, unbothered grin.
One: (cackling) Damn. You hit hard. Almost made me see colors that don't exist yet.
Dantero slowly pulled his arm back, rising.
Dantero: You're... One?
One rose without a trace of pain. Not a bruise on him. He cracked his neck both ways, then held out his hand to Dantero.
One: Champion of the Dark Empire. Number Four, unless Biru decides to throw a tantrum again. And you?
Dantero didn't shake it.
Dantero: Just a guy passing through. Thought I saw a monster.
One: (grinning) Oh, I am a monster. Just not that kind. Most days.
He ruffled the kid's hair before waving him off to join the other children again. The kid saluted like a soldier, then bolted down the street.
Dantero watched the boy disappear.
Dantero: So they let monsters watch their kids now?
One: Monsters who protect 'em. Yeah. This empire's different. You'll figure that out soon enough.
Dantero remained silent for a moment. He looked around again. The villagers had gone back to their shopping. A few of them even nodded toward One with quiet familiarity. Like it was normal.
Dantero: You're loved.
One: I'm annoying. There's a difference.
Dantero: I know monsters. I've killed my share. You don't smile like they do.
One: Maybe I don't smile for the same reasons they do. Doesn't mean I don't like a good scream when I fight.
Dantero chuckled once. Just once.
Dantero: You're alright, freakshow.
One: Likewise, crimson-head. You stayin' long?
Dantero: Depends. I'm still trying to figure out if this empire is just a myth wrapped in nice lighting. But... it's got something.
One: It's got hope. That's what most outsiders can't believe. That this place, led by him, actually works.
Dantero: Him?
One: You'll know when he shows up. And you'll feel him before you see him.
Dantero: That shadow-eyed guy?
One nodded. His smile faded, just a little. Not fear. Respect.
One: He doesn't speak much unless he has to. But when he does... the world listens.
Dantero: And who is he to you?
One: He's the Emperor. The one we chose. The one we'd die for. And also the reason why I am here. All the champions have been defeated by him and they chose to follow him.
Dantero felt a slight chill behind those words. Not from threat. From truth.
Dantero: Let's see what kind of man can build a whole kingdom from whatever the fuck and keep it standing.
He rested his chin on his hand.
Dantero: And let's see if I still got a place in this accursed world.
Behind his smirk, something else flickered. A memory. A whisper of the girl he lost. The world she wanted to see. The one that still didn't exist.
Dantero: I ain't leavin' till I find out.
To Be Continued.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 18.