The morning began with a muted stillness, a quiet that lingered long enough for Kael to notice his own breathing. Hollowreach had a unique relationship with silence; it was never truly empty or accidental, as if the city wanted to give each person a moment to prepare before the day began. Kael sensed that this quiet carried unspoken expectations. It felt like a pause rather than a void, and the city seemed to observe how he entered it.
He left his quarters at a steady pace, feeling the familiar mix of anticipation and unease that came with each new day of practice. The stone corridors were cool against his fingers as he brushed them lightly while walking, connecting himself to the physical space around him. Down below, the paths leading to the registrar district were already filled with people—trainees, archivists, vendors setting up their stalls, and residents who always moved through the city with an ease that Kael had yet to grasp. Their pace was neither hurried nor slow; they moved in a rhythm that matched the city's heartbeat, a calm yet alert flow that Hollowreach seemed to nurture naturally.
This morning, his destination was the mid-tier practice annex. The structure was half-buried into the hillside, with open walls that allowed the wind to flow freely through the space. Kael had visited once before for an observational session, where he watched others practice exercises involving coordinated movement, controlled breathing, and subtle awareness. Today, however, he had been assigned to participate instead of just observe, and that distinction made the air feel heavier against his skin.
Lyra was waiting for him near the annex entrance, her arms crossed loosely and her expression neutral but alert. She glanced at him briefly, seeming to look for signs of how well he had slept, but she didn't say anything.
"You'll be working under Instructor Rhyven today," she said, pointing toward the annex's interior. "He's known for being precise."
"Is that a warning?" Kael asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A courtesy," she replied. "Precision can feel like pressure if you're not used to it."
Kael managed a half-smile at that, aware that her words were serious. As he stepped inside the annex, he immediately noticed how different this space felt compared to other training areas. The wind entering through the open walls didn't carry the scent of nearby markets or gardens; it had a crisp, almost metallic quality, as if it flowed through narrow stone channels before reaching the open air. The floor was made of smooth, pale stone, etched with faint intersecting lines arranged in patterns that eluded his understanding. A dozen trainees stood scattered around the room, each absorbed in the space rather than talking to one another.
Instructor Rhyven stood at the far end of the hall. He was tall, with dark hair streaked with gray, and his posture seemed carefully crafted, as if each vertebra had been aligned to support a strong frame. However, his eyes softened the strictness of his appearance. They held a patience that made Kael instinctively straighten under their gaze.
"You're Kael," Rhyven said as Kael approached. His voice was calm and steady, without any sharpness to suggest disapproval. "I've read your preliminary evaluations."
Kael braced himself for a critique, but Rhyven didn't offer one.
"You will start with spatial alignment drills," the instructor continued, motioning to one of the etched sections on the floor. "Stand at the central mark."
Kael moved into position, noticing how the intersecting lines came together beneath his feet. The patterns felt more like a map than mere decoration—purposeful and designed to guide how one oriented themselves in the space.
"Your task is simple," Rhyven said. "Stay aware of your position while the environment shifts around you. Don't react instinctively. Let your body respond after your mind has observed."
Kael frowned slightly. "What exactly will—"
Rhyven raised a hand, and the lines beneath Kael shimmered faintly.
Then the sensation began.
It wasn't forceful or violently disorienting, but the ground itself felt like it tilted subtly, as if the annex floor were on a hinge moving in increments too small for the eye to catch. Kael's muscles responded before his thoughts could catch up, adjusting his stance to counterbalance. Rhyven exhaled softly—perhaps a sigh or amusement.
"You moved before you understood," he said. "Again."
Kael reset his position. The floor shifted once more, this time more fluidly, almost like water current. He tried to resist his immediate instinct to brace himself, forcing his awareness to widen beyond his feet, beyond the trembling balance in his legs, toward the larger sensation of the space shifting around him.
Still, his body reacted too soon.
Rhyven shook his head. "You rely on instinct. While instinct isn't your enemy, it often leads you before you have gathered all the information. Hollowreach needs perception before reaction."
Kael inhaled slowly, grounding himself and letting his breath settle. He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Time seemed to stretch as the exercise continued. The floor shifted in increasingly subtle ways—sometimes barely moving, sometimes tilting so gently that it felt more like swaying than any actual change. Rhyven gave occasional notes—each brief but meaningful, guiding Kael's understanding without giving away the answer.
After what felt like an hour, the instructor lowered his hand and the floor's movement stopped.
"You improved," Rhyven said, tapping one of the etched lines with his foot. "But you still reject imbalance too quickly. There's something to learn in instability."
Kael wiped sweat from his brow. "Is this common practice for everyone?"
Rhyven nodded. "Everyone who enters Hollowreach goes through these exercises at some point. Not because the city demands control, but because it wants awareness. Many believe strength shows through dominance. In reality, strength shows through understanding."
Kael absorbed this quietly. It was a sentiment he had heard before, but each instructor seemed to reveal something new about the same principle. Hollowreach didn't transform people through intense training; it shaped them through the constant, unavoidable confrontation with their own lack of refinement.
The next drill involved movement, but not in the straightforward manner Kael had expected. Rhyven set up a series of small wooden discs across the floor, each placed at distances that appeared random but clearly followed an internal logic.
"Move between them," the instructor instructed. "Not quickly. Not efficiently. Just move and notice. The exercise isn't about reaching each disc. It's about what you recognize along the way."
Kael stepped onto the nearest disc, then the next. At first, the task seemed simple, almost trivial. But as he continued, he noticed small shifts in the air, subtle temperature changes, faint tremors beneath the stones that didn't align with anything visible. The lines etched into the ground guided his steps, leading him toward certain paths and away from others without his realizing it. The more attention he paid, the more the annex revealed its layers—areas that felt heavier or lighter, spaces where sound muted or sharpened, air currents that curved unexpectedly around pillars.
It was like learning to read a language made of sensations.
At one point, Kael paused between two discs, aware that something had shifted but unable to define it. Rhyven approached, stopping a few steps away.
"What do you notice?"
Kael hesitated, searching for words. "The air feels constricted? Like something is narrowing around this space."
Rhyven nodded. "Good. The environment tells you things if you let it. But you still rely on sensation instead of reason. The next step is to understand why the air constricts."
Kael opened his mouth to respond but found no answer. Rhyven didn't expect one.
"The annex," the instructor explained, "is built with channels—subtle structural lines that guide movement, sound, and even wind. They aren't visible unless you know how to look. The lines on the floor reflect these channels, but they aren't just decoration. They are part of the city's foundation, the unseen framework that guides those who choose to see."
Kael glanced around the room again, this time with a fresh perspective. He noticed what he had missed—the faint symmetry in the pillars, the barely noticeable patterns in the stone walls, the way the wind curved instead of drifting randomly. Hollowreach was teaching him not just exercises, but how to see systems hidden beneath simplicity.
Rhyven dismissed the group near midday. Kael stepped outside the annex, breathing deeply now that the structured atmosphere was behind him. The sunlight felt warm on his shoulders, grounding him after the dense subtleties of the training hall.
Lyra appeared beside him, as she often did.
"You look less tired than I expected," she said.
"I feel more tired than I look," Kael replied.
She laughed softly. "Good. That means the training is working."
Kael looked over the landscape of Hollowreach. Buildings rose gently, not towering but interconnected through arches, bridges, and sloping pathways that flowed like tributaries from the city's center. People moved with quiet coordination, their paths crossing yet rarely colliding. It was a city that seemed to breathe.
"Lyra," Kael said after a moment, "when you first arrived here, did Hollowreach make you feel… inadequate?"
Lyra took a moment before answering. She folded her arms and looked toward the horizon. "Hollowreach doesn't make people feel inadequate," she said softly. "It reveals the distance between who you are and who you could be. Whether that feels like inadequacy or inspiration depends on you."
Kael let her words settle.
"Did you struggle?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "Everyone struggles. You don't come aligned. You're here to learn."
She nudged his shoulder lightly. "Come. The river walks are peaceful this hour. Walk with me."
They descended the terraced path to the riverbank. The water flowed steadily, reflecting the angled sunlight in shimmering currents. Kael walked beside Lyra in thoughtful silence, conscious that the day's training had shifted something inside him—not dramatically, but steadily, like a small change in a river's course reshaping its surroundings over time.
Hollowreach did not change people quickly.
But it changed them thoroughly.
Kael felt that truth settle in his bones.